David Blixt's Blog, page 8
December 23, 2014
October 31, 2014
Sincerty - A Halloween Story
“So. You finally show up.”
It was a tick past the witching hour, and the thing had risen from the field, blinking and staring about in confusion. In its powerful, vibrating basso it said, “Where?”
“This is my field.”
The thing bent down, squinting through its giant hollow eyes, peering at the man with the rat’s nest hair. “Oh. You.”
“Me,” said the man, voice shaking with horror and fear and exultation. “Me. A thousand times, me!”
“You should not haunt me so.”
“Haunt you? Haunt you?!” The slight hysteria in his laugh was mirrored in his eyes. “My family thinks I’m mad. My church has cast me out. My political career, destroyed. And for what? For you! For this moment. Years spent cultivating acres upon acres of your pathetic fruit. It is a fruit, you know. The seeds are on the inside.”
“I never claimed otherwise.”
“No.” The man clutched a holey rag closer to his chest. Once, it had been a pristine blue. Now it showed more of the black night through its many gaping tears. Yet it was obviously precious. “That was my mother. Eat it, she’d say. It’s a vegetable.”
“You blame me.”
“For that? No. For everything else – why did you wait so long?!”
“I never felt that you were sincere.”
“And now you’re satisfied?”
“I am here,” was the creature’s only reply.
There was a prolonged silence as the man struggled with his feelings, and the creature examined the night.
“Well,” said the man at last, “do I at least get my share?”
“Your share?”
“Of the toys.”
“Ah. The toys. They are for children.”
The man shook his fists, waving the tattered cloth in his hand like a flag. “No! Unfair! I’ve waited too long for you to deny me now!”
“It is too late. Besides, you would not want these toys.”
The creature gestured, and the man noticed sacks of bulky objects that lay scattered all through the viney field. Opening the nearest, he saw devilish toys with sticky handles and sharpened ends.
“You give these to children?”
“Sincere children do not see them for what they are.”
“I am sincere!”
“Even so, you are too old.”
“But I still have the heart of a child!”
“Truly?” said the creature, wild whippy limbs sliding it inevitably forward. “Let me see it, then.”
* * *
Dawn, a red autumnal light against the darkness. In the small house beside the vast field, a woman stirred. Rising, she checked the clock, then peeked into her brother’s room. The bed was empty. She grunted derisively.
Stomping down the stairs, she decided to make herself some coffee before she went out into the fields to retrieve him. But the coffee can was empty. She threw it across the room, and with a lip curled in disgust she made herself some of her brother’s herbal tea.
Since her divorce from the musician – she refused to even say his name! – she had been reduced to living here. The judge had not only stripped her of every conceivable asset, he had also questioned her right to practice! ‘Emotional cruelty’ indeed! And the blockheads on the state board had agreed, suspending her license. Oh, when her lawyer got through with them…
There was a creak and the backdoor opened. “Finally found your own way back?”
But it was not her brother. “It’s me,” said the bald man.
“Oh. I was just thinking of your sister. Has she talked about my case?”
“No.” The bald man shrugged. “We don’t talk much.”
“Oh.” She tried to make small-talk, a thing she hated. “How did the team do? I didn’t watch.”
He shrugged. “It’s a rebuilding year.”
“Of course it is,” she snorted.
The bald man looked around the kitchen. “He’s out there?”
“Where else would he be?”
“I usually go get him.”
“Well, I’m here this year,” she said haughtily, pulling a coat on over her robe. “I’ll do it. He’s my responsibility.”
“I’ll go with you,” said the bald man.
“Whatever.” She opened the back door and lead the way out into the field.
Thus they were together when they found him. He was lying still, and at first they thought he was sleeping. But the frost on his cheek had not melted.
She was stricken, and kicked his lifeless body several times, screaming at him for his stupidity. The bald man looked like he wanted to stop her, but waited until she was through before he went and looked his old friend over. “There’s not a mark on him.”
“What, did you think he was bit by a snake? You blockhead.” She suddenly sagged. “It’s never been the same since that stupid dog died.”
“I know,” said the bald man.
