Roberto Scarlato's Blog, page 15
July 14, 2011
Danse Macabre
Okay, let's be honest. Stephen King is pretty prolific. He's not only written many books but also mind-boggingly lengthy. Some have been wordy. Some could have easily been shorter (namely Gerald's Game). But you have to hand it to good old king. He sure knows his stuff.If there's one thing I love from reading Stephen King, it's his introductions. Each one is a story within itself. Who can forget his story notes on Everything's Eventual, Skeleton Crew and Nightmares and Dreamscapes? Who can simply pass by The Importance of being Bachman (an intro into his life as a pseudonym and that eventual end.)?
I know I can't.
I know that the introduction isn't the biggest selling point of a story but it certainly is the tidiest way to move you along, find out the author's motivations for writing the story, a peek behind the curtain, if you will.
Well, I'm here to tell you that his non-fiction book, Danse Macbre, is like one big introduction to the horror genre from 1920 -1980. Of course, it's King, so you can expect some divergent thinking and many tangents, even footnotes that sort of bog down the point. The first half is about the movies and myths he experiences from his youth. He covers vampires, ghosts, werewolves, mad scientists and even that Hook story all the teeny boppers knew in the 1950's. Like the Red Sea that it is, it is a lot to wade through. But, if you hang steady and let the tide take you, you eventually get to the meat.
Once he goes through the ins and outs of proper horror, classy horror, the black and white horror that we've forgotten with all this Psycho-in-your-face-torture-porn, he gets to movies that did it right and, more importantly, books that did it right. Back in those days you dealt with cold, hard, true terror. Now everything is done for shock value. That doesn't seem right to me. Something Wicked This Way Comes, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Incredible Shrinking Man just to name a few. He also pays tribute to the writers, sharing some insight on interviews behind the stories they wrote.
The last chapter is, I think, by far the best, where he rotates real news stories on crimes inspired or inadvertently comitted by horror films and books. There's this crazy article about Baltimore in 1980 where a women gets attacked by someone while she's reading a book while waiting for the bus. I won't spoil what happens next. You'll have to read it to believe it.
By the end of it all, you've gathered that half was criticism and half was the really delicious meat we were hunting for. The last two sections give an Appendix A and Appendix B. Appendix A is a list of all the classic, well-done, well-directed horror movies with a few stinkers just to get you started. The other index a list of every horror book referenced and they are classics. I suggest you read them. I've already added them to my reading list.
If you can take one thing away from reading this book, you could say that, although lengthy at times, King was able to go through every nook and cranny to show us the classier horror of the day. No rock went un-turned.
Truly, a good read from King.
Danse Macbre
Okay, let's be honest. Stephen King is pretty prolific. He's not only written many books but also mind-boggingly lengthy. Some have been wordy. Some could have easily been shorter (namely Gerald's Game). But you have to hand it to good old king. He sure knows his stuff.If there's one thing I love from reading Stephen King, it's his introductions. Each one is a story within itself. Who can forget his story notes on Everything's Eventual, Skeleton Crew and Nightmares and Dreamscapes? Who can simply pass by The Importance of being Bachman (an intro into his life as a pseudonym and that eventual end.)?
I know I can't.
I know that the introduction isn't the biggest selling point of a story but it certainly is the tidiest way to move you along, find out the author's motivations for writing the story, a peek behind the curtain, if you will.
Well, I'm here to tell you that his non-fiction book, Danse Macbre, is like one big introduction to the horror genre from 1920 -1980. Of course, it's King, so you can expect some divergent thinking and many tangents, even footnotes that sort of bog down the point. The first half is about the movies and myths he experiences from his youth. He covers vampires, ghosts, werewolves, mad scientists and even that Hook story all the teeny boppers knew in the 1950's. Like the Red Sea that it is, it is a lot to wade through. But, if you hang steady and let the tide take you, you eventually get to the meat.
Once he goes through the ins and outs of proper horror, classy horror, the black and white horror that we've forgotten with all this Psycho-in-your-face-torture-porn, he gets to movies that did it right and, more importantly, books that did it right. Back in those days you dealt with cold, hard, true terror. Now everything is done for shock value. That doesn't seem right to me. Something Wicked This Way Comes, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Incredible Shrinking Man just to name a few. He also pays tribute to the writers, sharing some insight on interviews behind the stories they wrote.
The last chapter is, I think, by far the best, where he rotates real news stories on crimes inspired or inadvertently comitted by horror films and books. There's this crazy article about Baltimore in 1980 where a women gets attacked by someone while she's reading a book while waiting for the bus. I won't spoil what happens next. You'll have to read it to believe it.
By the end of it all, you've gathered that half was criticism and half was the really delicious meat we were hunting for. The last two sections give an Appendix A and Appendix B. Appendix A is a list of all the classic, well-done, well-directed horror movies with a few stinkers just to get you started. The other index a list of every horror book referenced and they are classics. I suggest you read them. I've already added them to my reading list.
If you can take one thing away from reading this book, you could say that, although lengthy at times, King was able to go through every nook and cranny to show us the classier horror of the day. No rock went un-turned.
Truly, a good read from King.
July 1, 2011
Lost: Let Me Explain
I figured I owed the good readers of this blog more of an explanation to the events that eventually led to me hating the show Lost.
