Prologue

A Chapter by Mark Sanders

Prologue

Berlin, Germany, 1944

Major Hanna sat patiently at his desk. It was quiet now, not like it once was. The hustle and bustle of a once thriving department was long gone. No incessant tap tapping of typists, telephones constantly ringing, footsteps beating hard against the highly polished floor, much to his annoyance. Oh, how he wished things were different. The once multitude of staff was now down to only two, three if you included himself.

Reaching into his drawer he took out a cigarette. He had given up the disgusting habit less than a year ago but now seemed a fitting time to reintroduce his lungs to the acrid smoke they had thought had been banished.

Hanna knew the end was coming. Knew it was hopeless. The Nazi party was falling apart, Germany was falling apart. Indeed, the Fuhrer was falling apart. The great German leader Adolf Hitler was looking more and more to the occult and esoteric teachings rather than battle plans or an escape strategy. The war was over. The great German race will be defeated. Unthinkable only a year ago. Now there was no doubt. Just at a time when the Reich had made some astounding discoveries in fields of science and technology. Now they will all be stolen by the allies who would go on to glory on German discoveries. Still, that was the least of his worries now. Any serving soldier within the German SS was not going to survive this.

As a Major in the SS Space Intelligence Division, he had trained as a linguist at the University of Hamburg prior to the war breaking out. At six foot tall, blond, blue eyed, and with a muscular physique, it was obvious to the German high command that Hanna was Aryan. He was superior. He was made for the SS. As the Nazi’s became obsessed with myth and legend Hanna had been tasked with more and more bizarre expeditions on behalf of the Fuhrer and Himmler. Spared active service Hanna had never actually fired a live round at the enemy. He had however been chasing Nazi dreams all around the globe including trips to the Amazon rainforest looking for a sacred piece of crystal. A crystal said to have an amazing ability to create massive energy fields. The Sudan to recover the mummified remains of a human believed to be 8 foot tall and over 50,000 years old. An Antarctic expedition where it was said a whole advanced city could be seen buried in the Ice two miles down. This part of Antarctica was re named Neu Schwabenland when he arrived on the orders of Himmler and annexed for the Reich.

All these locations the Nazi’s believed were interconnected and would aid Hanna to help them discover their true origins. As Major Hanna savoured the smoke, he smiled to himself. All the expeditions had been successful. All of them. And yes, he found it difficult to believe it himself sometimes. Each and every one a great success.

The last expedition had also proved that they were all indeed insane. Either that or there was a much bigger conspiracy. One of truly cosmic proportions. He no longer wanted to be a part of it.

All Major Oswald Hanna wanted to do in life was teach. Teach others and further his interest in ancient languages, particularly ancient script and cuneiform text. His protestations at being called up to the Army and then the SS went unacknowledged. And this is where he was now, alone with his secretary and personal driver waiting for an approaching Army.

Carefully, Hanna removed some documents from the open drawer and placed them in an envelope. Taking one last pull on the cigarette he crushed it beneath his foot before sealing the large brown envelope and writing a name on the front. Picking up the telephone receiver he called for his driver. A few moments later his driver, who had been patiently waiting outside, walked in. As the corporal stood to attention in front of Hanna, he raised his right arm and ensured a swift but loud connection of his heels. He was loyal to both Germany and Major Hanna.

Hanna stood from behind his desk and walked over to his loyal corporal. He took a moment then extended his hand towards Corporal Schmidt. The corporal stood there whilst Hanna’s hand was outstretched, not understanding this unusual situation. Initially resisting he eventually looked Major Hanna in the eye and with his hand still outstretched Corporal Schmidt reached out and took the proffered hand. There was a shake of the hands between both men but no exchange of words. There was a moment when the corporal realised that he may be about to receive his final orders. Major Hanna spoke clearly to the driver and gave him precise instructions before placing the brown envelope in his hand and returned to his desk.

As the driver left the Major’s office his secretary knocked and entered. She smiled at the Major as was expected of all good German women who served the Nazi war office. She enquired if he needed anything before his meeting with Himmler. It was scheduled for 4 pm, a little over two hours away. As another loyal servant Anna was expected to keep the Major informed of all his forthcoming meetings for the day and ensure his stress levels were kept to a minimum. It was again expected of all German subordinates to adhere to all their superior’s requests. As she approached the desk she looked directly into his eyes and asked, ‘Anything else’. Hanna nodded and stood from his seat. Taking the cushion from his seat he dropped it at his feet. Anna smiled, approached and knelt in front of the major. She had done this many times before, but it had been a while. She saw it as her duty but one she nonetheless enjoyed very much.

