James Rozoff's Blog, page 29
September 18, 2014
A Question Of Balance: The beginning
What follows is the beginning to my newest novel, tentatively titled "A Question Of Balance". I share it in hopes of getting feedback. Sometimes, as an author, I wonder how far into my own little world have I gotten and if it makes sense to others. Maybe I'm crazy. But I think it's more important to be true to yourself than to write what you think others want to read. Let me know what you think:
The grounds of what used to be Chapel Hill Prep School were empty of any activity except for the tan van that seemed to creep up the gravel driveway. The place was open to the public, and there was now a thrift shop in what was once a dormitory. But it was too early in the day for it to be opened, just as it was too early to know if the morning frost would give way to nicer weather.Arriving early was part of Dave’s plan. He wanted to be alone, or rather, he did not want any observers to the meeting he was hoping to have.Dave parked near the thrift shop and walked towards the unused church that sat across from it. He didn’t know why, but he felt that it was the most likely place to find Johnny. Well, not Johnny, really. Although he looked and sounded like Johnny, it was merely a memory of him Dave hoped to encounter. Still, Dave hoped there was something to be gained by the meeting.The door was not locked. Whoever owned the premises either trusted people or else realized stained glass windows could be broken as easily from the outside as from within. Dave entered and stood still for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the darkness.Attempts were being made to repair the church, to bring it back to life as a place of worship. Its former glory had faded, the attempts at restoration so far resulting in nothing more than making things worse. Tarps covered all save the first two rows of pews.As if he knew what he were doing, Dave went to the second pew, genuflected, and knelt down to prayer.He had learned to pray of late. Where before prayer had consisted of recitations of prayers without any real connection, he now felt some actual communication was taking place, if only between his heart and mind. Something had opened up within him, some barrier had been removed. He was awakened, to whatever spiritual power existed in the universe, Dave was reluctant to use the name God. He was reluctant to put a name to it at all, more concerned with the actual experience. He closed his eyes and opened himself up to a reality in him that was normally quiet enough to be ignored, but never absent. It was like encountering a spring within him, that lightly bubbled, poured forth its waters endlessly. It was the source, the explanation and reason for everything. And it was so inconspicuous one had to silence all else for it to appear.This was prayer, the realization that such a spring existed. Here was vitality, the life-giving water that poured through his soul, was his soul. It bubbled gladness in him, flowing, always flowing, carrying with it an endless supply of inspiration, eternal, everlasting. Like music that was constantly changing and neverending, it flowed, subtle yet powerful. Dave quieted all else until it bubbled up and poured throughout his body. He felt happy, felt as though he were home, or at least where he was meant to be.Through shut eyelids, Dave slowly became aware of a blue aura emanating from his right. He slowly opened his eyes, as though slowing the transition from his interior reality to the outside world, smoothing the gap between the two.Kneeling next to him was the blue aura of the ghost of a man he used to know.“Johnny,” said Dave.
“No, Dave, simply his ghost. A greeting card written by someone who no longer is.”
The grounds of what used to be Chapel Hill Prep School were empty of any activity except for the tan van that seemed to creep up the gravel driveway. The place was open to the public, and there was now a thrift shop in what was once a dormitory. But it was too early in the day for it to be opened, just as it was too early to know if the morning frost would give way to nicer weather.Arriving early was part of Dave’s plan. He wanted to be alone, or rather, he did not want any observers to the meeting he was hoping to have.Dave parked near the thrift shop and walked towards the unused church that sat across from it. He didn’t know why, but he felt that it was the most likely place to find Johnny. Well, not Johnny, really. Although he looked and sounded like Johnny, it was merely a memory of him Dave hoped to encounter. Still, Dave hoped there was something to be gained by the meeting.The door was not locked. Whoever owned the premises either trusted people or else realized stained glass windows could be broken as easily from the outside as from within. Dave entered and stood still for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the darkness.Attempts were being made to repair the church, to bring it back to life as a place of worship. Its former glory had faded, the attempts at restoration so far resulting in nothing more than making things worse. Tarps covered all save the first two rows of pews.As if he knew what he were doing, Dave went to the second pew, genuflected, and knelt down to prayer.He had learned to pray of late. Where before prayer had consisted of recitations of prayers without any real connection, he now felt some actual communication was taking place, if only between his heart and mind. Something had opened up within him, some barrier had been removed. He was awakened, to whatever spiritual power existed in the universe, Dave was reluctant to use the name God. He was reluctant to put a name to it at all, more concerned with the actual experience. He closed his eyes and opened himself up to a reality in him that was normally quiet enough to be ignored, but never absent. It was like encountering a spring within him, that lightly bubbled, poured forth its waters endlessly. It was the source, the explanation and reason for everything. And it was so inconspicuous one had to silence all else for it to appear.This was prayer, the realization that such a spring existed. Here was vitality, the life-giving water that poured through his soul, was his soul. It bubbled gladness in him, flowing, always flowing, carrying with it an endless supply of inspiration, eternal, everlasting. Like music that was constantly changing and neverending, it flowed, subtle yet powerful. Dave quieted all else until it bubbled up and poured throughout his body. He felt happy, felt as though he were home, or at least where he was meant to be.Through shut eyelids, Dave slowly became aware of a blue aura emanating from his right. He slowly opened his eyes, as though slowing the transition from his interior reality to the outside world, smoothing the gap between the two.Kneeling next to him was the blue aura of the ghost of a man he used to know.“Johnny,” said Dave.
“No, Dave, simply his ghost. A greeting card written by someone who no longer is.”
September 1, 2014
First Sentences of Some of My Favorite Novels.I recently ...
First Sentences of Some of My Favorite Novels.
I recently read an article about the importance of the first sentence. All right, I didn’t actually read it, I skimmed over it. There was a picture of some author gazing thoughtfully off into the distance with earth sky and water in the background, and he threw out some ideas about how the first sentence of a novel can determine whether the book is worthy of a prize. Oddly enough, for someone stressing the importance of a first sentence, his initial thought seemed to me to clock in at somewhere over a thousand words.Perhaps it was just me. I tried re-reading a few times and then just gave up altogether. You can read it here, although I don’t recommend it: http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2014/aug/29/how-pick-man-booker-prizewinnerI really don’t see how you can judge an entire novel by the very first sentence, any more than you can judge it by the fourth sentence on the 87thpage. Granted, there are some good opening lines, but many great books begin with a simple statement. In fact, I would much rather judge a book by its cover than by a single sentence. But it did have me go back and check the first sentences of some of my favorite books, just to see if there was anything to it. What follows is a short list of first sentences from books I regard highly. I’ve left off the name of the book and the author’s name in order to play a little game. Can you name any of the books? Just to make it interesting, I’ll offer the first copy of my newest book, The Association, to whomever can name the most books based on the sentences provided below. The book will be released sometime in September. You can e-mail me your answers at jamesrozoff@sbcglobal.net
1) The one opened the door with a latch-key and went in, followed by a young fellow who awkwardly removed his cap.