So here it is.
My wife and I like to get into shows late in the game. Some shows we break this rule and watch on a week to week basis because they're just that good. (i.e. Numbers, The Mentalist.) But other times we take the plunge and search for shows that have already finished or are at least three or four seasons in. We've come to watching them on instant on Netflix. It's a nifty little way for us to gorge on a chunk of episodes.
With Lost, which debuted in 2004, we found it around 2009 or so. We tore through the first season like nobody's business. Eventually we found ourselves slowing down in the fifth season and came back to it several months later. We finally came back to the show and finished season five and had a marathon of season six, which only got more confusing with each passing episode. On the last day, there were only three episodes left. We decided to save them for one day. A day I labeled "Happy Answer Day" because, well, y'know, I actually THOUGHT THEY WOULD BE GIVING CONCRETE ANSWERS!
However, as the events unfolded, we found that the episode descriptions were not matching up with the episode in question. Like an Episode with the description, "Locke finally reveals his real motives." What we we treated to instead was an episode composed entirely of a flashback from Lord knows when. Locke appeared five seconds before the episode ended and didn't say much of anything important.
But the real kicker was when we downed the last two hour and a half episodes that completed season six. When the last credit rolled, we were left sitting there with, as usual, 45 questions left hanging in the air. My patience was fading and we both squinted at each other. My wife and I expected more. Wanted more. Deserved more of an explanation.
In the end we realized that, the hours wasted watching the show equaled a total of five days we would never get back. All that time we could've been out with friends. We could've been living it up. I could've been writing.
Look, I know that J.J. Abrams wasn't originally to blame, because he focused on Season 1 & 2 and left the rest of the show to dimwits, but he abandoned a project that left way too many holes. With each episode I felt as if I were kicked in the face.
So, okay, J.J. Abrams wowed me with the Star Trek movie but, as my wife and I have discussed, that wasn't his baby. He was working with someone else's brain child. He did a good job but most of his movies just left me disappointed.
Cloverfield? Too much noise and not enough explanation.
Mission Impossible 3? It was alright but not groundbreaking.
Fringe? I stopped watching after ten episodes.
Now everyone is telling me to go watch Super 8. Well, whatever excitement I had toward that movie has disappeared. Enough so that I may just wait until it is on dvd.
So, there you have it. A Lost rant if there ever was one.
So disappointing. I guess the only thing I've taken away from the show is that it was a lesson on how not to F^*% with your audience when you are writing. The acting was good, the story was compelling, but everything fell short. I mean everything.
If you're like me, I know you've probably watched the Epilogue show somewhere online (which answered two meaningless questions) and you've probably come across the Lostpedia site which tries to satiate your frothing curiosity but, in the end, it wasn't worth the time. I guess I'll just have to settle for self-contained shows in the long-run.
That's about it.
June 14, 2011
LOST
Let be clear, for the record, about my brief take on the show Lost.
To my potential future readers, I make this promise: I will never do, what the creators of Lost did, when they wrote the season 6 finale episode.
That was the biggest cop out ever.
Wow.
Lost.
Not much else I can say about it other than that.
May 27, 2011
The Return of The Pizza Man
I touched on this briefly back in March but I just wanted to give all my readers a heads-up. I've mentioned a couple times that my father is a brilliant pizza-maker. He puts his heart into every slice, letting no detail falter when creating the perfect pizza-pie. Recently he set up shop in Melrose Park, where I was originally living before I got married. The restaurant has been open about two weeks so far and I've already started getting ideas for commercials and other promotional videos.
If you live in the Chicago area, I highly recommend you grab a slice at
6 north 19th aveMelrose Park.
Until then, please enjoy these videos which I made with my new Flip Mino. Also, share these videos with your friends. We're trying to spread the word.
Pizzeria Del Sole Commercial #1
Other Videos:
The Rebirth of Sherlock Holmes
So my friend got me and my wife into this new show called Sherlock Holmes. I know what you're thinking.
There have been a million incarnations of Sherlock. What's one more?
But this, my friends, is a very smart show hosted on the BBC. It appears on Masterpiece Mystery. Imagine, if you will, that Sherlock and Dr. Watson were modern men. What would they look like today? What would they act like? That's the basis for this show. They combine all the elements of what made the Sherlock stories great and update them, giving them a CSI quality. Also, they've saw fit to create websites that lend to the Sherlock universe such as The Blog of John Watson and The Science of Deduction.
You don't believe that a show could be that good? Well then check out the trailer below and judge for yourself.
April 17, 2011
Flamingos
Thanks for the offer to interview me.
What is your earliest memory of writing?
I remember making little books for my mother when I was really young. I would draw pictures and then write a story about them. I was always making up some kind of story back then.
How does it feel being published?
It feels amazing. I love the fact that people are out there losing themselves in a world that I've created.
When did you decide to be a writer?
I don't know if I ever really decided to be a writer, it just sort of happened. I was always writing. I always had a notebook and pen with me everywhere I went. Writing was not only something I felt I had to do, but something I loved doing. I figured I might as well try to make a career out of it.
Do you get writer's block? How do you combat it?
I do tend to get writer's block from time to time. I usually always have several projects going at one time. If I get stuck, I switch and start working on something else. Sometime's changing my scenery or even changing the pen I'm writing with can help, too. If that doesn't work and I still feel like I can't write, I tend to relax with a good book. The words start flowing again after time spent lost in another world.
