Let’s talk a bit about explosives, shall we?  After such a warm reception to back-to-back posts on guns and bullets, it seems like a natural progression.  This post is going to address some of the technical concepts behind what explosions are, and why they do so much damage.  Two weeks from today, I’ll go into more detail on the proper applications of explosives.

Understanding the essentials of overpressure.  All day every day, each of us carries on our shoulders (and the rest of our bodies) the weight of our atmosphere.  All of that nitrogen and oxygen and water vapor has mass, after all, and it exerts a pressure at sea level of 14.5 pounds per square inch (psi) of surface area.  Take that number literally.  Every area of 10 square inches of surface area is carrying a pressure (think weight) of 145 pounds; every 1,000 inches of surface area is bearing the burden of 1,450 pounds.  Like that.  Scientists and engineers refer to the pressure of “one atmosphere” (14.5 psi) as 1 “bar”.  Twice that pressure would be called two bars, and so forth.  Any pressure that exceeds one bar is called “overpressure”.  The greater the magnitude, the greater the resulting damage.

One way we experience relatively harmless overpressure every day is sound.  When we speak or clap our hands, we send waves of pressure through the air that our ears register as sound.  The decibel scale, then, is actually a measure of overpressure, wherein every three-decibel increase represents a doubling of sound pressure.  When someone whispers, he crfeates an overpressure of about 13 decibels, which is measured in microbars (millionths of one bar).  As noise increases in intensity, the pressure increases geometrically.  We start seeing glass breakage at 163dB.  At 195 dB, we reach a one-bar overpressure the equivalent of an additional atmosphere of pressure.  Ear drums will almost certainly rupture at that level.  A Space Shuttle launch exerts about 215 dB at its surface.

My point here is that sound and pressure are the same thing.  It’s an important concept to keep in mind when we talk about explosions, because the practical definition of an explosion is the rapid expansion of gases that creates an audible boom.  A latex balloon goes pop when you stick a pin in it because the expanding flexible surface of the balloon has trapped gas under pressure.  As soon as the pressure vessel fails, the gas instantly reconverts to atmospheric pressure and the suddenness of it all creates a ripple of pressure that we register as an explosion.  If you stick a pin into a Mylar balloon, however, there’ll be no pop because there’s no expansion.

Still with me?  Okay, here we go.

A gunshot makes a loud boom because the combustion gases which propel the bullet down the barrel are under tremendous pressure until they get to the opening at the muzzle, at which point they instantly expand and reduce to atmospheric pressure, disturbing all the still air that was surrounding it.  A suppressor (“silencer”) works by dissipating those pressures through baffles in the barrel of the device to the point that they are nearly reduced to ambient pressure by the time they are released to the atmosphere.  Thus, no bang.

Why the Speed of Sound Matters.  The speed of sound (767 mph) is essentially the speed at which air molecules can move out of each other’s way.  When anything moves faster than 767 mph–whether it’s an airplane, a bullet or super-heated gases–air molecules stack up on the leading edge of the speeding mass because they can’t get out of the way and they create more pressure–sometimes a lot more pressure.  And as we discussed when talking about bullets, since nature abhors imbalance, as soon as the speeding mass passes by, it is followed by and equal yet opposite negative pressure (a “rarefaction” wave).  When this pressure fluctuation is caused by a speeding jet, the resulting explosion is called a sonic boom, and it is often powerful enough to shatter glass.  When it’s caused by munitions or certain other events, we call the resulting explosion a blast wave, and it is often powerful enough to reduce buildings and people to vapor–literally.

An explosion whose blast wave travels faster than the speed of sound is called a “detonation”.  If the blast wave travels at less than supersonic speed, it’s called a “deflagration”.  To put that in perspective, TNT detonates; napalm deflagrates.

The military and international community refer to detonable explosives as Class 1.1 explosives (“Class One, Division One), while the American civilian community refers to them as Class A explosives.  Deflagrable, or mass-fire, explosives are referred to as Class 1.3 (Class One, Division Three) or Class B explosives respectively.  Most fireworks are Class B.

Primary vs. Secondary Explosives.  Blowing stuff up requires trade-offs.  For example, you want it to go bang on time every time, yet you never want it to go off unexpectedly.  Given these constraints, how do you transport your boomers from here to there and not yourself become humidity in the process?