“They ever find out who shot him?”
“You know they didn’t.” The bald man pried the tattered old blanket out of his friend’s hand and, fittingly, laid it over him.
As it unfurled, three trapped white teardrops fell to the ground, all unnoticed. For it was no great thing to miss three little seeds in this grand pumpkin patch. Standing in its center, one had to admit there was nothing but sincerity as far as the eye could see.
June 26, 2014
Guest Post - Cindy Thomson
The best part of being a member of the Historical Fiction community is introducing readers to new authors, allowing them to dive into new periods of time so they might delve the details that makes the genre so marvelous. With that in mind, allow me to introduce the wonderful Cindy Thomson, whose latest book is ANNIE'S STORIES, the second volume in her Ellis Island series.
WHAT MEN READ IN 1901
One of my favorite parts of researching Annie's Stories involved figuring out what Stephen Adams would have read, besides The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, which he read because he knew Annie Gallagher was interested in it. (You can see this on the cover.)
Jules Verne and H.G. Wells came to mind, but I had to pick novels for my character that would have been available in 1901. Wells had only three novels published by that point, but they were popular: The Time Machine, War of the Worlds, The Island of Doctor Moreau. The First Men in the Moon came out in 1901, and my characters are eagerly awaiting it.
For Verne there were plenty to choose from because he had been publishing for decades at that point. I chose Facing the Flag because I imagine most people today would not be familiar with that one. I wasn't. So because my character, Stephen Adams, was reading it and enjoying it, I had to read it along with him.
Verne's visionary outlook is startling when you think about it. In this novel he wrote about a weapon of mass destruction a hundred years or so before that term was even being used. A brilliant, but somewhat demented, scientist invents a weapon that the countries of the world all want, something that actually happened in the WWII era. You can read about the novel here. The novel is in the public domain so you can get it free on Google Books.
Of course there were classics like The Last of the Mohicans that I assume folks re-read. Libraries existed, but access was not widespread, especially for my characters in Lower Manhattan, so I supposed books got passed around, therefore Stephen and his friend Dexter trade books. There were dime store novels certainly, but my character is looking for bigger books. I wouldn’t call him a literary snob, but he is a discerning reader. That’s why his landlord chose him for some moonlighting work for his publishing company. (You’ll understand if you read Annie’s Stories.)
I left some hints in my novel. One is about a book that would soon be published. I'd love if readers would find that and let me know! Another is about something that Stephen, thinking like the novelists he most admired, imagined would be a keen invention, a device you could use to hear someone read a book to you while you worked.
There are other bookish themes in Annie's Stories, not the least of which is The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. If you haven't read the book by L. Frank Baum, it's also in the public domain. Try it out. It's a bit different than the movie.
Cindy Thomson is a writer and an avid genealogy enthusiast. Her love of history and her Scots-Irish heritage have inspired much of her writing, including her new Ellis Island series. Cindy is also the author of Brigid of Ireland and Celtic Wisdom: Treasures from Ireland. She combined her love of history and baseball to co-author the biography Three Finger: The Mordecai Brown Story, which was a finalist for the Society for American Baseball Research's Larry Ritter Book Award. In addition to books, Cindy has written on a regular basis for numerous online and print publications and is a mentor for the Jerry B. Jenkins Christian Writers Guild. She is also a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and the Historical Novel Society. Cindy and her husband have three grown sons and live in central Ohio. Visit her online at www.cindyswriting.com.
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/cindyswriting
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/cindyswriting
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/cindyswriting
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/cindythomson
To purchase books from various retailors: http://bit.ly/1dmjFPf
June 2, 2014
Coffee with the Count, 12 Years Later
After the huge event at the Castelvecchio and the excitement of the Torino Book Fair, Jan and I were looking forward to a day to ourselves. On Sunday we took a mid-day train back to Verona, then Jan cooked a dinner for our hostess, Joyce, and Anna and Antonio. She made her legendary brie soup, and we talked politics and art and culture until late into the night.