Hanna was married but also had feelings for his secretary who did things that he could not ask his wife to do. There was no love between Major Hanna and the woman kneeling before him but there was a strong bond between them.

Anna never saw the Major reach into the drawer. She never saw the tears in his eyes. She never got to enjoy the Major one last time. She fell backwards, the hole in her temple small on one side but much larger on the other. She would not have heard the bang; he was sure of it. Hanna could not leave her to the mercy of Himmler. She would have suffered and suffered badly.

Hanna re fastened his trousers, sat down. Took one last look at the family photograph on the desk and calmly placed the luger pistol into his mouth. He tilted it upwards and fired only his second live round in this war.

next chapter

© 2022 Mark Sanders

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JayG

• Major Hanna sat patiently at his desk.

So, someone we know nothing about, who is in an unknown place, in an unknown era, is sitting at a desk doing nothing.

Who cares? Perhaps, if we know where we are, what’s going on, and whose skin we wear, this would make sense. But while you and the major know, you forgot to give the reader context. And without context they're just words in a row, meaning unknown.

• It was quiet now, not like it once was.

"Once was?" As in last week? Last year? Last…? This can mean nothing to the reader because we don’t know what made it un-quiet, and for how long, or, why it matters.

• The hustle and bustle of a once thriving department was long gone.

Long as in last week? Last month, ten years ago?. And, the hustle and bustle of people, or machines, and doing what? Why in the pluperfect hells would the reader want to know what’s not happening anymore when you don't know what planet they're on? Story happens as we read, and in real-time. Stop to lecture the reader about something they don’t have context for and you have a guaranteed rejection point, right there.

You’re working hard, but thinking in terms of writing a report, and focusing on information and the flow of events. That’s the nonfiction approach: Fact-based and author-centric. You, the narrator report and explain, primarily in overview. But the goal of nonfiction is to inform, clearly and concisely—which you do.

Fiction’s goal? To make the reader feel and care—to move them, emotionally. As E. L. Doctorow put it: “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.” You’re giving a weather report.

Why do I make such a big deal about this? Because were this a submission to a publisher or agent, this would be rejected when the first-reader came to “It was quiet now, not like it once was.” And given how hard you’re working, you deserve better. And I say that, not as opinion, but the professional judgement of someone who owned a manuscript critiquing service before I retired.

The cause of the problem is a result of what I call, The Great Misunderstanding. In our school years we were assigned many writing projects. And, no one ever told us that there is another approach to writing, so we naturally assumed that we had the technical part of writing taken care of, and needed only a “knack for words,” and a good story idea. So, when we begin to write fiction we use the nonfiction skills we were taught, as they readied us for writing the reports, papers, and letters that most employers want from us. And, so the result reads like a report.

Kind of a large whoops, but we all leave our school years not realizing that we are exactly as qualified to write fiction as to perform a successful appendectomy—which means you have a LOT of company. And reading fiction doesn’t help, because we see the RESULT of using the professional skills, not the skills. But we expect to see the result of that usage, just as your reader expects to see it in your work. And that is the single best argument I know of for digging into the skills of fiction-writing. Where nonfiction is fact-based, fiction is emotion-based. Instead of talking TO the reader, about the characters and events, we place the reader on the scene AS the protagonist, living it in real-time, from within the moment the character calls “now.”

Not good news, given the work you’ve put into this. But since we’ll not address the problem we don’t see as being one, I thought you would want to know.

The best way to begin that I know of, is a few books on the basics, so the library’s fiction-writing section is a good starting point. Personally? I’d suggest starting with Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer, which recently came out of copyright protection. It's the best I've found, to date, at imparting and clarifying the "nuts-and-bolts" issues of creating a scene that will sing to the reader. The address of an archive site where you can read or download it free is just below. Copy/paste the address into the URL window of any Internet page and hit Return to get there.

https://archive.org/details/TechniquesOfTheSellingWriterCUsersvenkatmGoogleDrive4FilmMakingBsc_ChennaiFilmSchoolPractice_Others

Try a few chapters. You’ll be glad you did. And of an overview of the issues would help, the articles in my WordPress writing blog are based on what you’ll find in a book like that.