Where do you write? Do you write longhand, typewriter or computer?
I write anywhere I can. Seriously, I always have my notebooks with me. I write everything in longhand, so it's easier to find a few moments here and there to work. I just pull out my notebook and go.
Tell us about your Latest Book.
I'm working on several novels right now. I'm really excited about my upcoming horror novel called Flamingos. It's about a guy who finds out the hard way that they boogey man is very real. I'm also working on the sequel to Weaver of Darkness. It's called Angel of Darkness.
What advice do you have for aspiring writers?
The best advice I can give is just to write and keep on writing. Too many people sit around and say they're going to write a book, yet they never do. You just need to write, no matter what, everyday.
My website: www.melissalwebb.com
my blog: www.melissalwebb.wordpress.com
twitter: www.twitter.com/melissalwebb
my fan page: http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Melissa-L-Webb/193813600663672
I'm an author who enjoys all things paranormal. I currently live between the ocean and the redwoods in Northern California, with my dog, Buffy.
The idea for Weaver Of Darkness has been with me since I was very young. Day after day, it haunted my mind until I realized I had to write it down and share it with the world or I would literally go insane from ignoring it. Once I put pen to paper, the story just weaved itself, as if I was only unearthing it for the first time in years. Weaver Of Darkness has always had a mind of its own.
Excerpt from Weaver of Darkness:
The cloaked figure emerged out of the trees and stared into the silver goblet in his hands. The liquid inside sparkled like quicksilver in the moon light. He'd seen all he needed to tonight. The time of transformation was at hand. Soon What Was and What Is would once again merge and usher in the time of conflict.
Murmuring over the cup, he poured the liquid upon the ground. The silver stream arched and weaved as it made its way back into the earth, back into the knowledge it was brought forth from. Everything was about to change. The knowledge showed that. This was the eve of the new world. Soon it would arise like the phoenix out of the flames, and what was started, would soon be finished. He pulled the hood from the cloak up and tucked the cup in the overlapping material flowing at his waist. Slipping back into the woods, he pondered his next move. The events were already set in motion. Soon it would be time. Now, She just had to remember.
What is your earliest memory of writing?
I remember making little books for my mother when I was really young. I would draw pictures and then write a story about them. I was always making up some kind of story back then.
How does it feel being published?
It feels amazing. I love the fact that people are out there losing themselves in a world that I've created.
When did you decide to be a writer?
I don't know if I ever really decided to be a writer, it just sort of happened. I was always writing. I always had a notebook and pen with me everywhere I went. Writing was not only something I felt I had to do, but something I loved doing. I figured I might as well try to make a career out of it.
Do you get writer's block? How do you combat it?
I do tend to get writer's block from time to time. I usually always have several projects going at one time. If I get stuck, I switch and start working on something else. Sometime's changing my scenery or even changing the pen I'm writing with can help, too. If that doesn't work and I still feel like I can't write, I tend to relax with a good book. The words start flowing again after time spent lost in another world.
Where do you write? Do you write longhand, typewriter or computer?
I write anywhere I can. Seriously, I always have my notebooks with me. I write everything in longhand, so it's easier to find a few moments here and there to work. I just pull out my notebook and go.
Tell us about your Latest Book.
I'm working on several novels right now. I'm really excited about my upcoming horror novel called Flamingos. It's about a guy who finds out the hard way that they boogey man is very real. I'm also working on the sequel to Weaver of Darkness. It's called Angel of Darkness.
What advice do you have for aspiring writers?
The best advice I can give is just to write and keep on writing. Too many people sit around and say they're going to write a book, yet they never do. You just need to write, no matter what, everyday.
My website: www.melissalwebb.com
my blog: www.melissalwebb.wordpress.com
twitter: www.twitter.com/melissalwebb
my fan page: http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Melissa-L-Webb/193813600663672
I'm an author who enjoys all things paranormal. I currently live between the ocean and the redwoods in Northern California, with my dog, Buffy.
The idea for Weaver Of Darkness has been with me since I was very young. Day after day, it haunted my mind until I realized I had to write it down and share it with the world or I would literally go insane from ignoring it. Once I put pen to paper, the story just weaved itself, as if I was only unearthing it for the first time in years. Weaver Of Darkness has always had a mind of its own.
Excerpt from Weaver of Darkness:
The cloaked figure emerged out of the trees and stared into the silver goblet in his hands. The liquid inside sparkled like quicksilver in the moon light. He'd seen all he needed to tonight. The time of transformation was at hand. Soon What Was and What Is would once again merge and usher in the time of conflict.
Murmuring over the cup, he poured the liquid upon the ground. The silver stream arched and weaved as it made its way back into the earth, back into the knowledge it was brought forth from. Everything was about to change. The knowledge showed that. This was the eve of the new world. Soon it would arise like the phoenix out of the flames, and what was started, would soon be finished. He pulled the hood from the cloak up and tucked the cup in the overlapping material flowing at his waist. Slipping back into the woods, he pondered his next move. The events were already set in motion. Soon it would be time. Now, She just had to remember.
