Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Colorado River
Page 52
I began collecting research and even visited Hoover Dam. But, I did not write. I didn't know how to start. After eight years, I started waking in the middle of the night thinking about the plot. Originally, my protagonist was to be a team of FBI agents, like Tommy Lee Jones' posse in the "Fugitive" and "U.S. Marshals", but the more research I did, the more I felt my character should be an engineer. In the summer of 2001, I was sorting through the mail and came upon a class listing for SaddlebackCollege. Instead of tossing it, I scanned it for a Spanish class. But, I found something I was not expecting: "How to write a fiction novel." I enrolled immediately for my first college class in over ten years.
When I arrived that first night, I noticed the bulk of the class were not college kids, but old farts like me. It looked as if I was not the only person having a mid-life crisis. The teacher's name was Shelba Robison. She had crutches and a bum leg, so she did not stand. It was obvious she knew some of the other students, but it was not until she began talking that I learned many of the students had attended before, and the ones she didn't know, like me, were referred to as "newbies." She told us very clearly that if we were not writing a book, we were in the wrong class, and that we must all have a specific book in mind and be ready to write. On the first night, two students brought chapters for us to take home and review. All newbies were required to write a two-page outline of our book's plot, and meet Shelba in her office during the week to discuss whether the class was right for them.
I left the first night invigorated, and wrote my two-page outline in a couple of hours. After almost a decade of research, it came easily. When I met with Shelba, she eyed me skeptically, then asked to see my outline. I waited while she read it. Without finishing it, she looked up and asked if I knew enough about dams to write the book, and I told her about my years of research. She nodded and asked me if I was committed to the project. I responded that I was. She asked if I had a family. I confirmed that yes I was married and had four young kids. She grimaced and said the best thing would be to convince my wife I was having an affair until the book was done. I guess I convinced Shelba I was serious, because she let me stay in the class.
I started writing on Aug 30, 2001. I handed in my first chapter the next week. On Sep 12th, the day after the bombing of the World Trade Centers, the class sat in a circle and gave me feedback on my writing. Although I had thought my ten-page chapter was a masterpiece, my peers found it riddled with passive verbs, confusing points of view, and plain vanilla characters. But, my classmates liked the story, and they argued enthusiastically about the plot. After a few minutes, Shelba interrupted them. She said, "As you can see, Gary has a very interesting story to tell; unfortunately, his writing is getting in the way of him telling it."
Over the next eighteen months, I repeated Shelba's class twice, and had a dozen chapters reviewed by my classmates. I would like to go on record now that Shelba Robison and my fellow authors from SaddlebackCollege taught me what little I know about the craft of writing. I owe this book to them and wish I could name each of them individually.
Although many gave good input to my story and my writing, I would like to name six who made significant contributions: 1) Bruce Spencer, a pilot friend who flew me to Lake Powell, edited the entire manuscript, and gave invaluable insight into airplanes, helicopters, and houseboat life on Lake Powell, 2) Tom Glazier, a district attorney who edited the entire manuscript and helped with fishing scenes, law enforcement, and houseboats, 3) Uncle Earl Jolley, a lifelong heavy equipment operator who provided key information about bulldozers, building earth dams, and sandbags, 4) an anonymous engineer at the Bureau of Reclamation who helped me with water velocities in floods which established the timelines for flooding on the river, 5) my mother, who read the whole first draft and because she's my mom, saw virtually no problems, 6) and finally my wife Becca, who helped in all phases of the project, who read the manuscript out loud to me during editing, who corrected my grammar, who never gave up on me, and who put up with my fanatical focus through this entire ordeal over the past fifteen years.
Although it seems a little weird to thank God for helping in the creation of a novel about a terrorist, I can't deny that I was inspired to pursue this project, and motivated along the way. Maybe someday I will know why.
Since I began my research in the early nineties, things have changed dramatically on the Colorado River. Almost a decade of drought has lowered the reserves in both LakePowell and Lake Mead to critical levels. As of midyear 2005, LakePowell was down over a 130 feet and classified at under 45% of capacity. Lake Mead was also very low. If the Glen Canyon Dam were to fail under those conditions, Lake Mead would be able to capture the entire flood and make my story non-plausible.
As far as the explosives are concerned, I have done enough research to know what steps to leave out of the formula so as to prohibit someone using the book as a recipe. If the book seems real in spite of the fiction, then it means that at least in that regard, I accomplished what I wanted.
Lastly, I'd like to thank you for reading my book. I hope you liked it. Since the story is now published, and I have survived my midlife crisis, if you wonder about me, I will be perusing old issues of National Geographic to see if other stories need to be told, and to see if I learned enough writing craft from Shelba Robison to write a second book.
Gary Hansen
www.wetdesert.net
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