The solution is to make the main charge of deployable bombs relatively hard to set off.  For example, you can shoot a block of C-4 explosive with a bullet and it won’t explode, but you can cut off a chunk and use it to safely start a fire.  Similarly, if a bomber crashes on takeoff, the bombs it carries will not explode.  (Both of the above examples ignore the presence of gremlins, who so often prove us engineering types to be full of it.)  These main charges are called “secondary explosives” because in order to get them to explode you need to hit them with a “primary” detonation wave.  That’s what blasting caps, or detonators, or initiators, are all about.

Primary explosives are highly energetic, stupidly sensitive explosives that will go high-order (detonate) on impact or in response to a tickling charge of electricity.  The primer in the back end of a bullet is a primary explosive.  So is the active ingredient of a blasting cap.  When those babies go off, they send a supersonic wave of energy into the secondary explosive, thereby causing it to detonate.

We’ve all seen those old newsreels of a B17 squadron during World War Two dropping bombs out of their bellies, and then the flicker of explosions way down there on the ground.  What you don’t see is the progression of events that made those explosions possible.  On takeoff, none of the bombs is yet capable of exploding because the fuses have not yet been activated.  As they fall, however, a tiny propeller spins off the nose of the bomb and in the process arms the fuse.  When the fuse encounters the proper conditions–altitude, in the case of an air burst, or impact in the case of an impact or penetration explosion–the fuse triggers the primary charge which sends a blast of energy through the secondary charge and the bomb goes off.

Okay, that’s it for tonight.  By now, I figure you’re either bored to tears or totally jazzed.  Either way, I’ll be back with more explosive material in a couple of weeks.

By John Gilstrap

I know I promised last post that I would talk about dialogue this week, but I got distracted and had a hard time taming the post.  Next time.

This week, inspired by the classic John Miller piece posted a little while ago about guns and cordite and stuff, I thought I would continue the theme with a post about bullets and their behavior.  Let’s start by recognizing that virtually everything you’ve ever seen on television regarding bullet behavior and the damage they cause is wrong.  No matter how tough a tough guy is, if he’s been shot in the leg and his leg is broken, he cannot walk on it–except maybe if it’s a fibula (ask John Wilkes Booth about that).  Remember all those heroes of our youth who were “only” shot in the shoulder, and then were back in action by the epilogue with his arm in a sling?  Well, here’s what a shoulder joint looks like:

There’s no place for a bullet to go that would not shatter a bone or three.  Not to mention the complex arrangement of blood vessels in there that are just waiting to get torn up.  Torn blood vessels bleed.  If the bleeding can’t be stopped, the victim dies.  Blood loss is the primary cause of fatalities when bullets are involved.

The Myth That Caliber Equals Stopping Power

Here’s a selection of common pistol bullets:

From left to right, the bullets are .410; .38 Police Special; .45 ACP; .40 ACP; 9mm Luger; .380 ACP; .25 ACP; .22 Long Rifle.  The ACP suffix stands for “automatic Colt pistol” because that was the first firearm to use that shell casing design.  The decimals refer to the diameter of the bullet at its widest point (and remember, the bullet is the nosecone atop the shell casing), measured in inches.  A .45, then, is 45/100 of an inch at its widest point.  You’ll also see bullets measured in millimeters.  Thank NATO for that.

And here is an assortment of rifle bullets:

From left to right: .300 WinMag (Winchester Magnum–a sniper round); 7.62mm; 5.56mm (used in M16s, AR15s; M4s); 4.6mm (used mainly by Special Forces and specialized units); .22 Long Rifle.  Without getting too deeply into gun porn, it’s important to note that two of these NATO rounds–noted by the metric measurement–have caliber equivalents: 7.62mm=.308 caliber; 5.56mm=.223 caliber.

Note, then, that both of these bullets are .22 caliber:

So, there’s more to bullet energy than caliber.  The amount of propellant and the weight of the bullet, usually measured in grains, have a lot to do with the lethality of a bullet.  The rest of the lethality equation has everything to do with shot placement.  A small bullet, properly inflicted, will do more harm than a poorly aimed big bullet.  Ronald Reagan and George Wallace were both critically wounded by that little bitty .22 long rifle round, and Bobby Kennedy was killed with one.

