David J. Heslop's Blog: a manic muse
May 7, 2012
May 1, 2012
Because Red Cloud Pistachios is partly set in the northern Mexican state of Sonora, the novel will be available free on Cinco de Mayo at:
http://amzn.to/JB0IfA
Here is an excerpt. Rory Doyle is on his way to Hermosillo to meet a client who is interested in purchasing a ranch in Bacanora, a small village outside of the city some miles.
Nine
Rory cut down Interstate 19 south from Tucson and felt his mind float out in the wind that ruffed at his open window, felt his life digress with the miles from Red Cloud and what he’d known there. Crossing the border at Nogales into Mexico in the gathering evening he felt a twinge of anxiety, a nervousness salted with excitement at the unknown and the possibilities of it. His thoughts turned forward. He would reach Hermosillo well after dark and tomorrow would meet their buyer at the airport and together they would drive to Bacanora. His associate Enrique would be waiting for them at the gates to Rancho Abierto.
He thought it unusual that traffic was so heavy, commercial trucks and cars crowded with Mexican visitors heading north or returning home, but it gradually gave way to open highway as he climbed out of the rough hills surrounding Nogales. Angling south and east, he could see the silhouetted serrated peaks of the Aconchi Sierra and they reminded him of the Galiuros. And though the terrain was familiar, he felt the uncertainty of travel in a foreign country, a sensation that settled into him merely by passing through the government checkpoint. He thought it funny how it was not just a geographic border but a mental border as well. It was a feeling he felt each time he’d come over. In college, he and his friends often visited Rocky Point, the Gringo name given to Puerto Peñasco, a casual and somewhat rustic holiday spot on the Gulf of California. It was a sandy beach town filled with Americans but he’d always been obliged to remember this was Mexico. He was the visitor, and this was a country that operated under different rules.
He passed a road sign, nearly missing it. Hermosillo 281 Kilometers. Rory did a quick calculation in his head. Roughly 175 miles. He should be there in three hours or so. About ten o’clock. He would not miss much scenery in the dark, knowing the highway would spill out to the flat Sonoran desert and then to the big grassy plains in front of Hermosillo. He flipped on the radio and found a station playing folklorico, music to sell the land by and all that went with it. History. Culture. Cattle—memory. It seemed unfair of him to participate. But he was consoled in the knowledge the buyer, an American businessman from Michigan, had no plans to change it, perhaps update the house and outbuildings but the land was to remain unchanged. He wanted it for a hunting camp, for dove and quail shooting, at least that’s what he’d told Rory and what Rory told Ernesto Velasquez. There was no mistaking it was good land for it. Flatland and rolling hills rich in birds and rabbits with plenty of cover and water, being near the Rio Yaqui and Presa del Novillo. The man hadn’t said what he planned for the 700 head of Charolais cattle that would come as part of the sale. To Rory’s way of thinking, you would continue to run the beef. After all, it was nearly 8500 hectares, ample room for both hunting and ranching, and already a successful operation. Besides, it would be unlikely that someone would mistake a cow for a quail.
The time and the miles fell out behind him and he was tired and hungry when he arrived at La Colonia, the small hotel he’d chosen to stay at in the downtown district. He might have gone to one of the large resorts on the outskirts of the city but thought something quieter and more intimate – and more Mexican – would be an interesting change. As long as he was here, he wanted to enjoy himself and taste a bit of the culture.
He followed the clerk’s directions to a small restaurant nearby. ‘De una vuelta a la derecha, y despues a la izquierda, y otra vez, a la izquierda. And then you are there,’ he completed in perfect English.
So, then, here you are. For the asking on Cinco de Mayo. I hope you enjoy your visit and perhaps will offer your opinion here and at Amazon.
Adiós por ahora y buena suerte a todos.
David
Here is an excerpt. Rory Doyle is on his way to Hermosillo to meet a client who is interested in purchasing a ranch in Bacanora, a small village outside of the city some miles.
Nine
Rory cut down Interstate 19 south from Tucson and felt his mind float out in the wind that ruffed at his open window, felt his life digress with the miles from Red Cloud and what he’d known there. Crossing the border at Nogales into Mexico in the gathering evening he felt a twinge of anxiety, a nervousness salted with excitement at the unknown and the possibilities of it. His thoughts turned forward. He would reach Hermosillo well after dark and tomorrow would meet their buyer at the airport and together they would drive to Bacanora. His associate Enrique would be waiting for them at the gates to Rancho Abierto.