The next day we had been invited to stay at La Foresteria, the suite of apartments attached to the Serego-Alighieri estates. For those who do not know, the "Alighieri" in that name is that of Dante Alighieri. His son (and my hero) Pietro bought land in the Valpolicella region of Italy in 1353, and the family has lived there ever since. On our first visit in 2002, Jan and I were lucky enough to have an afternoon to interview the Count Serego-Alighieri about his family history. He showed us the marriage carriage that was used when the family linked itself to the Serego clan (another famous Veronese family, one of whom murdered a descendant of Mastino!). We saw the family crest inlaid in the floor and over the mantle, beside framed photos of the Count's daughters.
Which is one of the things I like best about Verona. Everything is still in use. From the Arena, where they hold operas and concerts, to Cangrande's palace, which is not only the city hall but aslo houses the apartment of the chief of police, to a lovely condo Jan and I toured, with famous 19th century paintings the size of half a basketball court on the walls. They maintain the old, but with the new. Nothing is kept out of use, but rather worked seamlessly into daily life.
This time, after a lovely morning exploring places that are going to show up in The Prince's Doom, Anna drove Jan and me out to the Count's abode in the country. It's much more built up than I remember, and indeed when we spoke, the Count lamented the overdevelopment that's been happening. He's very much a Lord Grantham, but without the myopia - instead of clinging to tradition, his vineyard has partnered with MASI wines, gaining him a huge distribution for his products. He sees the building that's been happening as speculative, and ruining the land upon which they make their living.
Ever an elegant man, we sat down with him in the dining area of La Foresteria, after depositing our bags in our beautiful room. I presented him with copies of all the Verona books - I'd sent one when MoV was first published, but it felt wonderful to hand him a copy in Italian as well. Then he, Jan, Anna, and I sat and talked for half an hour. It was delightful, mostly because I didn't want anything from him this time. Instead, I was the one bringing gifts.
Before, I had only been interested in the 14th century history of the land. This time I looked around at the large courtyard, at the looming shadow of Monte Baldo to the north, and said, "How on earth did the villa survive the Second World War?"
The Count looked at me in surprise. "Did I never tell you this story?" And he proceeded to relate how his father had saved the villa in 1945.
During the war, the Nazis used the villa as an outpost, first for troops, then as a munitions depot. The whole area sits at the foot of the Brenner Pass, the route the retreating Nazis would have to take. On April 22nd 1945 the order came to all Nazis still in Italy - retreat, and leave nothing for the Allies to use. For the Nazis stationed at La Foresteria, this meant blowing up all of the munitions - and the villa and village along with them.
That night, the Count's father invited the Nazi commander to a farewell dinner, and produced his best bottles of the wine grown on the land. He then proceeded to get the man drunk, talking all the time about this history of the villa, of the people in the village. He then offered the commander a way to obey his orders without blowing up anything. What if they transported all the munitions to the river and disposed of them there? The ordinance would be useless, and no one would be hurt.
The Nazi commander agreed in theory, but could not spare the men to do the work, not when they would be pulling back the next day. So late in the night the Count's father roused the whole village. Under the watchful eyes of a few Nazi soldiers, the villagers carried the explosives to the river and threw them in. By dawn of April 23rd, the munitons were all ruined and gone. The villagers were just beginning to relax when they heard a massive explosion from across the valley. Another village had not been so fortunate - the Nazi commander there had obeyed his orders to the letter.
The Nazis pulled out, and April 24th was V-I Day - Victory in Italy.
It did not escape me, of course, that the action of the story took place in the small hours of April 23rd. My wedding anniversary - and also Shakespeare's birthday. Serendipity seems to follow Shakespeare, Verona, and me.
After telling us that story, the Count arranged for Jan and I to have dinner in a nearby restaurant - which we later discovered he had asked to open just for us. Before we parted for the evening, I asked a favor. I had a photo of the Count and me standing beside his villa from 2002. Could we repeat the photograph? He agreed, and promised to meet me there in another dozen years.
Saying goodbye to Anna, we retired to our suite for a couple hours before taking a taxi to the next village over and having what I must confess was the best meal of my life. But I'll save that for another post.