April 16, 2011
Slade's Destiny
What is your earliest memory of writing? A 'novel' I wrote when I was about 10 that was like a cross between Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys – it was called Key Investigators and the Mystery of the Aztec Dagger – for a 10 year old, it wasn't bad.
How does it feel being published? Being published is a dream come true, I've always wanted to be a writer so now I'm, literally, living the dream.
When did you decide to be a writer? I can't remember ever NOT wanting to write. It's the only thing I've ever wanted to do.
Do you get writer's block? How do you combat it? Sometimes I get, not writer's block exactly but stuck in a scene or passage – I usually go back and check what I've written before and see if I've missed something and that usually shakes me out of it.
Where do you write? Do you write longhand, typewriter or computer? I have a great study, set up perfectly for a writer, I use a computer but I've also got tons of reference books both for my fiction work and non-fiction work.
Tell us about your Latest Book. Slade's Destiny is the final of The Witchcraft Wars series and I truly think it's the best thing I've ever written – fast paced, action paced, quite a few surprises and a few cliff hanger chapter endings.
What advice do you have for aspiring writers? Write and just keep writing, it may take a very long time before you've written something worth publishing but if you don't at least try then you'll never know if you could.
My Links:Website: http://traceyalley.weebly.com/Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Tracey-Alley-The-World-of-Kaynos/127959000550782Twitter: http://twitter.com/traceylalleyFor purchaseAmazon - http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=tracey+alley&x=0&y=0Smashwords - http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/15058
April 15, 2011
Some Rivers End on the Day of the Dead
My earliest memory of writing something besides my name and worksheets for phonics comes from second grade. I had a kind-hearted, older teacher named Mrs. MacDonald. She was so old she had taught my mother, my uncles, and my brother. She expected great things from me.
Once she noticed that I loved to write stories, she encouraged me to writer longer and longer stories. I wrote about the camping trips my family took, the pigeons we kept in a backyard coop, and our other pets. Mrs. MacDonald read every word. She helped me to understand how to develop different feelings and different kinds of narratives.
Being published is a dream come true. When the first proofed copy of my first book arrived, I kissed the cover and looked to the heavens. Though I should have also included Mrs. MacDonald, I said to the clouds, "Thank you, Mama." I wished I could have shared the book with her.
In third grade, my teacher read to us every day, books such as The Big Wave by Pearl Buck. I became passionate about reading and wondered if I could actually develop into a writer. I wrote letters constantly as a child. But it wasn't until I had finished my teaching career (34 years in a public high school) that I said to myself, "If not now, when?" I enrolled in UCLA's Writers' Program, and off I went.
I definitely get writer's block. I have the sequel to my first novel sitting in stasis right now because I have written myself into a corner with one of the main characters. Every day I work on a different direction for her. But even while that book simmers, I am writing flash fiction and revising a prior novel. For flash fiction, I find that music scrambles on my MP-3 player or coloring in a coloring book help me to find ideas that have been lying latent in my brain. I am also someone who walks a lot (I have two dogs), and when I walk, I think. One of my favorite things is to look for images in the clouds.
Although my creative writing teachers felt that a long-hand journal frees the soul to write, I write best at my computer in my den. I try to ignore the phone, the Internet, and other distractions for at least two hours of each morning.
I have three latest books. The first is a flash fiction anthology called "Flash Warden and Other Stories." I have included in the anthology my favorite flash fiction pieces, hint fiction (25 words or fewer) and six categories of six-word memoirs. I am hoping the book will be used by aspiring writers and also by teachers or subs who need to fill some time in classrooms with creative stories and follow-up prompts.
The second book is a rewrite of my first-written (but not published) novel, Stairs of Sand. I have worked on this book for five years. It definitely has benefited from the latest rewrite and should be out later this summer. The story follows two women, a mother and a daughter, each with borderline personality disorder, each with her heart closed against the other. It is a journey told in two voices of the way childhood's hurts can be overcome. The story carries some autobiographical elements such as the setting, but I guarantee that it is pure fiction and does not represent my family. I wrote it as an exploration of the ability to change and improve family ties at any age or time of life.
Finally, I am working on the sequel to Some Rivers End on the Day of the Dead. The next book is called So You, Solimar. It features some of the characters from Some Rivers End, but takes place sixteen years later. This means the setting is 2018. That's part of my problem with writer's block. Yes, the world will change by 2018, but in what ways? I don't want to write a dystopian novel. This book, like Some Rivers End, focuses on family and school and coming-of-age because I think kids need to see others struggle, sometimes in far more dire circumstances, as they grow into their own values.
Any aspiring writer needs to remember that many people say, "Oh, I should write a book," but few actually do it. If you want to write, then BIC—butt in chair. Sit down and write at the same time every day. Do not make allowances for yourself to skip your writing time or to place it last on your agenda. You will always be too tired and too busy to write if you don't put your writing into your daily routine. Secondly, be careful about your writing group. Pick people who are not your best friends. You want their honest criticism, kindly and openly offered. You should not be in a writing group that tells you everything you write is wonderful. At the same time, if someone in your writing group has a particular vendetta against you, you don't need that either. And above all, send your writing out! Why not? You will receive many rejections, but the feeling when someone says "yes" to publishing one of your works is the feeling you have worked for through hours of practicing, polishing, and pain.