Kinetic Energy

Most modern bullets travel at supersonic speeds.  Since the speed of sound represents the speed at which air molecules can get out of each other’s way a bullet in flight creates a pressure wave at its nose, and because Mother Nature abhors imbalance, that positive pressure at the nose creates a negative pressure at the tail.  When a bullet hits a person, the pressures surrounding the projectile do an enormous amount of damage to surrounding tissues.

Here’s a slow motion video of a 9mm pistol bullet impacting ballistic gelatin, which is designed to simulate the consistency of human flesh:

See how that wound channel opens and snaps shut?  Imagine that all of that energy was being absorbed/inflicted on a liver.  Getting the bullet out is far from the most pressing emergency in many bullet wound cases.

Here’s a similar video showing the damage inflicted by a .308/7.62mm rifle bullet:

So, yeah.  A bigger, heavier bullet traveling at a much greater speed causes a heck of a lot more damage.  The reason you’re able to see such pronounced spiraling in that video is because the bullet is a hollow point, which is designed to open up on impact.  This is what a hollow point bullet looks like before it’s fired:

The common alternative to a hollow point is a full metal jacket, which looks like this:

While the hollow point undoubtedly inflicts more damage upon the person it hits, the true purpose of the bullet’s design is to prevent over-penetration, where a bullet intended for a bad guy would not travel through-and-through to hit the good guy standing behind him.

We talk about research quite a lot here at TKZ, and I recommend that  anyone who writes about this stuff in their stories take some time to visit your local gun store or go to a gun show.  You’ll find lots of very nice folks who love to talk about all things firearms related.  Many gun stores will let you rent a gun and fire it on their range.  If you’re not comfortable handling them, no problem.  They’ll be happy to help you out.

Just remember rules:

1. Assume that every gun is loaded, even when you’re certain it is not;
2. Never point the muzzle at anything you’re not wiling to destroy; and
3. Don’t touch the trigger until you’re sure you’ve acquired your target.

By John Gilstrap

Taming point of view is a critical step toward taming a story.

A couple of times a year, I teach daylong seminars on writing suspense fiction.  In one of my favorite writing exercises, I prompt students to picture the image of a 14-year-old boy stepping out the back door of a bar at 11:00 pm and lighting a cigarette.  Then we spitball ideas as to the kid’s motivation for being there and doing that.  It turns out that there are any number of reasons why a kid would be lighting a cigarette behind a bar, not the least of which is that he needs a cigarette.  Sometimes a cigarette is just a cigarette, right?

To develop the exercise even further, though, for illustrative purposes, I tell students to assume that the kid is signaling another person.  It could be that the coast is clear, or that he has the ransom or that the bartender is dead.  Or something else.  Just for grins and giggles, let’s say that he’s signaling that he’s successfully robbed the place, and that the accomplice can move on to the next step.

That scene could be described from any number of points of view:

1. The kid’s POV;
2. The POV of the guy who’s awaiting the signal;
3. The POV of a passerby; or
4. A combination of all of the above.

[Note to JSB: Those semicolons are for you, my friend, because I know how much you love them. :-)]

Once the point of view has been selected, everything else in the scene should flow through the POV character’s worldview.  Remember, we’re showing, not telling.

From the kid’s point of view, does the smoke burn his throat and chest and make him cough, or does it calm him?  Each of those choices develops the character differently.  Are his hands shaking or are they steady?  Is he frightened, excited, happy or sad?  What does he see through the darkness?  What does he hear?

From the accomplice/bad guy’s point of view, does he think of the kid in admiring terms or in deprecating ones?  There’s a world of difference between,

That’s it, he thought. Tommy came through.  Maybe this nightmare was about to end, and

It’s about time, he thought.  The kid took his sweet damn time, but he finally grew enough smarts to do what was good for him.

What would a passerby think of this scene?  Appalled, maybe, that a kid was at a bar to begin with, not to mention being out this late and smoking a cigarette.  Suppose the passerby is his teacher.  Is she disgusted to see him, or is she terrified that he might see her?

