Matt Snee's Blog, page 96

Why I Read Flaubert (And Why You Should To)

In a lot of ways I'm like Gustav Flaubert, and in a lot of ways I'm not. I'm certainly not saying I've achieved the mastery over my craft the way he did, but there are similarities (and differences) between us despite that fact. As far as what we have in common, I employ an ascetic lifestyle similar to his - living day to day with my parents, as he lived with his mother, spending most hours of the day working on my writing. But while would labor for "the perfect word", I personally couldn't care less about perfection, and instead am more interested in "accurate moments" - style has never really interested me as much as character and story have, and while some people say these are all inseparable, I'm not so sure about that. 

As far as style, I've always considered that the least important aspect of writing, especially in the long term, as works are translated and re-communicated in different mediums. I think of a story like Gilgamesh now, as ancient as any example, and how it has been passed down from stone tablet, to Greek, to Latin, to French, to English, and so on. The nuances of the original writer's language may no longer be there - but the story IS.  

I'm not saying style is not important, and not enjoyable, and not beautiful. I'm just saying I don't give a shit about it. 

Still, I am obsessed with how Flaubert writes. Even translated, his prose is SO efficient and perfect. It's like they say of how Kubrick filmed his scenes the best way they could be filmed - Flaubert writes his scenes as perfectly as they could ever possibly be written.  As far as my scenes - I guess they could be written better, but as long as I feel I have communicated what I wanted to communicate, even if only vaguely - I'm happy. 

The other thing about Flaubert is his notable cynicism and dour outlook on mankind. His work is very pessimistic, and I think there's not much to argue against that. HOWEVER, when I read and think about Madame Bovary, I can't help but think that despite his posturing and disguises, Flaubert has compassion for her. I have compassion for her as well, and so do many readers.  

Why?

Finally, I think we are all indebted to Flaubert, even if we don't read him ourselves, with his contribution, and pretty much, his invention of modernism. One might not read Flaubert, but doubtlessly, we all read writers who have.  

 

Fragility

Life is short. Life is fragile. Life is both wonderful and cruel. As I sit here with my mother in the next room in a drugged-out haze, post-surgery for her broken wrist, I contemplate just how delicate everything really is. I remember also when I was young and foolish and didn't think about the importance of family and your loved ones. I consider myself lucky now that I appreciate the little things in life that make the day to day worth it - the routines, the familiarities, but also the adventures and newness a day can bring. Maybe I'm wiser now than I was when I was younger, I don't know. But I do know that it's really easy to become mired in bullshit while the important things in life become neglected.  

I'm not exactly an exciting person. I live with my family and take care of them while they take care of me. I spend most of my time working on my books, and don't exactly live life to the fullest. But I do try to savor what life I do lead, especially when it's with the ones I care about. 

I've lost a lot of people along the way - friends, family, lovers - death doesn't give a shit. I think it takes those losses to appreciate that life isn't static, and one by one, we lose everything in our journey through life. 

My mom is going to be ok. In six week or so, she'll be back to normal. But right now, it's hard to watch her suffer so much pain and be so miserable because she can't use her right hand/arm. 

In a week weeks, my dad is also having knee surgery, so I'm gonna be nurse Matt around here, taking care of both of them. I'm glad I can do that. I'm glad that I have people I love. 

And people who love me.  

Drafts

I think one of the things that discourages young writers is how ugly rough drafts can be. Some people can't get past rewriting the first chapter until its perfect - and that's the way I used to be. Rough drafts are rough, and they can be disappointing. But you gotta keep chipping at it. Some of my drafts are so ugly, they make Predator look like a prom queen. That's just the nature of the beast. Keep rewriting!!!

Currently, I'm on the 1 millionth draft of my novel "The Kalachthon" which is my post-"Slept" project. I've been working on this book for about eight or nine years, starting it after I was hospitalized. It's  been a therapeutic thing, but also notoriously difficult to write because its in 1st person, and not my usual voice, but the voice of a woman named Samantha, who is kind of erratic is wild. 

I've recently been writing it again.  I have about 300 pages of text, but it's a insane mess, and I'm trying to put it together with the help of my editor, Clare.  I'm working on it!

I just think writing is a process rather than a zap of inspiration.  You gotta manhandle that crap.  

Meet Author James Quinn!!

Who’s your favorite author?