Bio:Eileen Granfors lives in Santa Clarita, California. A former army brat who was born in New Orleans and lived in Germany, she and her family settled in Imperial Beach, California, where her mother's love of body surfing turned her into an avid surfer girl. Eileen is a proud UCLA alumna. She has published her first novel, Some Rivers End on the Day of the Dead, a coming-of-age multicultural look at the Hispanic tradition of the Day of the Dead. She is working on its sequel, So You, Solimar.
some rivers end on the day of the dead
Eileen Granfors
Once she noticed that I loved to write stories, she encouraged me to writer longer and longer stories. I wrote about the camping trips my family took, the pigeons we kept in a backyard coop, and our other pets. Mrs. MacDonald read every word. She helped me to understand how to develop different feelings and different kinds of narratives.
Being published is a dream come true. When the first proofed copy of my first book arrived, I kissed the cover and looked to the heavens. Though I should have also included Mrs. MacDonald, I said to the clouds, "Thank you, Mama." I wished I could have shared the book with her.
In third grade, my teacher read to us every day, books such as The Big Wave by Pearl Buck. I became passionate about reading and wondered if I could actually develop into a writer. I wrote letters constantly as a child. But it wasn't until I had finished my teaching career (34 years in a public high school) that I said to myself, "If not now, when?" I enrolled in UCLA's Writers' Program, and off I went.
I definitely get writer's block. I have the sequel to my first novel sitting in stasis right now because I have written myself into a corner with one of the main characters. Every day I work on a different direction for her. But even while that book simmers, I am writing flash fiction and revising a prior novel. For flash fiction, I find that music scrambles on my MP-3 player or coloring in a coloring book help me to find ideas that have been lying latent in my brain. I am also someone who walks a lot (I have two dogs), and when I walk, I think. One of my favorite things is to look for images in the clouds.
Although my creative writing teachers felt that a long-hand journal frees the soul to write, I write best at my computer in my den. I try to ignore the phone, the Internet, and other distractions for at least two hours of each morning.
I have three latest books. The first is a flash fiction anthology called "Flash Warden and Other Stories." I have included in the anthology my favorite flash fiction pieces, hint fiction (25 words or fewer) and six categories of six-word memoirs. I am hoping the book will be used by aspiring writers and also by teachers or subs who need to fill some time in classrooms with creative stories and follow-up prompts.
The second book is a rewrite of my first-written (but not published) novel, Stairs of Sand. I have worked on this book for five years. It definitely has benefited from the latest rewrite and should be out later this summer. The story follows two women, a mother and a daughter, each with borderline personality disorder, each with her heart closed against the other. It is a journey told in two voices of the way childhood's hurts can be overcome. The story carries some autobiographical elements such as the setting, but I guarantee that it is pure fiction and does not represent my family. I wrote it as an exploration of the ability to change and improve family ties at any age or time of life.
Finally, I am working on the sequel to Some Rivers End on the Day of the Dead. The next book is called So You, Solimar. It features some of the characters from Some Rivers End, but takes place sixteen years later. This means the setting is 2018. That's part of my problem with writer's block. Yes, the world will change by 2018, but in what ways? I don't want to write a dystopian novel. This book, like Some Rivers End, focuses on family and school and coming-of-age because I think kids need to see others struggle, sometimes in far more dire circumstances, as they grow into their own values.
Any aspiring writer needs to remember that many people say, "Oh, I should write a book," but few actually do it. If you want to write, then BIC—butt in chair. Sit down and write at the same time every day. Do not make allowances for yourself to skip your writing time or to place it last on your agenda. You will always be too tired and too busy to write if you don't put your writing into your daily routine. Secondly, be careful about your writing group. Pick people who are not your best friends. You want their honest criticism, kindly and openly offered. You should not be in a writing group that tells you everything you write is wonderful. At the same time, if someone in your writing group has a particular vendetta against you, you don't need that either. And above all, send your writing out! Why not? You will receive many rejections, but the feeling when someone says "yes" to publishing one of your works is the feeling you have worked for through hours of practicing, polishing, and pain.
Bio:Eileen Granfors lives in Santa Clarita, California. A former army brat who was born in New Orleans and lived in Germany, she and her family settled in Imperial Beach, California, where her mother's love of body surfing turned her into an avid surfer girl. Eileen is a proud UCLA alumna. She has published her first novel, Some Rivers End on the Day of the Dead, a coming-of-age multicultural look at the Hispanic tradition of the Day of the Dead. She is working on its sequel, So You, Solimar.
some rivers end on the day of the dead
Eileen Granfors
April 14, 2011
Catier's Ring
What is your earliest memory of writing?
I was writing as soon as I could read. In Kindergarten, I wrote a story about dragons. It was all of eight lines long, but it was my first story.
How does it feel being published?
The aspect of being published I most enjoy is finding connections with readers. When a story is complete and published, it is in its final, mature form. I am continually surprised at the dramatic variation in reader response to a finished work. I learn so much from the emails and messages I receive, and especially from interviews and podcasts. It is not at all uncommon for me to get the impression that readers have a bigger stake in the work than I do, and that is quite a humbling realization.
When did you decide to be a writer?
I knew I would be writing even before I finished high school. It was not until late in my career that I decided to attempt fiction. I began outlining my first novel in 2000 and completed it in 2005. "Cartier's Ring" is actually my third novel, though it became the first one published earlier this year.