The students in my class make their own choices on motivation and POV and then I give them five minutes to write a scene.  I am always amazed by how many words they can commit to paper in so short a time.  Those who are willing to share what they’ve written are given an opportunity to read aloud.  In one particularly memorable example, one of the students—a woman of a certain age—assumed the point of view of the kid’s teacher, and the essay went into detail of just how much she wanted him naked in bed with her.  And it was well written.  When she was done, it was as if she’d drawn a vacuum on the room.  Silence.  Yes, her piece made everyone squirm, but I give her credit for originality.

Think camera placement.

In my thriller series, Jonathan Grave is a badass weapons expert and saver of lives.  Because he is the star of most of the scenes in which he appears, sentences like these work just fine:

Of the five bad guys who swarmed through the gate, three carried AR15 clones.  That was plenty enough firepower to ruin his day, but Jonathan was far more concerned by the two goons on the flanks who toted M14s.  When the balloon went up, they needed to die first.

The gun porn is important to a lot of my readers, but it will be glossed over by others.  Either way, every reader will understand that Jonathan is keenly aware of his surroundings.  At the very least, readers will understand that two guys’ rifles are more powerful than the other three.

Now let’s take that same action and write it from the point of view of a ten-year-old hostage who’s watching from a window.

Billy knew that he was supposed to be hiding, but he couldn’t help himself.  Leaning in from the side, and pushing the drapes away just a little, he could see the expanse of the yard while exposing only one eye.  His heartrate tripled.  There were five of them.  They all carried rifles—long, black, ugly things—and they all looked angry.

Billy’s POV has nothing to do with weaponry or tactics, and everything to do with his emotions.  In either point of view, the reader would still know that there were five bad guys and that they were all well-armed.

The same scene written from the POV of the approaching bad guys might go something like this:

Parker would have sold his soul for a little cover.  He tried to keep his team separated and therefore make a more complicated target, but there’s something about human nature that makes people want to stay close when they’re scared.  And if these boys weren’t scared now, then they just didn’t understand the peril they were in.  For the fifth time in the last minute, Parker ran his right thumb along his M4’s selector switch to make sure that it was still set to full-auto.

 Either of these approaches would advance the story toward the same point, but by choosing the appropriate point of view, you choose which character will be more developed in the reader’s mind.  Jonathan can’t know how frightened Billy is, nor can he know about Parker’s frustration with his team.  Billy would be too scared to worry about anyone other than himself.  For maximum impact in a scene like this, I would likely break the action into parts and tell the story from all points of view, with a physical space break between POV changes.

The approach that never works is one that goes something like this: Parker’s team worried that they were wandering into a trap . . .  Teams don’t think in unison.  Individuals within the team think unique thoughts which may or may not be similar to others’ but there’d be no way for them to know without talking about it.  That’s where dialogue comes in.

And I’ll talk about that in a couple of weeks.

By John Gilstrap

Let’s talk research.

I’ve never been a proponent of the old adage, write what you know.  In fact, I think it’s kind of silly.  It’s the rare crime writer who has witnessed a crime, let alone investigated one.  I’ve been fortunate in my own life to be able to look back on some exciting times in the fire service, and in the hazmat business, but those are not the exciting times I write about.  While I’ve been shot at, I’ve never been a position to shoot back.  Basically, I am the three-time survivor of poor marksmanship.  There is a point in every book where at least one of my characters is scared shitless, and those are by far my most autobiographical passages.

Yet I’m pleased to report that I frequently get emails from readers who live the lives I write about telling me that I got it right.  Those letters are always thrilling—way more thrilling than the emails I get about the typo on page 237.

It’s all in the research.  So let’s talk about that.  How can writers learn what we need to know to make our characters smart enough to do the things they do in the stories we write?  It doesn’t have to be as difficult or complicated as some might have you believe.

Research Hack One: Cheat.

The easiest way to pull off the illusion of knowledge is to eliminate the need for reality.  For example, despite have lived pretty much my whole life in Fairfax and Prince William Counties in Virginia, I choose to play out my Northern Virginia police work in Braddock County, Virginia, which does not exist.  That way, I can develop whatever standard operating procedures best serve the story, eliminating a huge research burden.  I don’t need a tour of the jail, I don’t need to know which firearms they carry, what the command structure is, or how shifts are organized.  Do the cops carry their shotguns propped up vertically, or under the front of the seat?  I can make it however I want it to be.  Because the place where the story takes place does not exist, neither do the police agencies, so I can by definition never get any of those details wrong.