2) She came out of the store just in time to see her young son playing on the sidewalk directly in the path of the gray, gaunt man who strode down the center of the walk like a mechanical derilect.
3) A squat grey building of only thirty-four stories.
4) First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys.
5) On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. Bridge
6) When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton.
7) In 1815, M. Charles Francois-Bienvenu Myriel was Bishop of D---.
8) The urge to embark on a work of creation after a period of sterility is like the desire to make love, very violent, but it can be appeased by failure.
9) Just after passing Caraher’s saloon, on the County Road that ran south from Bonneville, and that divided the Broderson ranch from that of Los Muertos, Presley was suddenly aware of the faint and prolonged blowing of a steam whistle that he knew must come from the railroad shops near the depot at Bonneville.
10) “I am inclined to think—“ said I.
11) There lived in Westphalia, in the castle of my Lord the Baron of Thunder-ten-tronckh, a young man, on whom nature had bestowed the most agreeable manners.
12) Around quitting time, Tod Hackett heard a great din on the road outside his office.
13) We are at rest five miles behind the front.
14) The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.
15) On the 6th of January 1482, the Parisians were awakened by the noise of all the bells within the triple circuit of the City, the University, and the Town ringing in full peal.
16) It was a pleasure to burn.
17) “What’s it going to be then, eh?”
18) Buck did not read the news, or he would have known there was trouble brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego.
It's a rather tough list, so don't feel bad if you didn't get more than a couple. As I said, not even most great novels begin with a memorable first line.
I recently read an article about the importance of the first sentence. All right, I didn’t actually read it, I skimmed over it. There was a picture of some author gazing thoughtfully off into the distance with earth sky and water in the background, and he threw out some ideas about how the first sentence of a novel can determine whether the book is worthy of a prize. Oddly enough, for someone stressing the importance of a first sentence, his initial thought seemed to me to clock in at somewhere over a thousand words.Perhaps it was just me. I tried re-reading a few times and then just gave up altogether. You can read it here, although I don’t recommend it: http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2014/aug/29/how-pick-man-booker-prizewinnerI really don’t see how you can judge an entire novel by the very first sentence, any more than you can judge it by the fourth sentence on the 87thpage. Granted, there are some good opening lines, but many great books begin with a simple statement. In fact, I would much rather judge a book by its cover than by a single sentence. But it did have me go back and check the first sentences of some of my favorite books, just to see if there was anything to it. What follows is a short list of first sentences from books I regard highly. I’ve left off the name of the book and the author’s name in order to play a little game. Can you name any of the books? Just to make it interesting, I’ll offer the first copy of my newest book, The Association, to whomever can name the most books based on the sentences provided below. The book will be released sometime in September. You can e-mail me your answers at jamesrozoff@sbcglobal.net
1) The one opened the door with a latch-key and went in, followed by a young fellow who awkwardly removed his cap.
2) She came out of the store just in time to see her young son playing on the sidewalk directly in the path of the gray, gaunt man who strode down the center of the walk like a mechanical derilect.
3) A squat grey building of only thirty-four stories.
4) First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys.
5) On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. Bridge
6) When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton.
7) In 1815, M. Charles Francois-Bienvenu Myriel was Bishop of D---.
8) The urge to embark on a work of creation after a period of sterility is like the desire to make love, very violent, but it can be appeased by failure.
9) Just after passing Caraher’s saloon, on the County Road that ran south from Bonneville, and that divided the Broderson ranch from that of Los Muertos, Presley was suddenly aware of the faint and prolonged blowing of a steam whistle that he knew must come from the railroad shops near the depot at Bonneville.
10) “I am inclined to think—“ said I.
11) There lived in Westphalia, in the castle of my Lord the Baron of Thunder-ten-tronckh, a young man, on whom nature had bestowed the most agreeable manners.
12) Around quitting time, Tod Hackett heard a great din on the road outside his office.
13) We are at rest five miles behind the front.
14) The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.
15) On the 6th of January 1482, the Parisians were awakened by the noise of all the bells within the triple circuit of the City, the University, and the Town ringing in full peal.
16) It was a pleasure to burn.
17) “What’s it going to be then, eh?”
18) Buck did not read the news, or he would have known there was trouble brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego.
It's a rather tough list, so don't feel bad if you didn't get more than a couple. As I said, not even most great novels begin with a memorable first line.
August 21, 2014
Jason Becker, ALS, and Humility
While out for a walk tonight, I heard a man screaming from behind a backyard fence. I took me a moment before I realized why it was he was screaming. Like seemingly everyone else on this planet, he was having cold water poured over him in the name of ALS.
I don’t claim to be an expert on Lou Gehrig’s disease, but I have been ahead of the fad this time. My newest novel, The Association, due out in September, involves a character with ALS. While only appearing in the final chapter, it is her disease that drives the action of the entire story. In a desperate attempt to find a cure for her illness, her boyfriend ends up dragging himself and others into a trap with seemingly no exit.While I’ve always been aware of Lou Gehrig’s disease since seeing The Lou Gehrig Story as a small child, it really hit home for me when I chanced upon the documentary, Jason Becker: Not Dead Yet.
Did you ever feel jealousy towards another human being only to feel horrible about yourself afterwards? Years ago, I was driving home from a job I hated in my beat up old car, only to be passed by a shiny new convertible. I cursed my luck, wondering why I should work so hard and yet this person had more than I. And then I spotted it, the wheelchair in the back seat. And then I felt horrible for wishing I had what this other person had rather than being thankful for what was given to me.
It was a similar situation with Jason Becker. When I was in my early twenties, my dad brought home an old guitar he had bought from a garage sale. I took it as a sign that I should learn how to play it. I practiced a good deal at it, but never got very good. A big part of my learning involved picking up copies of Guitar Players Magazine, where they would have the sheet music for a lot of classic rock songs. Being a reader, I read all the articles on all of the guitarists as well.
And that’s how I heard about Jason Becker. He was the wiz kid, younger than me but already being heralded as a major new talent and playing for the likes of David Lee Roth. I hated him, which is to say I was immensely jealous of him. Already older than him, I had no direction in life, had achieved nothing. Here he was already a better guitarist than I could ever hope to be, was making truckloads of money, and assuredly had his pick of women. And hair. Did I mention he had hair? This was the era of hair bands, of outrageously long hair. And I, I was already well on my way to baldness. The eighties was not a good era to lose your hair.
