Vincent Zandri's Blog - Posts Tagged "on-writing"

When I first got into this business, it was not uncommon to find writers who still used typewriters on a daily basis. Now, I'm talking 20 years ago. But it's a fact that back then, Jim Crumley, Robert Parker, Norman Mailer, Hunter Thompson, (hell, even Hemingway had he lived into his 80s) were using typewriters, even if they were powered electrically like the famous IBM Selectric.

'Course, all the writers I just mentioned are dead now, and so too it seems, is the typewriter.

I loved that famous picture of Papa seated at a desk in Ketchum, Idaho, looking healthy and burly, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, while he pounded out the manuscript that would become For Whom the Bell Tolls. To me the sound of that machine-gun clatter that only a typewriter can make is music to the soul. Especially the clatter from a manual typewriter. Back then I envisioned myself doing the same thing, typing out my stories and novels in single-extended-index-finger style on an old black Remington portable, not unlike the one Papa is using in the famous photo....

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There's a great scene in a movie called HEMINGWAY (yah, with cap letters) that came out about 20 years ago in which actor Stacey Keach plays a rough, tough, marauding Ernest Hemingway who says what he means, means what he says and is wiling to prove it with his bare-knuckle fists.

The movie also portrays Papa Hemingway sitting at a pool-side table in the backyard of his Key West home, in front of his typewriter, a bottle of whiskey handy by his side. He's got the blood stained T-shirt on from his fishing adventures on the Gulf Stream, and he's pounding away at the keys of the old Remington with muscular arms and a tight but well fed belly. All around him people are swimming and drinking and having fun. His girlfriend is also present while his wife occupies the house.

Nothing could be further from the truth...

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Godchild

Today begins a new adventure in northern Europe. Even though I spend a month or more in Florence every year, I haven't explored the northern mountain territory in quite some time, other than to
experience that agonizing up-and-down-bump-all-around flight from Frankfurt or Moscow over the Swiss Alps and down into Florence, a few times. Anyone who's not crazy about flying, trust me, take a train.

This time I land in Munich and train it to Innsbruck, Venice, Florence (to see friends and, well, party a little..), Rome, and some points south...

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Godchild

I might not be the most religious or spiritual guy on the planet, and chances are, on any given Sunday you won't find me occupying a church pew. Fact is you're more likely to find me tipping a cold one in some dark juke joint with friends after my writing day is over. But every now and then I meet someone who has an almost spiritual affect on me. A spiritual affect so profound that it can alter the course of my life. Noted noir author and critic, Heath Lowrance, is one of those special people. It also turns out, he's one of those buds I'd be tipping one with in the dark bar, if only we lived in within close proximity of one another. What did Hemingway once say? "I'm going to be read by the low brows and praised by the high brows!" Heath is one of the rare individuals who can go mano e mano with the highbrows and fit in comfortably with the lows. So am I, I should hope...

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I was the guest speaker at my old high school yesterday afternoon as a part of their quote, "Distinguished Alumni," unquote program. It's a little hard to swallow being referred to as a distinguished anything in Vin World, considering I put my socks on one at a time just like everyone else, the only difference being my socks probably have holes in them and maybe I've been wearing them for a couple of days now. I'm a bachelor. You gotta let me slide on certain things, like clean clothes for instance.

Ok, back to school.

A little background. My old school, The Albany Academy, was once a private, all boys, military academy. It's also old. Really old, having been established in 1813. When I attended the place from 1978-1982, the military component was still in full swing. We wore uniforms that matched West Point's, and drilled on a daily basis. The halls of our bottom floor were lined not with posters of peace, love, and understanding, but Springfield 03-A3 rifles. We had a shooting range upstairs, a Major, a Colonel, and strict haircut regulations. Anyone who received a certain amount of demerits at inspection was expected to march around the front "flag-pole"circle, even if it was raining.