He thought it unusual that traffic was so heavy, commercial trucks and cars crowded with Mexican visitors heading north or returning home, but it gradually gave way to open highway as he climbed out of the rough hills surrounding Nogales. Angling south and east, he could see the silhouetted serrated peaks of the Aconchi Sierra and they reminded him of the Galiuros. And though the terrain was familiar, he felt the uncertainty of travel in a foreign country, a sensation that settled into him merely by passing through the government checkpoint. He thought it funny how it was not just a geographic border but a mental border as well. It was a feeling he felt each time he’d come over. In college, he and his friends often visited Rocky Point, the Gringo name given to Puerto Peñasco, a casual and somewhat rustic holiday spot on the Gulf of California. It was a sandy beach town filled with Americans but he’d always been obliged to remember this was Mexico. He was the visitor, and this was a country that operated under different rules.
He passed a road sign, nearly missing it. Hermosillo 281 Kilometers. Rory did a quick calculation in his head. Roughly 175 miles. He should be there in three hours or so. About ten o’clock. He would not miss much scenery in the dark, knowing the highway would spill out to the flat Sonoran desert and then to the big grassy plains in front of Hermosillo. He flipped on the radio and found a station playing folklorico, music to sell the land by and all that went with it. History. Culture. Cattle—memory. It seemed unfair of him to participate. But he was consoled in the knowledge the buyer, an American businessman from Michigan, had no plans to change it, perhaps update the house and outbuildings but the land was to remain unchanged. He wanted it for a hunting camp, for dove and quail shooting, at least that’s what he’d told Rory and what Rory told Ernesto Velasquez. There was no mistaking it was good land for it. Flatland and rolling hills rich in birds and rabbits with plenty of cover and water, being near the Rio Yaqui and Presa del Novillo. The man hadn’t said what he planned for the 700 head of Charolais cattle that would come as part of the sale. To Rory’s way of thinking, you would continue to run the beef. After all, it was nearly 8500 hectares, ample room for both hunting and ranching, and already a successful operation. Besides, it would be unlikely that someone would mistake a cow for a quail.
The time and the miles fell out behind him and he was tired and hungry when he arrived at La Colonia, the small hotel he’d chosen to stay at in the downtown district. He might have gone to one of the large resorts on the outskirts of the city but thought something quieter and more intimate – and more Mexican – would be an interesting change. As long as he was here, he wanted to enjoy himself and taste a bit of the culture.
He followed the clerk’s directions to a small restaurant nearby. ‘De una vuelta a la derecha, y despues a la izquierda, y otra vez, a la izquierda. And then you are there,’ he completed in perfect English.
So, then, here you are. For the asking on Cinco de Mayo. I hope you enjoy your visit and perhaps will offer your opinion here and at Amazon.
Adiós por ahora y buena suerte a todos.
David
April 15, 2012
to those of you who downloaded Red Cloud Pistachios. I hope you enjoy your visit.
I hope you will pass the word along to other travelers interested in character-driven fiction set in Arizona and Mexico.
Welcome to Red Cloud.
David
I hope you will pass the word along to other travelers interested in character-driven fiction set in Arizona and Mexico.
Welcome to Red Cloud.
David
April 13, 2012
noun
:something given without charge
Example
To celebrate the end of Friday the 13th, the author offered the novel, Red Cloud Pistachios, as a freebie: http://amzn.to/zz1rFE
Your lucky day starts 14th April at 12:00 a.m., and ends 14th April at 11:59 p.m. Pacific Standard Time.
Footnote: shares & reviews appreciated
:something given without charge
Example
To celebrate the end of Friday the 13th, the author offered the novel, Red Cloud Pistachios, as a freebie: http://amzn.to/zz1rFE
Your lucky day starts 14th April at 12:00 a.m., and ends 14th April at 11:59 p.m. Pacific Standard Time.
Footnote: shares & reviews appreciated
April 10, 2012
I awoke yesterday morning with the corner of my right eye looking as though I'd spent the night hard-drinking (in fact it was only half the night). Only the one eye. Scary red. So, being a bit concerned I called the doc and proceeded to spend the day at two different offices, having my eyes numbed, poked and glared into. Then, another hour waiting for a prescription to be filled and the day is shot.
So far 2012 has been one long stream of such distractions—those worrisome, intrusive, time consuming, and bloody expensive distractions that tend to keep you from doing more productive things like writing.
I am stymied. (A number of sources cite the word as from the old Scots stimie, to obscure, first use in the sport of golf from 1902, to obstruct the opponents ball, and possibly from the Icelandic skima.)
This, I think, is an external form of that phrase that must never be mention (unless properly struck through, e.g.,writer's block, and safely contained within parenthesis so). And I'm not certain how to deal with the externals because they are beyond the purview of my control and they possess carryover, that is, residual effects like a sunburn. Or surgery.