So I harbored a good deal of jealousy towards this rock star I had never met, disliked his music which I had never heard. But like all petty grudges, it faded after time.
Fast forward to 2013. I was flipping through channels on the TV when I came across the name of Jason Becker, and took a closer look. The old jealousy resumed as I wondered whatever came of him. Perhaps he, like Joe Satriani and myself, had lost his hair too. A petty thought for sure, but not the greatest of my sins by a long shot. But then I turned to the channel, and I watched the documentary, and then my smallness hit me full-on. ALS had taken more from him than any human being should have to stand, and yet I cruelly had wished for some kind of cosmic justice to level the playing field between him and me. More humbling still was that Jason Becker still had the courage to continue with his life and his music despite the hand he had been dealt. I am a very small man indeed.
But that’s when ALS truly caught my attention. I’ve been watching videos on YouTube and reading up on it since then. And somehow it wove its way into my story about a group of priests who had been healers centuries ago. And through a story that involves ghosts and faith and murder, a love story is woven about a man who wanted to save his beloved from a horrible disease and prove to her the healing power of faith. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check out videos of people dumping cold water on themselves on Facebook.
August 18, 2014
Another Walk Around JFK Prep
I've already posted some pictures of JFK Prep but thought photos shot towards sunset might be a little more atmospheric. And although the working title of my book was The Sleep Of Reason, I have changed it to The Association, saving the former title for a more appropriate time. I've also given the site inspired by JFK Prep a different name: it is not my intent to have people confuse my fictional creations with reality and I surely don't want to encourage any thrill seekers poking around the area. The present owners of the property are kind enough to allow people to stroll the grounds and I would hate to do anything to change that.
The story of the area is innocent enough, but it is the kind of story that seems to call for some ghostly elements to be added. It is not just me, rumors and stories of ghosts abound, but they are only rumors and stories. And the area is interesting enough to get the imagination wandering. So with that said, here are a few pictures:
There appear to be Stations of the Cross situated about the grounds, but whatever stood within these stone structures are now gone.
The tomb of the founder of The Association and the town of St. Nazianz, Father Ambrose Oschwald. He was known as a great healer.
From inside a little chapel located upon a hill looking down upon the cemetery.
Father Ambrose Oschwald, who led his entire congregation from Germany to Wisconsin in 1984.
Looking down from the hill of the chapel
A path leads along the property to a small lake or pond, which is more like a bog at this point.
I'm not sure what the intention of this little monument was:
Pictures of the grounds from across the waters.
A creature we encountered on our walk. The look in its eyes suggests possession or perhaps a were-bunny.
I like the idea of one tombstone being out of step with all the others. Again, just letting my imagination run free (as with the bunny).
The mind invests meaning to what it encounters, that's what it does. I allowed my mind to work its own ideas upon what it witnessed at JFK Prep, and the result is my novel The Association, which shall be available sometime in September. If the waiting gets to be too much for you, feel free to check out my first two books in the series while you wait. The first one's on me.
The story of the area is innocent enough, but it is the kind of story that seems to call for some ghostly elements to be added. It is not just me, rumors and stories of ghosts abound, but they are only rumors and stories. And the area is interesting enough to get the imagination wandering. So with that said, here are a few pictures:
There appear to be Stations of the Cross situated about the grounds, but whatever stood within these stone structures are now gone.
The tomb of the founder of The Association and the town of St. Nazianz, Father Ambrose Oschwald. He was known as a great healer.
From inside a little chapel located upon a hill looking down upon the cemetery.
Father Ambrose Oschwald, who led his entire congregation from Germany to Wisconsin in 1984.
Looking down from the hill of the chapel
A path leads along the property to a small lake or pond, which is more like a bog at this point.
I'm not sure what the intention of this little monument was:
Pictures of the grounds from across the waters.
A creature we encountered on our walk. The look in its eyes suggests possession or perhaps a were-bunny.
I like the idea of one tombstone being out of step with all the others. Again, just letting my imagination run free (as with the bunny).
The mind invests meaning to what it encounters, that's what it does. I allowed my mind to work its own ideas upon what it witnessed at JFK Prep, and the result is my novel The Association, which shall be available sometime in September. If the waiting gets to be too much for you, feel free to check out my first two books in the series while you wait. The first one's on me.
August 17, 2014
Moments Of Profound Understanding In Movies
On a forum long ago and far away, I once posted what to me were some of the greatest moments in cinematic history. It was only after posting these four clips in succession that I found a common link to them and felt the need to write about it. Let me know what you think:
After all, what possible connection could there be between The Karate Kid and a romantic comedy by Charlie Chaplin, what would link Victor Hugo’s 19th century work with a film about aliens secretly infiltrating and controlling our society? Had I not included a comment someone made on YouTube regarding They Live, I would not now try to convince anyone that any connection exists. After all, the clip I included is a fight scene, the one that inspired the “cripple fight” from South Park. The movie stars Rowdy Roddy Piper, the professional wrestler. It includes lines like: “I’m here to kick ass and chew bubble gum…and I’m all out of bubble gum.” Nothing very profound here, right? But the reference to Plato’s Republic got me thinking.Plato stated that most people’s perception of reality is akin to “cave dwellers” who merely see the reflections of the real, shadows cast upon the cave walls. If one of them were to leave the cave and see things in the light of the sun, he would initially be blinded and confused. Furthermore, if that person were to return to the cave and tell others what he saw in the daylight, they would consider his vision madness. This is the story related in They Live, where special glasses reveal the subliminal messages that are to be found everywhere: “Watch T.V.”, “Do Not Question Authority”, “Consume”. In the clip I included, Piper’s character has returned to the cave to tell others of his revelation, while Keith David’s character thinks him crazy. And like anyone else comfortable in his misconceptions, he is willing to fight for them.
In the Karate Kid, Daniel’s patience, trust, and desire are tested. Acting on faith and need, he puts up with the endless tasks Mr. Miyagi assigns him until he is fed up. He does not see Mr. Miyagi’s ultimate aim, and so he feels he is being used. Even when the meaning of his work has been revealed, it will take some time for the reality of it to sink in.
The flower girl from Chaplin’s City Lights also perceives reality as something other than what it is. She awaits her prince charming, the rich man that Chaplain’s Tramp has pretended to be. Since undergoing an operation that has restored her sight, she is on the lookout for the dapper millionaire who paid for the operation. When she sees the Tramp, she looks upon him with condescending pity, neither aware that it is he who gave her the money, nor the personal cost of his generosity.