Research Hack Two:  Stick to the coast you know.

More times than not, it’s the smaller details of research that screw an author up, and even if you make up cities and counties, you’re going to have to root the reader somewhere in the world.  I’m very comfortable making up locations in the South because I’ve lived here for so many decades.  It’s always the tell of a West Coast writer when a character looks for a “freeway” and gets on “the 495.”  In Virginia, we look for a “highway” and get on “Route 50” or just “50.”  Heading north or south on the Beltway says little unless we know whether you’re on the Inner Loop or the Outer Loop.  For natives, the airports are “National” or “Dulles”.  Maybe DCA for frequent travelers.  Never “Reagan.”  At least not for true locals.  Oh, and we “go to” meetings or “attend” them.  We do not “take” them.

Places like New York and L.A. (and every other famous city, I suppose) have traditions and colloquialisms that can get you in trouble.  So, stay close to home if you can.

Research Hack Three: Think like Willie Sutton

When the gangster Willie Sutton was asked why he robbed banks, he replied, “Because that’s where the money is.”

So, where are the repositories for the information you want to know?  Let’s say you’re writing about a cop.  To be sure, there are great established resources available to you, such as a citizen’s police academy, but remember that there you’ll be getting the view of the agency that the public affairs office wants you to see.  A better choice, in my opinion, would be to attend a conference like Writers Police Academy, where you can get to know the far more interesting underbelly of police agencies.  Exchange business cards and you’ve got contacts.

Can’t afford the money or time to fly to a conference?  Try chatting up a cop.  The less formal the circumstance, the better.  In my experience, everyone—Ev. Ry. One.—likes to share stories about what they do.  Find out where cops gather for drinks after work and go there.  Just hang out and listen.  Actually, that’s a strategy for just about any specialty.  Want to write about quilting? Go where quilters go and then shut up and listen.

When I’m in DC, one of my favorite places to go for soft research is Union Station, the AMTRAK/Metro terminal that is maybe 500 yards from the Capitol Building.  There are restaurants there.  If you park yourself near a couple of Millennials in suits, there’s a 90% chance that they’re oh-so-self-important staffers to a member of Congress, and the inevitable one-upsmanship is fascinating.  The best eavesdropping spot near the White House is the very cozy bar of the Hay Adams Hotel, though given the proximity to the presidential palace, the gossip there tends to be less juicy.

One bit of advice for eavesdroppers: Don’t take notes.  For the ruse to work, you’ve got to seem disinterested.

Research Hack Four: Get a superfast Internet connection and use it.

I understand that professors are loathe to accept Wikipedia as a legitimate source, and when the time comes for me to submit a dissertation, I’ll keep that in mind.  Meanwhile, I’ll remain devoted to it as a bottomless source of really good information.  Never once have I been disappointed when seeking the finer points of weaponry, for example.  I don’t get into the depths of gun porn in my books, but when arming my good guys and bad guys, it’s good to know how much the weapon weighs, how many rounds it holds and what it looks like.  Want to see the same weapon in action?  I guarantee that YouTube has at least two videos of somebody shooting something with it.

Google Earth and its Street View feature are a godsend.  The closing sequence of Final Target includes a chase down the rural streets of Yucatan.  Thanks to Google Earth, I was able to travel the entire route with a three dimensional view, all without the burden of having to go to a place where I’d rather not be.

Research Hack Five: Know the difference between a research trail and a rabbit hole.

We’ve all been there, I’m sure.  You start out looking for the year when the Ford Ranger went out of production, and an hour later, you’ve chased links to a sweet video of singing penguins.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

The secret to doing my kind of research is to abide by a certain self-imposed intellectual laziness. When I’m writing a scene and I come across a place where I realize there’s a hole in my knowledge, I drop out to the Interwebs, find out exactly what I need for that scene, and then back out.  Remember this: It’s not important that you know how to do all the things your characters do—or even to know everything they do.  Your job is simply to convince readers that the character knows enough to pull off the story they’re starring in.

Research Hack Six (and maybe it should be Number One): Respect your sources’ time.