Something like this is never expected, and hurts. For that I’m sorry. But if you were meant to write you’ll find the learning fun. And once you master the tricks, the act of writing becomes a lot more fun.

So, don’t let it get to you. Nothing I said has to do with talent, only the training of talent.

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

Posted 2 Years Ago

• Major Hanna sat patiently at his desk.  
 
So, someone we know nothing about, who is in an unknown place, in an unknown era, is sitting at a desk doing nothing.

Who cares? Perhaps, if we know where we are, what’s going on, and whose skin we wear, this would make sense. But while you and the major know, you forgot to give the reader context. And without context they're just words in a row, meaning unknown.

• It was quiet now, not like it once was.

"Once was?" As in last week? Last year? Last…? This can mean nothing to the reader because we don’t know what made it un-quiet, and for how long, or, why it matters.

• The hustle and bustle of a once thriving department was long gone.

Long as in last week? Last month, ten years ago?. And, the hustle and bustle of people, or machines, and doing what? Why in the pluperfect hells would the reader want to know what’s not happening anymore when you don't know what planet they're on? Story happens as we read, and in real-time. Stop to lecture the reader about something they don’t have context for and you have a guaranteed rejection point, right there.

You’re working hard, but thinking in terms of writing a report, and focusing on information and the flow of events. That’s the nonfiction approach: Fact-based and author-centric. You, the narrator report and explain, primarily in overview. But the goal of nonfiction is to inform, clearly and concisely—which you do.

Fiction’s goal? To make the reader feel and care—to move them, emotionally. As E. L. Doctorow put it: “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.” You’re giving a weather report.

Why do I make such a big deal about this? Because were this a submission to a publisher or agent, this would be rejected when the first-reader came to “It was quiet now, not like it once was.” And given how hard you’re working, you deserve better. And I say that, not as opinion, but the professional judgement of someone who owned a manuscript critiquing service before I retired.

The cause of the problem is a result of what I call, The Great Misunderstanding. In our school years we were assigned many writing projects. And, no one ever told us that there is another approach to writing, so we naturally assumed that we had the technical part of writing taken care of, and needed only a “knack for words,” and a good story idea. So, when we begin to write fiction we use the nonfiction skills we were taught, as they readied us for writing the reports, papers, and letters that most employers want from us. And, so the result reads like a report.

Kind of a large whoops, but we all leave our school years not realizing that we are exactly as qualified to write fiction as to perform a successful appendectomy—which means you have a LOT of company. And reading fiction doesn’t help, because we see the RESULT of using the professional skills, not the skills. But we expect to see the result of that usage, just as your reader expects to see it in your work. And that is the single best argument I know of for digging into the skills of fiction-writing. Where nonfiction is fact-based, fiction is emotion-based. Instead of talking TO the reader, about the characters and events, we place the reader on the scene AS the protagonist, living it in real-time, from within the moment the character calls “now.”

Not good news, given the work you’ve put into this. But since we’ll not address the problem we don’t see as being one, I thought you would want to know.

The best way to begin that I know of, is a few books on the basics, so the library’s fiction-writing section is a good starting point. Personally? I’d suggest starting with Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer, which recently came out of copyright protection. It's the best I've found, to date, at imparting and clarifying the "nuts-and-bolts" issues of creating a scene that will sing to the reader. The address of an archive site where you can read or download it free is just below. Copy/paste the address into the URL window of any Internet page and hit Return to get there.

https://archive.org/details/TechniquesOfTheSellingWriterCUsersvenkatmGoogleDrive4FilmMakingBsc_ChennaiFilmSchoolPractice_Others

Try a few chapters. You’ll be glad you did. And of an overview of the issues would help, the articles in my WordPress writing blog are based on what you’ll find in a book like that.

Something like this is never expected, and hurts. For that I’m sorry. But if you were meant to write you’ll find the learning fun. And once you master the tricks, the act of writing becomes a lot more fun.

So, don’t let it get to you. Nothing I said has to do with talent, only the training of talent.

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

Rating /100