Jean Valjean is an ex-convict who has been taught throughout his life that power and law are the only truths. When the bishop opens his house to him and shows him compassion, he cannot begin to understand where this generosity is coming from. It has no place in the world he has known, and so he falls back into the only way of behaving that he knows: that of selfishness and violence. But when the bishop exemplifies for him the teachings of Christ (“When someone slaps you on one cheek, turn and give him the other; when someone takes your coat, let him have your shirt as well”), Valjean can never again see the world in the same way again. Before, he was an animal without free will. Now he is confronted with the choice between the bishop’s example and the world he has always known.
In each of these scenes, a person’s shallow misperceptions are shattered by an almost spiritual (or very spiritual) revelation. Arrogance and ignorance give way to humility and the beginning of wisdom. We are in an age where filmmakers can create an entire world (Avatar), or destroy one (2012). But nothing in cinema will ever impress me as much as the look in a character’s eyes as a world more profound and beautiful than any they had ever known begins to take shape before them.
After all, what possible connection could there be between The Karate Kid and a romantic comedy by Charlie Chaplin, what would link Victor Hugo’s 19th century work with a film about aliens secretly infiltrating and controlling our society? Had I not included a comment someone made on YouTube regarding They Live, I would not now try to convince anyone that any connection exists. After all, the clip I included is a fight scene, the one that inspired the “cripple fight” from South Park. The movie stars Rowdy Roddy Piper, the professional wrestler. It includes lines like: “I’m here to kick ass and chew bubble gum…and I’m all out of bubble gum.” Nothing very profound here, right? But the reference to Plato’s Republic got me thinking.Plato stated that most people’s perception of reality is akin to “cave dwellers” who merely see the reflections of the real, shadows cast upon the cave walls. If one of them were to leave the cave and see things in the light of the sun, he would initially be blinded and confused. Furthermore, if that person were to return to the cave and tell others what he saw in the daylight, they would consider his vision madness. This is the story related in They Live, where special glasses reveal the subliminal messages that are to be found everywhere: “Watch T.V.”, “Do Not Question Authority”, “Consume”. In the clip I included, Piper’s character has returned to the cave to tell others of his revelation, while Keith David’s character thinks him crazy. And like anyone else comfortable in his misconceptions, he is willing to fight for them.
In the Karate Kid, Daniel’s patience, trust, and desire are tested. Acting on faith and need, he puts up with the endless tasks Mr. Miyagi assigns him until he is fed up. He does not see Mr. Miyagi’s ultimate aim, and so he feels he is being used. Even when the meaning of his work has been revealed, it will take some time for the reality of it to sink in.
The flower girl from Chaplin’s City Lights also perceives reality as something other than what it is. She awaits her prince charming, the rich man that Chaplain’s Tramp has pretended to be. Since undergoing an operation that has restored her sight, she is on the lookout for the dapper millionaire who paid for the operation. When she sees the Tramp, she looks upon him with condescending pity, neither aware that it is he who gave her the money, nor the personal cost of his generosity.
Jean Valjean is an ex-convict who has been taught throughout his life that power and law are the only truths. When the bishop opens his house to him and shows him compassion, he cannot begin to understand where this generosity is coming from. It has no place in the world he has known, and so he falls back into the only way of behaving that he knows: that of selfishness and violence. But when the bishop exemplifies for him the teachings of Christ (“When someone slaps you on one cheek, turn and give him the other; when someone takes your coat, let him have your shirt as well”), Valjean can never again see the world in the same way again. Before, he was an animal without free will. Now he is confronted with the choice between the bishop’s example and the world he has always known.
In each of these scenes, a person’s shallow misperceptions are shattered by an almost spiritual (or very spiritual) revelation. Arrogance and ignorance give way to humility and the beginning of wisdom. We are in an age where filmmakers can create an entire world (Avatar), or destroy one (2012). But nothing in cinema will ever impress me as much as the look in a character’s eyes as a world more profound and beautiful than any they had ever known begins to take shape before them.
July 29, 2014
The Amazing Morse Is Free As An E-Book
I have decided to set the price for my debut novel, The Amazing Morse, at $0. The reason for it is to introduce myself to readers who may like it enough to pick up the second in the series, Perchance To Dream. The third book, called The Association, will be released in September.
I'm hoping also that by giving my book away, I may garner some positive reviews. This can prove risky because people tend not to value that which they get for free. So far I have acquired two negative reviews, but neither of them had anything of substance to say. Nobody has been able to pick on any specific shortcomings. I do have positive and honest reviews from strangers, which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Reviews are for writers what tips are to waitstaff: we would not be able to survive without them. But more than that, they truly do make a writer's day. To know that one's hard work has been well received makes it all worth while. Never think that your acts of kindness are for naught.
And speaking of reviews, this is the most recent one I received for The Amazing Morse:
Evelyn visits her spiritualist. She knows Evelyn's future and the future of her other clients. Evelyn is bursting with joy, but the spiritualist knows there is only destruction in her clients' futures.
We first meet Daivd Morse sitting in his cubicle at work contemplating freedom and imprisionment, both of the mind and the body. As readers, we begin to see into his mind. Then, we learn of the horrible nightmares. Are they only dreams or are they replays of reality or are they forewarnings? Is he the monster of his nightmares? Certain words come to mind in describing this novel: demon, monster, surreal, evil, introspective journey, unsettling, horror; and above the rest: entertaining. This is a trip into darkness.
This is a somewhat different novel of psychological terror and horror. It is an enjoyable read.
I'm hoping also that by giving my book away, I may garner some positive reviews. This can prove risky because people tend not to value that which they get for free. So far I have acquired two negative reviews, but neither of them had anything of substance to say. Nobody has been able to pick on any specific shortcomings. I do have positive and honest reviews from strangers, which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Reviews are for writers what tips are to waitstaff: we would not be able to survive without them. But more than that, they truly do make a writer's day. To know that one's hard work has been well received makes it all worth while. Never think that your acts of kindness are for naught.
And speaking of reviews, this is the most recent one I received for The Amazing Morse:
Evelyn visits her spiritualist. She knows Evelyn's future and the future of her other clients. Evelyn is bursting with joy, but the spiritualist knows there is only destruction in her clients' futures.
We first meet Daivd Morse sitting in his cubicle at work contemplating freedom and imprisionment, both of the mind and the body. As readers, we begin to see into his mind. Then, we learn of the horrible nightmares. Are they only dreams or are they replays of reality or are they forewarnings? Is he the monster of his nightmares? Certain words come to mind in describing this novel: demon, monster, surreal, evil, introspective journey, unsettling, horror; and above the rest: entertaining. This is a trip into darkness.