As a weapons guy, I’m happy to help people choose a firearm for their characters, but it’s annoying when the discussion includes the difference between a pistol and a revolver.  That kind of basic information is available anywhere.  It is many times more fun to talk about important details with someone who has already done a reasonable amount of research.  Use your human resources for the esoteric details of verisimilitude, not for the 101 level of whatever you’re researching.

By John Gilstrap

It’s launch day!

Okay, technically, it’s day-after-launch day.  Yesterday saw the arrival in stores of Nick of Time, my first stand-alone thriller in over a decade.  Here’s the publisher’s blurb on book:

SHE’S RUNNING OUT OF TIME
Nicki Janssen’s days are numbered, but she refuses to accept her fate lying down. Defying her father and doctors, she hits the road with a pocketful of cash, a bus ticket—and a romantic fantasy of riding off with her childhood crush . . .
 
HE’S RUNNING FROM THE LAW
Handsome, dangerous Brad Ward is facing a different kind of sentence. Sent to prison for felony murder, he has escaped and rekindled his relationship with Nicki. But when Nicki’s father joins forces with a deputy sheriff, the search for the runaways ignites a manhunt—a blistering chase that accelerates with every stolen car, every act of violence . . .

As much as I love writing the Jonathan Grave series, it was nice to return to my writing roots in Nick of Time to tell a story where the stakes are personal rather than global.  I hope the world likes the story as much as I do.  (Note: The e-book version of the novel was released in five parts, beginning last April, as a run-up to the release of Friendly Fire in July.)  There’s an interesting story behind the story, as well . . .

My writing career can be best tracked on a severe sine curve.  I started off with runaway “success” with my first novel, Nathan’s Run.  Big advances (in 23 countries!), movie deal, the whole nine yards.  Warner Books bought my second book, At All Costs, before Nathan’s Run was published, for even more money and Arnold Kopelson was going to make an even bigger movie.  I was set for the big time.

Then reality arrived.  Both books sold reasonably well—especially for a freshman writer—but I didn’t come close to earning out my advances.  When it came time to sell Even Steven, my third stand-alone thriller, my agent had to break fingers to get a two-book deal from Pocket Books for a tiny fraction of what the first two books sold for.  Then the real nightmare began.  Pocket became Atria, my editor left, and then the editor that replaced him left.  Even Steven tanked, and then Scott Free was essentially remaindered in place.

My next book was at the time called Living Wil, in which a terminally ill teenager named Wilhemina Janssen runs away with her childhood crush.  Sound familiar?  I couldn’t give it away.  The book wasn’t big enough, they said.  Since my other books didn’t meet sales expectations, everyone told me that my career as a writer was over.  That was 2003.

I thought they were wrong.

I believed that I needed to write something completely different.  That’s when I stumbled by happenstance onto a guy named Kurt Muse, whose real life story became the subject of my nonfiction book, Six Minutes to Freedom.  My agent at the time refused to represent it for political reasons, so I turned to my good friend and current agent, Anne Hawkins, who had all kinds of difficulty selling SixMin because I am not a journalist.  But then the folks at Kensington Publishing decided to roll the dice, and the book did pretty well.  In fact, it continues to do pretty well.  (Wait till the movie comes out!  But that’s a topic for a later post.)

The research I did for SixMin opened doors and provided me with the access I needed to write the Jonathan Grave series, which I’m happy to say seems to have found some traction among readers.  I just finished the 9^th book in the series, and am under contract for two more.

Meanwhile Living Wil sat in the drawer, where it had resided for a dozen years.  On a whim, I took it out one day and read it.  Much to my surprise, I loved it.  It was a little dated, and my writing style has evolved, but the bones were all there.  I sent it to my editor and she loved it, too.  So, after a significant rewrite that changed Wilhemena to Nicki and tightened the action, it was ready to go.  Parts of Nick of Time still make me cry every time I read them.

I hope you give it a shot, and if you do, I hope you like it as much as I do.

More than that, since TKZ is primarily a writers’ blog, I hope you embrace the big take-away from this peek beneath the book’s kimono: Setbacks are only as important as you allow them to be.  What “everybody” says is irrelevant because failure cannot be inflicted on anyone.  Failure can only be declared by the individual who decides to give up.