It was all good fun...Wink...
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THE TOP TEN AMAZON KINDLE BESTSELLER
The Innocent

This might qualify as one of the more unusual guest blogs you're ever going to read at the Vox or anywhere else for that matter. But it was the brainchild of Boise-based author, Bri Clark, who herself is one of those rare creatures who not only possess both brains and beauty, but her talent and sharp wit can reduce a more humble soul like myself to a wet pile of rags and bones. Her subject today is the first impression she brought away from our initial meeting in Boise last Fall for the first annual Boise Book Expo. Like Bri will point out in her piece, I had just signed with StoneHouse Ink and StoneGate Ink, and my books were selling OK, but nothing like they would a few months later when THE INNOCENT would land on the Top Ten Amazon Kindle E-Book Bestseller List, with GODCHILD and THE REMAINS following close on its tail. But I recall seeing this tall, strawberry blond drink-of-water who inquisitively inquired about the recent trade paper release of THE REMAINS. I believe I asked her to check me... I mean, it out, while at the same time trying to catch a glimpse of her "ring finger" which was sadly occupied with a wedding band. Hey, you can't blame a bachelor writer guy from New York for trying. But we did hit it off in every bit of that east happily meets west way,and have maintained a close friendship and mini-support group ever since. We're both writers, parents, dreamers, wise-asses, and restless individuals and I guess in a way that makes us soul mates. The Blond Bombshell of Boise, and the Bulldog Bachelor from New York. With that, I give you Bri Clark! ...
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The Innocent

About a year ago I decided that I would be content with publishing the occasional novel, maybe selling a few copies here and there, gathering some good reviews, and that would be that. I'd continue with my freelance journalism, travel, maybe down the road teach at a creative writing program. But the thought of once more making a living as a fiction writer no longer seemed like reality.

Then my agent at the time, Janet Benrey, told me that she was working on a deal for me with Aaron Patterson of StoneHouse Ink. StoneHouse was an E-Book-first publisher who also published in trade paper, but only after the E-Books made a splash. I remember being not only skeptical about the whole thing, I also remember being sort of, well, pissed off. E-Books??? You kidding? Are E-Books even real?

In the end however, I agreed to give it a shot. My career was going nowhere anyway, so what could it hurt?...
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Godchild

You guys have all heard of James Frey no doubt. You remember, the dude who wrote a supposed alcoholic-turned-redeemed-recovering alcoholic memoir A Million Little Pieces which one the Oprah Award and was later debunked as a "Million Little Lies" when it came to light that he made most of the story up?

Ok, bear with me here.

I'm not about to comment a whole lot on what happened five years ago and what Big NYC was thinking when they marketed "Pieces" as nonfiction when I as a writer knew from the get-go that it was fiction. In fact, I liked the book a lot and I continue to like Frey's writing a lot. I think he's got chops and was seriously mistreated by his publisher and made to act as a fall guy for a big corporate conglomerate. None of this however prevented Oprah from stripping him of his award and spanking him over her meaty thighs in front of millions of people (she has since apologized for this and has invited Frey back on her show).

While jealous novelists who couldn't begin sell their way through a wet paper sacks were ganging up on James Frey and kicking him while he was down, shouting, "You're fried in this town, Frey!!!" I sort of had the feeling the dude would have staying power...
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The Innocent

Dear Mom,
For the one-thousandth time, NO, I'M NOT GOING TO GET A 'REAL JOB!' I don't need to. I just sold over 100,000 E-Books in 60 days. Yah, that's right mom. That's not a typo. No I'm not drunk again, and no I'm not smoking crack or puffing on whacky weed. I don't do drugs.

But I sold 100,000 books and I did it with the help of my new publisher StoneHouse/StoneGate Ink. Ok, I know, I've had publishers before. Big publishers who gave me a quarter-million bucks in advance for a couple of books that barely made it off the runway before crashing and burning. I know the embarrassment it caused you at the beauty parlor while all those chatty women kept asking you, "Whatever happened to your son? Does he still write?" Well, now you can tell them I hit the 100,000 book club, and when they look at you with disbelieving eyes from under the bulbous transparent hair-dryers and ask you how on earth I did it, you can tell them this:

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Then there was a young man who no longer wanted to pursue a traditional education. That young man would be my son, Harrison, whom we refer to as "Bear" because he looks like one in every bit of that cuddly, dark, and furry curl-up-to-him kind of way. Recently the Bear came to me to ask if he could stop attending his high school (where he was an A student) in order to pursue a writing career. Naturally I was both thrilled and frightened by this notion. While on one hand I was happy that he wanted to engage in a career that has become my own life-passion, I was also concerned that he too would have to experience many of the pitfalls, calamities, frustrations, depressions, losses too many to count, and all those hardships that can go with the writing life, not to mention being scary broke at times.

But having expressed my feelings to him (and some of these so called "expressions" occurred in the form of heated discussions to say the least), I acquiesced to his desires. And I did so for one reason and one reason only. I wanted him to be happy.

Fast forward to the present...

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The Innocent