This is a somewhat different novel of psychological terror and horror. It is an enjoyable read.
July 19, 2014
Cast Your Vote Against Cancer
Here's your chance to vote against CANCER. We have an anthology of vampire stories and all of the proceeds are going for a fellow writer who has a rather severe form of cancer and a ton of medical bills. By voting up The Bitten Anthology, you will be helping to raise awareness of the book and increase the money we can raise. You might have to search a bit, the book is currently at 349 but I'm hoping it will rise:https://www.goodreads.com/list/show/47810.2014_Must_Reads?page=4
And if you really like vampires and really dislike cancer, you can buy the e-book here: http://www.amazon.com/Bitten-Trish-Ma...
And if you really like vampires and really dislike cancer, you can buy the e-book here: http://www.amazon.com/Bitten-Trish-Ma...
June 23, 2014
What Meaning We Can Find, We Find In Our Hearts
I’m looking out at my very modest backyard as I write this. I see large trees in yards beyond mine, as well as the various plants and flowers that my wife carefully cultivates. It is fully summer now, and all that nature can impart to our little backyard it is providing.My dog died three weeks ago tonight, just about this time. Some won’t appreciate the bond that humans can have with animals, so if that is you, you might want to move along. But death is death, it leaves the living asking the same questions.I think of myself as a writer. Sometimes I think a writer cannot fully experience anything until he has written about it. I write about death, among other things. Mainly, I try to write about the meaning of life. I want life to have meaning, feel there MUST be meaning to it. But pretty ideas and philosophies are put to the test when the reality of death is put in front of us and we cannot ignore it.There is so much I want to say regarding the recent passing of my dog Bella. It may sound as if I am speaking of personal matters, and I am, but I hope to find universal principles from my experience. When someone, or in my case something, who is very close to you dies, there are many thoughts and emotions that flood through a person. Part of it is loyalty: I would do anything for her. Love doesn’t end with the death of the loved one. But I realize there is nothing I can do for her. I could feel guilty, or miserable, but that would do nothing to help her. She is beyond anything I can do for her, and I’m not done loving her yet.Part of it is pure selfishness on my part. Part of grieving is dealing with being the survivor. That’s when the guilt sets in, when I realize that my grief is as much about me as it is about her. My grief should be directed to her, not at my own feelings. But again, she is gone. Forever.Forever. The word hits hard on such occasions. Life is about possibilities, it’s about “maybe if I try hard enough” or “well, not this time, but maybe next time”. Humans aren’t made for ruling things out with absolute certainty. We’re born to be optimists, to believe that we can have whatever we want if we are patient, hardworking and believe. So saying goodbye forever is not natural. Maybe humans just delude themselves, maybe it is only in times of loss that we allow ourselves to see the truth. That everything we love can and will be ripped from us in time. Time is a wheel that crushes all before it.Death is also a milestone, when we look back at the time we’ve known someone. Fourteen years is a pretty long time, no matter how old you are. As a matter of fact, fourteen years seem more precious to someone who is older. With fewer years to waste, each year becomes more precious. I look back at who I was when I first came home with a little puppy in a cardboard box, think of all the time we spent, of all that has changed in my life in that time. And I see in her passing the passing of all things. Life ticks by us in sections, and here was one big section that is gone forever. One more piece in my collection firmly filed in the past.I try to write about meaning, but meaning tends to desert us when we experience loss. Meaning doesn’t MEAN anything sometimes, it is an abstract notion that matters little compared to the very tangible losses we experience.In the end, meaning is not an intellectual but an experiential thing. Reality is too large for us to grasp with our mind. It is only the heart that can truly understand the really big issues of life. I remember being a man in my twenties, visiting an aunt who was dying. I spent the night with another aunt, who was then in her eighties. We spent a good amount of time discussing the meaning of life. She was a good, intelligent woman, but she was about to lose her little sister. She didn’t have any more answers than I did.Old age will not permit us to understand life and death anymore than youth can. But if a person lives life openly, he will know how it feels. If you leave yourself open to love, pain, and loss, that is as close as you will get to understanding. Do not hide yourself from such things by constructing philosophies or beliefs that seek to explain away what you feel. Feel and do not turn away from the feeling. Embrace whatever feeling you experience, because it as much as anything else is real. Feel, and the experience of it will give you whatever wisdom and understanding is granted to humans.Shortly before I started writing this, I looked in my backyard and noticed a chipmunk feeding from the hummingbird feeder my wife has by the porch. A few moments later, I looked out the back window to notice a baby bunny sitting in the grass, as well as a bunch of birds bouncing around. Coming back to my seat, I saw a cardinal sitting on our fence. With the myriad flowers, the world truly seemed alive. And it was all in my little backyard, the place that my dog Bella reigned over for over fourteen years. And I understood. I’m sure it sounds silly to you, but I understood.