Do you get writer's block? How do you combat it?
There is always something to write. If I can't punch my way through a scene, I'll go to work on television analysis or a current events essay. If I just can't seem to get my fingers to work the keyboard I'll spend a couple hours reading, or do physical exercises. It's usually not too long before an idea pops up and then I can finish the scene or continue the analysis.
Where do you write? Do you write longhand, typewriter or computer?
I often outline longhand, but I write scenes and put together television analysis using my computer.
Tell us about your Latest Book.
"Cartier's Ring" is action-adventure historical fiction set in 16th century Canada. Though the novel is the result of painstaking research over twelve years, the novel is really carried on the strength of the protagonist, Myeerah of Hawk Clan. She is the most headstrong character in any of my novels, and she really brought life to the story. Readers have told me they've cried in the middle of the book. That's the type of praise writers love to receive, of course, but the credit really goes to Myeerah.
What advice do you have for aspiring writers?
Read as much as you can and be sure you understand the rules of spelling, grammar, and composition. Most wannabe writers these days believe that Spell Check can repair any deficiencies in basic knowledge of the language. For good or for bad, though, the software has not yet been created that can transform leaden words into golden prose. When you no longer use Spell Check, you are ready to attempt writing, but you are still years away from publishing. You will spend the next few years learning, and this means a lot of work with several critique partners over long months and years. When an honest reviewer gives you a thumbs up, you're ready to publish.
Read more about "Cartier's Ring": http://pearsonmoore.net/CartiersRing.aspxPurchase "Cartier's Ring": http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004VMTS7E/?tag=kindleboards-20
Excerpt from "Cartier's Ring":The women will laugh at me. Only men have dreams such as this, not girls. Not the daughter of a slave.I paddle the canoe upwind toward the berry patch, tacking as Tsiko taught me. He says our birch bark canoes are lighter than the elmwood craft of the Hodenosaunee, but with the wind howling in my face and the waves pushing me back, I feel I'm paddling a heavy log upstream. The water splashes onto my skirt and my belly—cold but delicious. I look down to see a drop hit my chest, and I laugh.I grab the bow and quiver and jump out into the shallow salt water at the shore. Water penetrates my moccasins and leggings, a pleasant shock. Grasping the bow in my right hand, I pull the canoe onto shore, toss the quiver over my shoulder, and run into the meadow.Panting, I sprint over to the great sugar maple and touch the two horizontal lines I carved yesterday in the bark, three hand spans apart. Today I will stay here until I hit it. The women won't understand. I don't understand. But dreams are always true.I take five long strides toward the meadow, another five, five more, and I turn around, my long black hair batting my face in the wind. The tree is three counts of five paces away, and the two lines on the trunk seem impossibly close together. But today I will hit it.The arrow is light in my hand as I level the nock and draw back, feeling the string taut in my fingers. I concentrate on the broad trunk of the maple, thinking of what Tsiko said: 'Aim high and you'll hit the deer.' I raise the bow three finger widths toward the sky and—"Sister!"Lightning fear courses through my arms, the arrow shoots out of the bow and past the tree.I pivot and see him: Domagaya, standing not four paces away.I know he will laugh. The women's laughter is as nothing. But Domagaya's laughter will slice deeper than seashell."You missed." Domagaya's voice is deep but playful.I look up and see the mirth in his eyes. But he's not laughing, only smiling."Only because you scared me." I stare at him, my eyes taking in his broad chest and thick arms, the deep scars of proof on his forearms and thighs and chest. He is the Grand Sachem's second son. He is our best hunter, and the warrior who saved us last summer. But most of all, he is tall and beautiful, and I adore him.He pulls his eyes away from me and squints at the maple tree. "Why is a girl of not yet twelve winters using my little brother's bow? You'll hurt your arms, and you won't harvest corn when we return to our kanata.""It's—" I stare into his beautiful eyes, but the feeling is too strong, and I look down."You used to run out into the forest in Stadacona—out to the big maple tree near the river. You were shooting arrows there, too? In Stadacona?"I nod, keeping my head down."Why?"I raise my eyes. "It's my dream.""A dream of black snakes," he says, smiling. "An Iroku dream—from the girl of Hodenosaunee blood.""I'm not Hodenosaunee." He makes me angry with his words. "I'm Myeerah, child of Aataensic. Mine is the dream of a Wendat girl."He smiles no more, but his eyes are hypnotic. "Dreams are always true—truer than life. But dreams of bow and arrow don't come to little girls, only to men.""I'm not a little girl." I stare into his face, and his eyes wander over my body. I feel a sudden and strange thrill radiate through me."No, you're not." He gazes into my eyes, smiling. But it is not the smile of his face—it is the smile of his heart. A cool wind penetrates my leggings, but I feel warm all over."Tell me your dream."The smile has left his face, but his eyes are intense, as if the wind and the tree and my arrow no longer have significance to him. He needs to hear my dream. I shudder for a moment, then