I was an old reading dog. Then, I learned a new trick to be a writer.
I maintained an old-fashioned enjoyment of reading a printed book. I relished the tactile feeling of turning a page. I liked flipping to the bookmark (airline boarding pass, business card, receipt). I especially enjoyed the look of books of all shapes, sizes, and colors lined up on my many bookshelves. I even like the way old books smell, the aromatic memory of youthful visits to the local library. Books are sacred—until I need the space that forces a surgical “give to charity” culling.
Then I had a fire in my house that took us out for over ten months. Smoke damage took out many of the books in my library. I managed to save some, but I liked the look of less “stuff” as we moved back in and unpacked.
I started to listen to audiobooks. But, another reason, more than space and convenience, led me to audiobooks.
Research.
Confession—sometimes my mind plays tricks on me when I read. I skip words or fill in the blanks as I speed-read ahead. When I see a descriptive paragraph, I mentally skim it to get the gist, see if there is stuff in the story I like, decide, and move forward. I distract myself.
Shame on me.
Before writing The Spy Devils, I listened to dozens of audiobooks in multiple genres. I wanted to learn what made successful books click. What made that writer successful over the millions of other books out there? I savored the sound of words made into sentences. Not reading provided the opportunity to listen and not skip a word. I caught the subtle nuance of constructing the sentences.
For hours a day—then and now— I didn’t “read.” Instead, I opened my ears and listened. I thought along with George Smiley. I plotted like The Jackal. I could hear the sweat, pain, and horror of Hurley being tortured in American Assassin. I could listen to the stress of recruitment or smell the food cooking throughout Red Sparrow. I could dodge bullets like Court Gentry…and so on.
I listened to action-adventure as they can tell me about storytelling and how to weave plots together. Treasure Island. Count of Monte Cristo. Three Musketeers. Master and Commander—to name a few. Mysteries by Agatha Christie. I listened to Sherlock Holmes to learn about constructing the greatest fictional character ever. Period.
I listen to a lot of non-fiction, Ben Macintyre especially, to understand how to incorporate levels of historical fiction in my story.
Listening with a purpose reminded me of my youth in Community Theater…many decades ago. On opening night, my director pulled a tattered and folded newspaper article from his pocket, opened it, and read. A reviewer was marveling at Sir John Gielgud’s performance listening in a scene he had no lines. He was in the act of listening. The audience could see his face and neck muscles move and his body react. All he was doing was listening. I have never forgotten that—the act of listening.
I often lectured on intelligence skills and even presented a slide dedicated to being quiet and listening. Good intelligence officers possess the ability to listen and pay attention. I should have applied this core characteristic while I wrote.
I have now.
The act of listening is learning.