June 22, 2014
A Seance from The Sleep Of Reason (Part 2)
Writing this sort of creeped me out, I hope the chills translate to others, as well:
Like a wisp of smoke that turned solid, the bluish presence within the circle slowly took form. Two eyes seemed to exude sadness and knowledge as they stared towards Russell. The figure was tall and thin, his narrow jaw and long nose blossoming into a prominent forehead. Wild waves of hair gathered around the sides of a receding hairline. The figure in the center radiated its blue light so that each of the members holding hands were bathed in the light.“What secrets are you hoping to discover?” asked the blue apparition, peering down at them. He appeared unnaturally tall, as if he levitated in order to show his rank.“We are looking for our missing friends,” said Russell. “Have you seen them?”“You want answers, but answers are worth nothing until they are earned. If you wish to see what we see, then you must walk the path that we have walked.”“We only wish to find our friends. Will you not help us?”“Our secrets are our own. If you want answers, you must join us. Trust for trust.”“We don’t want to join you,” said Doug, “we just want what’s ours. You have no right to keep our friends from us.”“They came here of their own volition. Like you, they came seeking answers, which we provided them. But answers come with a price, which they have paid. Will you?”Mindy was tempted to ask what price they would have to pay, what price Dave and Johnny had paid, but Doug spoke again.“We have not come to bargain with you,” said Doug. His voice projected authority, but Mindy had no idea where it came from, what he could back it up with.The figure inside the circle did not seem to recognize any authority other than his own. Mindy again became aware of the hands she clung to, felt the security they provided. Maintain the circle and contain the spirit. Although everyone in the circle reflected the blue glow from the presence in the middle. The blue glow seemed to lie now even beyond their circle. She felt the beads that Russell’s grasp pushed into the flesh of her hands, realized they belonged to the man in front of them, that he must be Gregor Soeldner. She feared that he might recognize them as his own, demand them back.“I do not bargain, I speak truth. The Association has endured because we have not betrayed our secrets. If we let you in, we will not let you out.”“We have summoned you to tell us what we need to know,” Mindy was pretty sure Doug was bluffing that he had nothing to back up his bluster. “You are contained within the circle we have created. You have no power, you cannot set conditions.”“Yes, I am contained within your circle,” said Gregor. “But your circle is a small thing. And I am the only one within it.”Mindy had been staring at Gregor, at the bluish glow of his presence. Now she shifted her gaze to beyond the circle the four members of The Beyond Show formed with their hands. Looking to her right, then left, she noticed beyond the circle the same glow existed outside of the four members. There were many figures outside of the circle, surrounding them, each of them holding hands in the same manner that Mindy and the others were. Each of them shared a gaze of intent that lacked any human element.She looked at Doug and found him lacking any response. In that moment she knew she’d better gather her courage, that she was the one who had the most to lose. Whatever strength and experience the others had, she was among them and therefore had a part to play. She gazed at Gregor, who as yet had not looked at her, and said, “Perhaps they have us, but we have you. You have been summoned by us, and you will answer to us. You no longer speak from the authority that you did as a man of God, you are but a remnant of a man, a memory that has lingered. You exist to share your message. Speak!”He looked at her as one who had been discovered, and said, “The answers and the people you seek are below us. If you dare to follow, it is there that you will find your answers.” The figure of Gregor flickered, as if to say that it was not the thing they should be looking at. The group, still holding hands, turned their gaze outside of the circle, looked at the figures beyond. There were enough to form a full circle around them, even at a distance. But the circle soon dissipated as the figures began to walk single file towards a building to their west. Mindy looked to Doug and the others. Without the need for discussion, the decision was made. It was Russell who spoke for the group, “You are released, Gregor Soeldner.” The light that reflected from each of their faces vanished into blackness as the figure in front of them disappeared.“Let’s follow them,” said Mindy, her words braver than the feeling in her heart. They trailed after the figures who moved slowly, like a chain gang returning from work. They disappeared through a door that Russell was forced to open for the others. Izzy would have been more than happy to be the last one through the door, but Doug stood behind, as if to guard against a reappearance from Gregor. They walked upon tiled floors littered with glass, their way well-lit by the glow of the apparitions. There were perhaps fifty of them, most but not all of them dressed similar to Gregor. Some appeared to have been from newer eras, as if even in death The Association was adding to its ranks. There was one who seemed to be a teenager, perhaps one who had come to this place not many years back to drink a few beers and give a scare to his girlfriend. The whole of them shuffled along like zombies, as if their will had abandoned them, or as if they had surrendered themselves to the judgment of The Association, of Gregor Soeldner.They led them down a flight of stairs, led them through hallways that shone blue in their presence. Great pipes hugged cement walls, vanishing into the darkness where the blue glow did not extend. Mindy walked behind Russell, content to have someone at her back in the darkness.As Mindy walked she became aware of the terrible silence around her. The glowing apparitions were noiseless as they plodded along cement floors like zombies called by their master. Before she knew it, the smooth cement gave way to a hasher stone flooring, causing her to become more aware of her footsteps that padded softly like ripples on a still pond. The darkness gave opportunity for her mind to imagine hidden dangers, but she found herself preferring it to the blue glow.There was a tunnel that led off to their right, cloaked in darkness. But at the edge of light emitted by the group, Mindy couldn’t help thinking that for an instant she caught a glimpse of a skeleton. They were well lost by this point, having taken a large amounts of twists and turns, too many choices of which tunnel to take. As they passed by on offshoot, Mindy heard the sound of movement which she knew was not caused by any of them.“Did you hear that?” Mindy asked, turning back towards Izzy and Doug.“Yes,” said Doug. “Try not to think about it. Hopefully, The Association will keep us safe for their own purposes, whatever they may be.”“It might be Dave!” said Mindy. Russell said he was somewhere in the dark, alone. We’ve got to find out if it’s him.”“If we get lost in here, we’ll never find our way out. We have to stick with them.”“I’ll go with her,” said Izzy. “I’ve got a flashlight. We’ll investigate and see what we can find.”“You’ll get lost,” said Doug.“We’ll only get lost if theyallow us to get lost. I don’t think that will happen. You and Russell go ahead, we’ll catch up.”Izzy appeared truly brave at that moment, making Mindy wonder if the times he appeared less so to be merely a guise. How could somebody so unknowable become so trustworthy, she thought.Izzy turned on his flashlight and they headed down the dark tunnel, Russell and Doug still following the blue procession. Mindy found herself relieved when they had distanced themselves enough that she could no longer detect the blue that had so consumed her sight.The tunnel they entered was rough, crudely dug, and Izzy gazed about with the aid of his flashlight to determine if it was even safe to enter. It looked to be dug into earth or clay rather than rock. They did not have to travel far before reaching the end. The noise was louder now, like the scratching of a rat. Izzy seemed reluctant to lower the beam of his flashlight, preferring ignorance to knowledge. When at last he found the courage to lower it, Mindy saw a figure hunched in the darkness, clawing at the wall in front of him as if he were looking to expand the tunnel he was lost in. It wasn’t Dave, thought Mindy, it couldn’t be him. He had been wearing the blue jacket she had bought for him when he left. This man wore a flannel shirt. And boots, Dave didn’t own boots. This couldn’t be Dave.Mindy would have been content to let it go at that, allow whoever it was to go about his business. But Izzy realized him for what he was, a fellow human being in need of aid. He called to him, and when that did not work, grabbed him by the shoulder. The man twisted around with speed caused by fear. He stared into the light that Izzy shown at him, and Mindy couldn’t help thinking he flashed them a huge smile. But the edges of that smile were ragged, and in a flash of realization, Mindy realized that his lips were for the better part missing. Even as she looked at him in terror, the man in front of them was busily moving his jaw, attempting to bite at whatever flesh remained in chewing distance. His eyes were wide open despite the pain unexpected light must have caused him. He was alert in the way only great fear can achieve. Unable to look at the massacred mouth, she focused on his eyes, which radiated terror. She could see the pupils shrinking in reaction to the light, at the jaw nervously looking for something to chew.Mindy screamed. She felt her body shrink towards Izzy, trying instinctually to find shelter in another’s strength. Together, they retreated slowly from the tunnel, Izzy’s flashlight still shining in the face of the man whose fear had caused him to chew his own lips off. Mindy could still the jaw working as the vision faded from her sight.