John Le Carre.  I’ve had his books since I was a teenager.  I’ve always loved the way he has given a human face to the intelligence world.  I recently read his memoirs on a flight from London to the USA.  I don’t remember much about the plane journey I was so engrossed in his stories about how and why he had written his books.

 

Which book or books have most informed you as a writer?

I think I take a piece of everything I read and I let it sink in.  It’s a learning curve.  From a practical point of view the one book that has given me the best advice about being a writer was Stephen King’s “On Writing.”  It’s a fantastic little book full of the writers experience and thoughts on the book business.  It was my bible for a long time.

 

When did you realize you wanted to write?

Oh…easy.  When I was at school and I won a book certificate for a super hero short story I wrote.  It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.  I count myself lucky that I was fortunate enough to be able to do it in my adult years.

 

What was your last completed project?

My last project was my second Gorilla Grant novel – "Sentinel Five".  It’s a spy thriller set in Asia that features our anti-hero working undercover to stop a worldwide terrorist threat.  Of course this is Gorilla Grant, so there are usually a few dead bodies littered along the way.

 

What are you working on now?

I was working on book 3 in the Gorilla Grant series – Rogue Wolves.  But due to work and life commitments I am deferring that until the summer.  However….not wanting to leave the writing alone completely, I am working on a novella that should run to about 70-80 pages.  The publisher seems very enthusiastic about it.  It is entitled "Gorilla Warfare" and is set in the late 1970’s over one specific night…….

 

What is your writing “process” typically like?

Oh mines a nightmare.  It’s haphazard.  It will come out like machine gun fire for a while…constantly writing every day, then all of a sudden it will stop for a week or two and then the process will repeat itself.  It’s not perfect but it has worked so far.

How do you combat writer’s block?

I just leave the writing alone and go and do other things.  I never try to force ideas.  It either flows naturally or it doesn’t flow at all.  If the latter happens I will go for a walk, throw myself at work, train, go and shoot….anything to take my mind away from it until my brain is naturally ready with ideas.

 

Where do your ideas come from?

They are normally influenced by the news or things that I have seen in a movie.  Even a piece of music can inspire you to create a character or a story.  That’s what makes writing so great; it’s the eclectic mix of the world around you that can provide you with ideas.

 

What’s your greatest challenge as a writer?

Putting in the hours and getting the details right.  Fortunately there is a great team at Creativia to help me with that.

 

And what has been your greatest triumph (so far)?

Oh I think having your first book published is definitely up there for most people.  Although when I got my first 5 star reviews for A Game for Assassins from someone I didn’t even know was pretty special too.

 

 

 

Meet Author J.M. Northup!

Who’s your favorite author?

My favorite authors are Kathleen O’Neal Gear and W. Michael Gear

Which book or books have most informed you as a writer?

I don’t think there’s a book that has really informed me as a writer, per se.  I’ve learned the most from the veteran authors I have befriended and my publisher, Creativia (a.k.a. Miika Hannila). 

When did you realize you wanted to write?

I started writing at a very young age.  However, I set it aside to raise my family.  Once my children were grown, my husband encouraged me to pick up my writing again… and thankfully I listened.  It has brought a forgotten passion back into my life!

What was your last completed project?

I joined my first anthology with some friends.  We did a holiday-themed collection of short romances called, FLAWED PERFECTION: A Collection of Winter Wishes.  It includes works by Simone Beaudelaire, Marnie Cate, Jude Ouvrard, Taylor Dawn, Savannah Morgan, and me, J.M. Northup

What are you working on now?

I am working on book one in my new young adult book series.  It is entitled, SIREN COVE. 

What is your writing “process” typically like?

Honestly, it is hard for me to shut my brain down.  That being said, I get an idea and run with it… and usually have about ten works running at a time.  However, the project I primarily focus on will depend on whichever character won’t stop talking to me.  It sounds odd, but all writers will understand when I say, it really is the characters that drive the story. 

How do you combat writer’s block?

I move my cat!  LOL
Seriously, I don’t really get writer’s block, but when I do feel drained or lack motivation, I delve into a good book or movie.  The creative juices get stirred by the excitement I feel.  I hope that doesn’t sound too weird?  What I mean to say is the best muse is beautiful art that inspires me.

Where do your ideas come from?

Mainly, my ideas are from my dreams, but some are born simply from my curiosity in a subject.  I like to research so it isn’t hard to find something to zero in on and expand upon.

What’s your greatest challenge as a writer?