begin."A red snake comes to the kanata as the sun sets and wraps around a woman's leg. As she struggles, the snake's scales fall off, and underneath it's black. Her husband runs to her, bow in hand, but a white wolf comes from behind, sinks his jaws into the man's leg, and pulls him toward the forest. The man throws his bow to the woman, and she shoots an arrow, wounding the white wolf.""And the wolf releases the man?""Yes."Domagaya picks up the bow and strides toward the maple; I follow. He knows exactly where to find the arrow, and draws it from the brush. He walks behind me, placing his warm hand on my naked back as he pulls the quiver over my shoulder. I wish for him to continue touching me, but he takes his hand away. I cannot have him, anyway; I am not yet a woman. We walk back out to the meadow."You didn't draw properly."I frown. "That's not why I missed. You startled me.""No." Domagaya nocks the arrow and draws out the sinew. "You need to pull out straight. Watch." He draws the string back almost to his cheek, his eyes dead on the target, and releases. The arrow flies like lightning and hits the tree with the sound of an axe splitting wood. The point is embedded deep in the tree, right between the horizontal lines.I run to the maple. With great effort, I pull out the arrow and turn toward Domagaya. Far behind him, past the meadow, on the shores of the Great Salt Water, five canoes approach from the north, farther than the arrow flies, but closing fast. They are not birch bark, but a dark wood of some kind, except for the last canoe—it is pure white. Their paddles are strange.Domagaya says, "You didn't tell me what happened to the woman in your dream."I see the men in the boat, their markings. My heart skips a beat, and I cannot get my mouth to work. I know who they are, and what they will do. I fall into a crouch.Domagaya turns to the shore, sees the canoes, and ducks into the grass. "Iroku! Black snakes. Get down!"I dive into the grass. My heart beats wildly in my ears, louder than the wind, louder than the waves on shore. I hear them now, though I dare not rise up to look. As fast as I can manage, I crawl over to Domagaya."They've come to take me back," I whisper. The blood is pounding in my ears, my hands shaking."No, you were born here," Domagaya whispers. "You're one of us now. You're Myeerah, daughter of Aataentsic."I feel heat on my cheeks and warmth in my heart. He cares about me. He will protect me. He will protect all of us. I huddle close to him, rubbing his arm in affection."Through the berry patch." Domagaya points to the bushes behind the sugar maple. "Take the path to camp. Hurry!"On my knees, I scurry over to the tree. I look back, and stop breathing. Domagaya, bow in hand, rises to his feet, opens his lips and squints, looking out toward the shore.
Thank you for offering to do this!
All the best,
Pearson Moore
I was writing as soon as I could read. In Kindergarten, I wrote a story about dragons. It was all of eight lines long, but it was my first story.
How does it feel being published?
The aspect of being published I most enjoy is finding connections with readers. When a story is complete and published, it is in its final, mature form. I am continually surprised at the dramatic variation in reader response to a finished work. I learn so much from the emails and messages I receive, and especially from interviews and podcasts. It is not at all uncommon for me to get the impression that readers have a bigger stake in the work than I do, and that is quite a humbling realization.
When did you decide to be a writer?
I knew I would be writing even before I finished high school. It was not until late in my career that I decided to attempt fiction. I began outlining my first novel in 2000 and completed it in 2005. "Cartier's Ring" is actually my third novel, though it became the first one published earlier this year.
Do you get writer's block? How do you combat it?
There is always something to write. If I can't punch my way through a scene, I'll go to work on television analysis or a current events essay. If I just can't seem to get my fingers to work the keyboard I'll spend a couple hours reading, or do physical exercises. It's usually not too long before an idea pops up and then I can finish the scene or continue the analysis.
Where do you write? Do you write longhand, typewriter or computer?
I often outline longhand, but I write scenes and put together television analysis using my computer.
Tell us about your Latest Book.
"Cartier's Ring" is action-adventure historical fiction set in 16th century Canada. Though the novel is the result of painstaking research over twelve years, the novel is really carried on the strength of the protagonist, Myeerah of Hawk Clan. She is the most headstrong character in any of my novels, and she really brought life to the story. Readers have told me they've cried in the middle of the book. That's the type of praise writers love to receive, of course, but the credit really goes to Myeerah.
What advice do you have for aspiring writers?
Read as much as you can and be sure you understand the rules of spelling, grammar, and composition. Most wannabe writers these days believe that Spell Check can repair any deficiencies in basic knowledge of the language. For good or for bad, though, the software has not yet been created that can transform leaden words into golden prose. When you no longer use Spell Check, you are ready to attempt writing, but you are still years away from publishing. You will spend the next few years learning, and this means a lot of work with several critique partners over long months and years. When an honest reviewer gives you a thumbs up, you're ready to publish.