They had not been separated for long. When they returned to the tunnel they had come from, the glow had disappeared, but they knew which direction they were going. They ran quickly, as much to distance themselves from what they witnessed as to find the others.
Like a wisp of smoke that turned solid, the bluish presence within the circle slowly took form. Two eyes seemed to exude sadness and knowledge as they stared towards Russell. The figure was tall and thin, his narrow jaw and long nose blossoming into a prominent forehead. Wild waves of hair gathered around the sides of a receding hairline. The figure in the center radiated its blue light so that each of the members holding hands were bathed in the light.“What secrets are you hoping to discover?” asked the blue apparition, peering down at them. He appeared unnaturally tall, as if he levitated in order to show his rank.“We are looking for our missing friends,” said Russell. “Have you seen them?”“You want answers, but answers are worth nothing until they are earned. If you wish to see what we see, then you must walk the path that we have walked.”“We only wish to find our friends. Will you not help us?”“Our secrets are our own. If you want answers, you must join us. Trust for trust.”“We don’t want to join you,” said Doug, “we just want what’s ours. You have no right to keep our friends from us.”“They came here of their own volition. Like you, they came seeking answers, which we provided them. But answers come with a price, which they have paid. Will you?”Mindy was tempted to ask what price they would have to pay, what price Dave and Johnny had paid, but Doug spoke again.“We have not come to bargain with you,” said Doug. His voice projected authority, but Mindy had no idea where it came from, what he could back it up with.The figure inside the circle did not seem to recognize any authority other than his own. Mindy again became aware of the hands she clung to, felt the security they provided. Maintain the circle and contain the spirit. Although everyone in the circle reflected the blue glow from the presence in the middle. The blue glow seemed to lie now even beyond their circle. She felt the beads that Russell’s grasp pushed into the flesh of her hands, realized they belonged to the man in front of them, that he must be Gregor Soeldner. She feared that he might recognize them as his own, demand them back.“I do not bargain, I speak truth. The Association has endured because we have not betrayed our secrets. If we let you in, we will not let you out.”“We have summoned you to tell us what we need to know,” Mindy was pretty sure Doug was bluffing that he had nothing to back up his bluster. “You are contained within the circle we have created. You have no power, you cannot set conditions.”“Yes, I am contained within your circle,” said Gregor. “But your circle is a small thing. And I am the only one within it.”Mindy had been staring at Gregor, at the bluish glow of his presence. Now she shifted her gaze to beyond the circle the four members of The Beyond Show formed with their hands. Looking to her right, then left, she noticed beyond the circle the same glow existed outside of the four members. There were many figures outside of the circle, surrounding them, each of them holding hands in the same manner that Mindy and the others were. Each of them shared a gaze of intent that lacked any human element.She looked at Doug and found him lacking any response. In that moment she knew she’d better gather her courage, that she was the one who had the most to lose. Whatever strength and experience the others had, she was among them and therefore had a part to play. She gazed at Gregor, who as yet had not looked at her, and said, “Perhaps they have us, but we have you. You have been summoned by us, and you will answer to us. You no longer speak from the authority that you did as a man of God, you are but a remnant of a man, a memory that has lingered. You exist to share your message. Speak!”He looked at her as one who had been discovered, and said, “The answers and the people you seek are below us. If you dare to follow, it is there that you will find your answers.” The figure of Gregor flickered, as if to say that it was not the thing they should be looking at. The group, still holding hands, turned their gaze outside of the circle, looked at the figures beyond. There were enough to form a full circle around them, even at a distance. But the circle soon dissipated as the figures began to walk single file towards a building to their west. Mindy looked to Doug and the others. Without the need for discussion, the decision was made. It was Russell who spoke for the group, “You are released, Gregor Soeldner.” The light that reflected from each of their faces vanished into blackness as the figure in front of them disappeared.“Let’s follow them,” said Mindy, her words braver than the feeling in her heart. They trailed after the figures who moved slowly, like a chain gang returning from work. They disappeared through a door that Russell was forced to open for the others. Izzy would have been more than happy to be the last one through the door, but Doug stood behind, as if to guard against a reappearance from Gregor. They walked upon tiled floors littered with glass, their way well-lit by the glow of the apparitions. There were perhaps fifty of them, most but not all of them dressed similar to Gregor. Some appeared to have been from newer eras, as if even in death The Association was adding to its ranks. There was one who seemed to be a teenager, perhaps one who had come to this place not many years back to drink a few beers and give a scare to his girlfriend. The whole of them shuffled along like zombies, as if their will had abandoned them, or as if they had surrendered themselves to the judgment of The Association, of Gregor Soeldner.They led them down a flight of stairs, led them through hallways that shone blue in their presence. Great pipes hugged cement walls, vanishing into the darkness where the blue glow did not extend. Mindy walked behind Russell, content to have someone at her back in the darkness.As Mindy walked she became aware of the terrible silence around her. The glowing apparitions were noiseless as they plodded along cement floors like zombies called by their master. Before she knew it, the smooth cement gave way to a hasher stone flooring, causing her to become more aware of her footsteps that padded softly like ripples on a still pond. The darkness gave opportunity for her mind to imagine hidden dangers, but she found herself preferring it to the blue glow.There was a tunnel that led off to their right, cloaked in darkness. But at the edge of light emitted by the group, Mindy couldn’t help thinking that for an instant she caught a glimpse of a skeleton. They were well lost by this point, having taken a large amounts of twists and turns, too many choices of which tunnel to take. As they passed by on offshoot, Mindy heard the sound of movement which she knew was not caused by any of them.“Did you hear that?” Mindy asked, turning back towards Izzy and Doug.“Yes,” said Doug. “Try not to think about it. Hopefully, The Association will keep us safe for their own purposes, whatever they may be.”“It might be Dave!” said Mindy. Russell said he was somewhere in the dark, alone. We’ve got to find out if it’s him.”“If we get lost in here, we’ll never find our way out. We have to stick with them.”“I’ll go with her,” said Izzy. “I’ve got a flashlight. We’ll investigate and see what we can find.”“You’ll get lost,” said Doug.“We’ll only get lost if theyallow us to get lost. I don’t think that will happen. You and Russell go ahead, we’ll catch up.”Izzy appeared truly brave at that moment, making Mindy wonder if the times he appeared less so to be merely a guise. How could somebody so unknowable become so trustworthy, she thought.Izzy turned on his flashlight and they headed down the dark tunnel, Russell and Doug still following the blue procession. Mindy found herself relieved when they had distanced themselves enough that she could no longer detect the blue that had so consumed her sight.The tunnel they entered was rough, crudely dug, and Izzy gazed about with the aid of his flashlight to determine if it was even safe to enter. It looked to be dug into earth or clay rather than rock. They did not have to travel far before reaching the end. The noise was louder now, like the scratching of a rat. Izzy seemed reluctant to lower the beam of his flashlight, preferring ignorance to knowledge. When at last he found the courage to lower it, Mindy saw a figure hunched in the darkness, clawing at the wall in front of him as if he were looking to expand the tunnel he was lost in. It wasn’t Dave, thought Mindy, it couldn’t be him. He had been wearing the blue jacket she had bought for him when he left. This man wore a flannel shirt. And boots, Dave didn’t own boots. This couldn’t be Dave.Mindy would have been content to let it go at that, allow whoever it was to go about his business. But Izzy realized him for what he was, a fellow human being in need of aid. He called to him, and when that did not work, grabbed him by the shoulder. The man twisted around with speed caused by fear. He stared into the light that Izzy shown at him, and Mindy couldn’t help thinking he flashed them a huge smile. But the edges of that smile were ragged, and in a flash of realization, Mindy realized that his lips were for the better part missing. Even as she looked at him in terror, the man in front of them was busily moving his jaw, attempting to bite at whatever flesh remained in chewing distance. His eyes were wide open despite the pain unexpected light must have caused him. He was alert in the way only great fear can achieve. Unable to look at the massacred mouth, she focused on his eyes, which radiated terror. She could see the pupils shrinking in reaction to the light, at the jaw nervously looking for something to chew.Mindy screamed. She felt her body shrink towards Izzy, trying instinctually to find shelter in another’s strength. Together, they retreated slowly from the tunnel, Izzy’s flashlight still shining in the face of the man whose fear had caused him to chew his own lips off. Mindy could still the jaw working as the vision faded from her sight.