Social media!  LOL
Meeting amazing readers and writers is the best part of publishing, but I hate promoting.  I do it, as it is essential, but I really don’t prefer to be on social media if I don’t have to.  I would rather read a book, write, crochet, or enjoy time with my family.  My cat, Emma is pretty fun to chill with, too.  She watches TV with me.  

And what has been your greatest triumph (so far)?

My greatest triumph was the biggest compliment of my career – the daughter of another writer messaged me and said my novel, FELINE FASCINATIONS: The Adventures of Boris and Olga was her favorite book.  She said my book taught her how to interact with and understand her cat, and now, her kitty not only sleeps with her, but doesn’t bite her as much anymore!  LOL

 

 

Thank you, J.M.!!!!

Holy Moses! Spanish translation!

Desafiando la caída del cielo (Spanish Edition)

By Matt Snee

Advanced Reading Copy of My New Book, "The Year I Slept"!!

Hi all!!  I'm wondering if any of you would be interested in reading the ARC (Advanced Reading Copy) of my new, 150 page, autobiographical novel, "The Year I Slept".  I'm looking for readers... and hopefully reviews.  The book will come out later this winter.  

Let me know, and thanks in advance!

Rough Draft from New Book

from my new book, "Evil Land"

PART ONE:

1.

In an empty dirt field of Southern California,

left vacant in drought,

the odor of the earth impatient yet gleeful,

in summer,

a young man lies on his back

and stares at the sky.

The long purple dusk

is like a frightful but still wing,

of some immense, sated bird. 

His name is Manuel Bienez,

he is fourteen,

too old to be a child,

too young to be anything else.

In a landscape of sauntering thought –

Manuel too is satisfied for the moment,

freshy fed,

arteries full of food and oxygen,

and he lies without a care

with his hands beneath his head

not giving a damn about the insects

in the dust.

 

This is home,

his atmosphere,

California.

Manuel is the child of an immigrant,

but he is an American,

born and bred upon the land of the free.

 

He sighs,

content,

but knows he must now return

to the trailer he shares as a home with his mother

on this same property,

owned by white men,

but leased to his mom.

 

She is not an American,

she is without any country at this point,

though she has a driver’s license

and pays her taxes.

Manuel knows that

while most people owe their situation to luck,

he owes everything to his mother,

who clawed her way into the U.S. fourteen years ago,

all to have Manuel born on American soil

so he would be an American citizen. 

 

Manuel gets to his feet

as he senses the last bit of purple light

seep out of the sky,

and night sinks down upon him,

the scars of his limits never so

tangible as at this moment of the day.

 

Always so fleeting!

 

He takes one last look at the fading color and thinks:

If the future is inside of us

why doesn’t it come out?

 

 

2.

“Did you do your homework?’

his mother, Anna, asks when he returns.

“Of course, mom,”

he mutters.

“Did you brush your teeth?”

“Yep.”

“Are you ready for bed?”

“Yeah…”

“Ok, just let me finish cleaning up.”

 

Manuel grabs the air mattress from the closet,

and smacks it onto the floor.

He plugs it in, and it rapidly fills with air

while issuing a harsh, machine noise. 

 

Stupid air mattress, he thinks.  

 

His mother finishes wiping the counter,

washes her hands,

and then turns out the lights,

telling him good night,

and disappearing to the back of the trailer,

where she draws the curtain shut.

 

Manuel settles onto the air mattress,

and it gasps in rubbery noise.

 

It wasn’t so bad, really.

 

He turns to his side and moves his arm beneath his pillow

to support his head.

Manuel closes his eyes,

a heap of black color falls upon him,

and movies start to play in his head:

of the happenings from the day,

and of other days,

and wishful figments,

and stories he’s made up

about alter egos he likes to disappear into

when he dreams.

 

He supposes to himself that it wasn’t man

who invented movies,

but God,

and by making movies themselves,

people were getting close to doing

what the divine could do.

Still, nothing compared to his imagination,

despite the big budget films he gets hyped about

and pays to see. 

 

In his mind, he imagines amazing spacecraft,

that fit into your hand,

heroes so smart they never have any regrets,

and heroines both beguiling and kind.

 

He can feel the weight of sleep slushing into him,

and he is glad,

tomorrow is a new day,

and perhaps the future

will finally come out. 

 

 

 

3.

At school the next day,

he stares out the window

as Mr. Gaspool explains chemistry to him.