May 18, 2014
Good News & Bad News
The good news is that during the week of events and promotions in and around Verona, I also found time to visit many sites, both those that have appeared in the novels to date, and ones I never knew existed. I ate traditional Veronese food, learned a lot about the local dialect, crawled through Roman-carved tunnels, explored Cangrande's palace, saw the first baptismal font in the city, learned local sayings about Vicenza and Verona (and Bergamo!), was enlightened as to the origin of the very name "Verona", and so much more.
The bad news is that I'm going to delay THE PRINCE'S DOOM so I can add all of this, and more.
PRINCE'S DOOM is my last shot at telling a truly Veronese tale. After this one, we leave Verona and won't be back for nearly a decade. I want to get it right. And while I'm happy with the story I'm telling, I would never forgive myself for not bringing all of these great truths to the story. I hope instead that my readers will forgive me as I kick the can down the road so that I can bring as much life to the tale of death as I am able.
When is it coming? This year, I hope. I can only hope for those of you eagerly awaiting the tale, the wait will only enhance your pleasure when you finally have it in your hands.
May 17, 2014
Torino Book Fair
The day after presenting at the Castelvecchio, Jan and I took an early train to Torino for the International Book Fair. Nearly half a million people flock to the convention center in Torino each year, and my publisher La Corte Editore had a large stall just around the corner from the national newspaper.
My editor, Gianni La Corte, came to pick us up from the underground station and whisked us off to the fair. The convention hall is a rehabbed Fiat factory, so it's utterly enormous - by necessity. So many people! Weaving through the crowds, we reached La Corte Editore's stall, where I was stunned to see my novel side-by-side with a novel by one of my all-time favorite writers, Jonathan Carroll.
Gianni rushed off to preside over an event featuring another of his authors, the vivavious and hilarious Elena Bosca, author of SWEET LOVE: LA RAGAZZA DELLE TORTE. I stepped behind the table and proceeded to start signing and selling books, talking in my poor Italian and decent French to anyone who stopped by.
About five minutes in, I looked up to see a familiar face grinning at me. Chuck Dvorak had driven 13 hours from where he's stationed in Germany just to spend the day with us. Chuck played Tybalt for me in 2008 when I directed R&J at Eastern Michigan University, and we've remained close ever since, even as he deployed overseas. Now married and a father of a beautiful baby girl, I usually only get to see him on his short stops back in the states.
Chuck and Jan went off exploring the city of Torino, while I spent 9 hours on my feet, working as hard to sell Carroll's book as my own. I have to say, Gianni has put together a really great selection of books for his company. It's a diverse range, with something for everyone. There's Elena's book on sweets, a book on wedding planning (a new concept in Italy, where mothers and grandmothers usually take care of things) co-authored by Serena Obert, several kid-friendly monster books by Fabio Cicolani, a young-adult future gladiator novel by Antonio Lanzetta, and Gianni's own novels, as well as many more. But these were the authors present with me that day, and we had a great time laughing and signing, breaking chairs, stealing pens, and working hard to sell each others' books. It was pretty terrific.
(Gianni, Antonio, Fabio, and your's truly)
Behind the table, too, were Gianni's parents and his brother Emanuele, helping with sales and the cash register. Just the loveliest people. They were clearly delighted that I was there, and working hard to make Gianni's day a success. I wandered off only to be interviewed by newspapers and magazines, or to have a quick bite with Gianni in the VIP area.
After knocking off at 8, Gianni drove us to our beautiful bed and breakfast, then Jan and I had dinner with Chuck before the three of us joined Gianni, Elena, Antonio, Fabio, Emanuele, and many others in the basement of Franky's pub in downtown Torino for wine and rum and sweets. The basement is pretty swank, but one floor further down is a centuries-old cellar and tunnel system that has been converted into a private club area.
After saying goodbye to Chuck, who was insanely driving back to Germany that night, Gianni took us on a driving tour of the city, talking in detail about the history (he might have been hinting for a new novel). At around 2 am we staggered home to our B&B to relax and sleep in the next morning.
Seriously, this trip could not have been better in any way.
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The Castelvecchio Event
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