They had not been separated for long. When they returned to the tunnel they had come from, the glow had disappeared, but they knew which direction they were going. They ran quickly, as much to distance themselves from what they witnessed as to find the others.
Pictures Intended to Inspire
Before Ron Howard, in fact, before the invention of the digital camera, I came up with the idea of taking a bunch of pictures and trying to write a story around what I came up with. I ended up misplacing the pictures from my original experiment and never finished it, but here is another example of the idea in practice. Last year, my wife and I took a little visit to the JFK Prep School, and these are the pictures I took. My wife's pictures I uploaded a couple of posts ago.I think you can tell the difference between our photos as she is looking for a good picture, while I am often looking for the unusual and asking myself "what could this mean?" The end results of this picture taking expedition will be The Sleep Of Reason, the third book in The Amazing Morse series.
One of the first buildings we encountered on the site. Growing up in the suburbs, I was not used to buildings in a state of disrepair. Everything there was new, albeit tacky and without substance.
Here is the cemetery with the shrine of Ambrose Oschwald and a little chapel behind it.
The grass always grows a little differently over a casket, a reminder that of what lies beneath.
I was looking for good names for characters. I really had no idea what my book would be about, yet.
Again, looking for inspiration. There is so much of it to be found if one remains open to it.
Herein lies Ambrose Oschwald, who led a group of people to the new world in order to follow their religious convictions. He was both a priest and a doctor, and his healing abilities were often called miracles. He was originally buried elsewhere, but it was said that when he was dug up to be brought here, his body was remarkably well preserved.
The chapel,
I'm not sure what this is, but it obviously had significance to someone:
I cannot now recall why we did not walk down this trail. I don't know where it lead. I'll have to take another visit.
Here's me finding a rope and wondering what it was used for. The answers to such questions lead to interesting stories.
When I tried to take a photo of the picture, the light from the stained glass tended to get in the way. I tried to use it to good effect.
Again, just me wondering what the mark on the door meant.
The tomb of Ambrose Oschwald, with a picture of him above.
An interesting picture placed upon a gate that separates the tomb of Father Oschwald from visitors. There has been enough vandalism in this place that, sadly, the gate might be necessary.
There is something about religious art that can at times be grotesque. This is not a judgment on religion, merely an acknowledgement that when religion ruled human thought, all human thought was expressed through religious means.
There is something about grandeur that is in a state of disrepair that is striking to me. It is hard to imagine that something that took so much effort from so many could be left to chance and the ravages of time.
Others apparently feel like me. Even more so. They are actively attempting to restore former beauty, whereas I simply comment on things.
It's nice to see that the damage by vandals on other areas of this site has spared the stained glass windows of the church.
In my series, The Amazing Morse, the main character is an aspiring magician who ends up working as an estimator for a door hardware company. I feel obliged to add a little information about door hardware in each novel (very little).
One of the first buildings we encountered on the site. Growing up in the suburbs, I was not used to buildings in a state of disrepair. Everything there was new, albeit tacky and without substance.
Here is the cemetery with the shrine of Ambrose Oschwald and a little chapel behind it.
The grass always grows a little differently over a casket, a reminder that of what lies beneath.
I was looking for good names for characters. I really had no idea what my book would be about, yet.
Again, looking for inspiration. There is so much of it to be found if one remains open to it.
Herein lies Ambrose Oschwald, who led a group of people to the new world in order to follow their religious convictions. He was both a priest and a doctor, and his healing abilities were often called miracles. He was originally buried elsewhere, but it was said that when he was dug up to be brought here, his body was remarkably well preserved.
The chapel,
I'm not sure what this is, but it obviously had significance to someone:
I cannot now recall why we did not walk down this trail. I don't know where it lead. I'll have to take another visit.
Here's me finding a rope and wondering what it was used for. The answers to such questions lead to interesting stories.
When I tried to take a photo of the picture, the light from the stained glass tended to get in the way. I tried to use it to good effect.
Again, just me wondering what the mark on the door meant.
The tomb of Ambrose Oschwald, with a picture of him above.
An interesting picture placed upon a gate that separates the tomb of Father Oschwald from visitors. There has been enough vandalism in this place that, sadly, the gate might be necessary.
There is something about religious art that can at times be grotesque. This is not a judgment on religion, merely an acknowledgement that when religion ruled human thought, all human thought was expressed through religious means.
There is something about grandeur that is in a state of disrepair that is striking to me. It is hard to imagine that something that took so much effort from so many could be left to chance and the ravages of time.
Others apparently feel like me. Even more so. They are actively attempting to restore former beauty, whereas I simply comment on things.
It's nice to see that the damage by vandals on other areas of this site has spared the stained glass windows of the church.
In my series, The Amazing Morse, the main character is an aspiring magician who ends up working as an estimator for a door hardware company. I feel obliged to add a little information about door hardware in each novel (very little).