I am growing more of the opinion that I must simply chuck it all, give in to the distractions, the resistance-is-futile approach to the problem and...
retreat to the golf course where at least a stymie generally involves green growing things and sunshine.
So far 2012 has been one long stream of such distractions—those worrisome, intrusive, time consuming, and bloody expensive distractions that tend to keep you from doing more productive things like writing.
I am stymied. (A number of sources cite the word as from the old Scots stimie, to obscure, first use in the sport of golf from 1902, to obstruct the opponents ball, and possibly from the Icelandic skima.)
This, I think, is an external form of that phrase that must never be mention (unless properly struck through, e.g.,
I am growing more of the opinion that I must simply chuck it all, give in to the distractions, the resistance-is-futile approach to the problem and...
retreat to the golf course where at least a stymie generally involves green growing things and sunshine.
March 3, 2012
I do not like the Tweets that spam/I do not like them Sam I am. (with apologies to Geisel, aka Dr. Seuss)
Here's my take: If you are tweeting every five to ten minutes, you are spamming your followers. If you are tweeting more than that, seek counseling.
Please be prudent. After a bit it's like crying wolf and no one pays any attention. And I hate to un-follow people.
Here's my take: If you are tweeting every five to ten minutes, you are spamming your followers. If you are tweeting more than that, seek counseling.
Please be prudent. After a bit it's like crying wolf and no one pays any attention. And I hate to un-follow people.
February 29, 2012
Greetings readers, visitors, transients, and those who happen to find their way here by sheer serendipity. In honor of the every-fourth-year-event of Leap Year I'm releasing Red Cloud Pistachios to kindle owners gratis starting today through friday. Find it here: http://www.amazon.com/Red-Cloud-Pista...
An award-winning novel set on a pistachio farm, Red Cloud Pistachios evokes a strong sense of place and character, and centers on the themes of abandonment, trust, reconciliation—
I hope you will take advantage of the promotion and, perhaps if you are so moved, leave a review at my Amazon page.
Happy Leap Day!
Oh, by the way, if you'd like to read the complete Readers Favorite award review, it's here: http://readersfavorite.com/review/4219
An award-winning novel set on a pistachio farm, Red Cloud Pistachios evokes a strong sense of place and character, and centers on the themes of abandonment, trust, reconciliation—
I hope you will take advantage of the promotion and, perhaps if you are so moved, leave a review at my Amazon page.
Happy Leap Day!
Oh, by the way, if you'd like to read the complete Readers Favorite award review, it's here: http://readersfavorite.com/review/4219
February 19, 2012
6:45 a.m. Sunday. Have finished reading the paper and am contemplating the walk with the dogs among other things.
For example, I am very close to completing These Barren Hills, (within 10k or so words) but have run into differences with one of the characters. It's maddening. It keeps me awake.
Also, Tucson Festival of Books starts on March 10. It has become one of the country's premier book festivals in just three year's time. I expect part of that is our location...pretty nice here in late winter. They're planning for more than 100,000 people and 400 authors! If you plan to come, drop me an email. Maybe we could do coffee and talk writing. Check out details here: http://www.tucsonfestivalofbooks.org
And a happy hello to SarahB, looking forward to sharing books, reviews and ideas. BTW, if you and your husband are up in Manchester, the city is getting a GREAT new pub in BrewDog @35 Peter St. They're an Edinburgh outfit. Really good beer.
Well, that's me done for now. Off to test the day.
For example, I am very close to completing These Barren Hills, (within 10k or so words) but have run into differences with one of the characters. It's maddening. It keeps me awake.
Also, Tucson Festival of Books starts on March 10. It has become one of the country's premier book festivals in just three year's time. I expect part of that is our location...pretty nice here in late winter. They're planning for more than 100,000 people and 400 authors! If you plan to come, drop me an email. Maybe we could do coffee and talk writing. Check out details here: http://www.tucsonfestivalofbooks.org
And a happy hello to SarahB, looking forward to sharing books, reviews and ideas. BTW, if you and your husband are up in Manchester, the city is getting a GREAT new pub in BrewDog @35 Peter St. They're an Edinburgh outfit. Really good beer.
Well, that's me done for now. Off to test the day.
February 3, 2012
Pecking at this idea
reduces it
(but does it invalidate it I wonder?)
to its basic sentences
words
letters and punctuation...
thought.
Actually, the focus on striking
the appropriate keys
(if they can be called that) fairly
eliminates any close examination of the idea at all.
More coffee.
reduces it
(but does it invalidate it I wonder?)
to its basic sentences
words
letters and punctuation...
thought.
Actually, the focus on striking
the appropriate keys
(if they can be called that) fairly
eliminates any close examination of the idea at all.
More coffee.