Manuel doesn’t care for science or math,

preferring literature and history,

and this one of his most dreaded classes,

because he understands almost nothing about it.

 

School is a maze of shit,

he professes to himself. 

 

Later, he sits in his favorite class,

Mr. Rodriguez’s history course,

where the old Latino complains about the President

and all sorts of other things,

every day,

all while flaying his students

with the cruelties and injustices

of American history, and world history in general.

 

Manuel gets the impression

that Mr. Rodriguez would complain

no matter who was in charge,

and for this reason,

Manuel likes him a lot.

 

Mr. Rodriguez has black hair

he wears in a combover,

sticky upon his skull,

and he always comes in half-shaven,

as though he gets distracted or fed-up

in the middle of the process. 

 

He often talks about his son,

a military veteran,

but never about his wife,

who apparently died years ago.

 

The bell rings and class is over,

and Mr. Rodriguez announces what pages to read that night,

adding,

as he always does in some way,

“The Republic is nice while it lasts, children!”

 

 

 

4.

The other thing Manuel loves is music,

and once it’s lunchtime,

he sticks an earbud in one ear,

and hits play on his ancient iPod. 

He prefers classic rock like Led Zeppelin, Cream, Black Sabbath,

and other hard rock bands. 

 

He generally sits with his three or four friends,

Latino like himself,

who crack jokes about teachers

and join him in coveting

the pretty girls of the school,

whom they talk about in hushed expletives.

 

In the afternoons, Manual has his English class,

where they don’t teach the language so much at this point,

but rather literature.

His teacher, Miss Stanwyck,

is quite pretty herself for a teacher,

unmarried,

wise,

and often complains

school is about teaching kids what to think –

not how to think,

and how to make judgments for themselves.

“This is what literature is for,” she announces,

day in and day out.

 

They study John Steinbeck

Dreiser,

and Fitzgerald.

“America can be known

through its literature,

in a way casual examination

cannot bring,”

Miss Stanwyck explains.

 

 

5.

After school,

Manuel rides the school bus home,

and is dropped off about a half-mile from his trailer,

where he walks the rest of the way,

through the eager sun,

and golden, desiccated fields. 

 

Today is different,

more so than it is always different,

and he knows this when he sees the police car

and black SUV parked in front of his mom’s trailer.

 

Manuel knows they have come for her, at last. 

 

“No!”

he curses to himself

as he runs to the front door.

Just as he arrives,

they are pulling her out of the trailer,

with her hands cuffed in front of her,

still in her work clothes,

beaten. 

 

“Mom!” he cries. 

“Baby!” she replies.

 

“What are you doing?”

he asks the cops.

“Where are you taking her?”

 

They don’t reply.

Instead,

a heavy set blond white woman

hands him her card

and explains she is with Social Services.

“I’m afraid you have to come with me,”

she says.

“I’m not going anywhere!”

argues Manuel. 

 

“Don’t fight them, Manuel!”

pleads his mother,

who is being placed inside the SUV.

“Call your uncle! Tell him what has happened!”

 

“I love you mom!”

“I love you!”

 

The SUV drives off,

leaving only a cloud of dust.

 

“I’m Donna,” says the social worker again.

“I’m sorry about your mother, Manuel,

but it’s the law. Do you have any other guardians?”

 

“My – my uncle!” he says. “He is a citizen!”

“Okay, good,” says Donna.

“But right now, you must come with me…

until your uncle can claim you.”

 

Manuel remembers his mother’s words:

Don’t fight!

He sighs,

his shoulders sink,

and he says

“Okay.”

 

Two New Mini-Books

Hi All,

I published two mini-books last night in ebook/kindle format. "Astyanax!" and "Myth War - The Gift of Epimetheus,"  Astyanax is a sort of fantasy action adventure for all ages, where Myth War is a kinda totally insane psychedelic New York City story.  

Astyanax can be found here: 

http://a.co/hQ36hQY

 

While Myth War can be found here:

http://a.co/bng9vB6

 

 

 

Poetry!!

Finished a new poetry book.  "My Youth - Islands in Time" was submitted to my editor for a proofread yesterday once I was done with it. I'm really proud of it.  It's very raw, but intellectual as well.  Glad I'm done. I'm gonna submit it to poetry contests for six months before I self publish it, I'm really confident about it, and could also use the money and prestige.  

 

Hope all of you are doing great!