Read more about "Cartier's Ring": http://pearsonmoore.net/CartiersRing.aspxPurchase "Cartier's Ring": http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004VMTS7E/?tag=kindleboards-20
Excerpt from "Cartier's Ring":The women will laugh at me. Only men have dreams such as this, not girls. Not the daughter of a slave.I paddle the canoe upwind toward the berry patch, tacking as Tsiko taught me. He says our birch bark canoes are lighter than the elmwood craft of the Hodenosaunee, but with the wind howling in my face and the waves pushing me back, I feel I'm paddling a heavy log upstream. The water splashes onto my skirt and my belly—cold but delicious. I look down to see a drop hit my chest, and I laugh.I grab the bow and quiver and jump out into the shallow salt water at the shore. Water penetrates my moccasins and leggings, a pleasant shock. Grasping the bow in my right hand, I pull the canoe onto shore, toss the quiver over my shoulder, and run into the meadow.Panting, I sprint over to the great sugar maple and touch the two horizontal lines I carved yesterday in the bark, three hand spans apart. Today I will stay here until I hit it. The women won't understand. I don't understand. But dreams are always true.I take five long strides toward the meadow, another five, five more, and I turn around, my long black hair batting my face in the wind. The tree is three counts of five paces away, and the two lines on the trunk seem impossibly close together. But today I will hit it.The arrow is light in my hand as I level the nock and draw back, feeling the string taut in my fingers. I concentrate on the broad trunk of the maple, thinking of what Tsiko said: 'Aim high and you'll hit the deer.' I raise the bow three finger widths toward the sky and—"Sister!"Lightning fear courses through my arms, the arrow shoots out of the bow and past the tree.I pivot and see him: Domagaya, standing not four paces away.I know he will laugh. The women's laughter is as nothing. But Domagaya's laughter will slice deeper than seashell."You missed." Domagaya's voice is deep but playful.I look up and see the mirth in his eyes. But he's not laughing, only smiling."Only because you scared me." I stare at him, my eyes taking in his broad chest and thick arms, the deep scars of proof on his forearms and thighs and chest. He is the Grand Sachem's second son. He is our best hunter, and the warrior who saved us last summer. But most of all, he is tall and beautiful, and I adore him.He pulls his eyes away from me and squints at the maple tree. "Why is a girl of not yet twelve winters using my little brother's bow? You'll hurt your arms, and you won't harvest corn when we return to our kanata.""It's—" I stare into his beautiful eyes, but the feeling is too strong, and I look down."You used to run out into the forest in Stadacona—out to the big maple tree near the river. You were shooting arrows there, too? In Stadacona?"I nod, keeping my head down."Why?"I raise my eyes. "It's my dream.""A dream of black snakes," he says, smiling. "An Iroku dream—from the girl of Hodenosaunee blood.""I'm not Hodenosaunee." He makes me angry with his words. "I'm Myeerah, child of Aataensic. Mine is the dream of a Wendat girl."He smiles no more, but his eyes are hypnotic. "Dreams are always true—truer than life. But dreams of bow and arrow don't come to little girls, only to men.""I'm not a little girl." I stare into his face, and his eyes wander over my body. I feel a sudden and strange thrill radiate through me."No, you're not." He gazes into my eyes, smiling. But it is not the smile of his face—it is the smile of his heart. A cool wind penetrates my leggings, but I feel warm all over."Tell me your dream."The smile has left his face, but his eyes are intense, as if the wind and the tree and my arrow no longer have significance to him. He needs to hear my dream. I shudder for a moment, then begin."A red snake comes to the kanata as the sun sets and wraps around a woman's leg. As she struggles, the snake's scales fall off, and underneath it's black. Her husband runs to her, bow in hand, but a white wolf comes from behind, sinks his jaws into the man's leg, and pulls him toward the forest. The man throws his bow to the woman, and she shoots an arrow, wounding the white wolf.""And the wolf releases the man?""Yes."Domagaya picks up the bow and strides toward the maple; I follow. He knows exactly where to find the arrow, and draws it from the brush. He walks behind me, placing his warm hand on my naked back as he pulls the quiver over my shoulder. I wish for him to continue touching me, but he takes his hand away. I cannot have him, anyway; I am not yet a woman. We walk back out to the meadow."You didn't draw properly."I frown. "That's not why I missed. You startled me.""No." Domagaya nocks the arrow and draws out the sinew. "You need to pull out straight. Watch." He draws the string back almost to his cheek, his eyes dead on the target, and releases. The arrow flies like lightning and hits the tree with the sound of an axe splitting wood. The point is embedded deep in the tree, right between the horizontal lines.I run to the maple. With great effort, I pull out the arrow and turn toward Domagaya. Far behind him, past the meadow, on the shores of the Great Salt Water, five canoes approach from the north, farther than the arrow flies, but closing fast. They are not birch bark, but a dark wood of some kind, except for the last canoe—it is pure white. Their paddles are strange.Domagaya says, "You didn't tell me what happened to the woman in your dream."I see the men in the boat, their markings. My heart skips a beat, and I cannot get my mouth to work. I know who they are, and what they will do. I fall into a crouch.Domagaya turns to the shore, sees the canoes, and ducks into the grass. "Iroku! Black snakes. Get down!"I dive into the grass. My heart beats wildly in my ears, louder than the wind, louder than the waves on shore. I hear them now, though I dare not rise up to look. As fast as I can manage, I crawl over to Domagaya."They've come to take me back," I whisper. The blood is pounding in my ears, my hands shaking."No, you were born here," Domagaya whispers. "You're one of us now. You're Myeerah, daughter of Aataentsic."I feel heat on my cheeks and warmth in my heart. He cares about me. He will protect me. He will protect all of us. I huddle close to him, rubbing his arm in affection."Through the berry patch." Domagaya points to the bushes behind the sugar maple. "Take the path to camp. Hurry!"On my knees, I scurry over to the tree. I look back, and stop breathing. Domagaya, bow in hand, rises to his feet, opens his lips and squints, looking out toward the shore.
Thank you for offering to do this!
All the best,
Pearson Moore
