The Paris Review - A Literary Wonderland
From one of the most classic literary journals of all time, famous for its author interviews (among other things), comes the PR feed. Grab your coffee and conjure your most literary mindset cause you're going to need it. Academics and shut-ins will wet their pants over this. Ya gotta love it!
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In Valerie Stivers’s Eat Your Words series, she cooks up recipes drawn from the works of various writers. Photo: Erica MacLean. A police inspector wakes up in his beachfront apartment in Sicily and goes for a long swim, then to the office to confront his day of paperwork and complications: the corrupt officials, the jealous girlfriend, the frequent corpses. He has barely started before it’s time for lunch at the kind of restaurant he likes—one with no decor and the owner’s wife in the kitchen. The inspector is an aggressive, tightly wound man who does his job well. The pleasure that he takes in his food is an escape of a kind, an embrace of life by a person who regularl…
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Photo: Erica MacLean. The introduction to Mariners, Castaways and Renegades, a 1953 work on Herman Melville by the activist, critic, and novelist C. L. R. James (1901–1989), is electrifying to the Melville lover. It starts with an indelible line: “The miracle of Herman Melville is this: that a hundred years ago in two novels, Moby-Dick and Pierre, and two or three stories, he painted a picture of the world in which we live, which is to this day unsurpassed.” That’s a huge claim, but readers of Moby-Dick know it to be as true today as it was when James’s book was first published. James goes on to write that “a great part” of the volume he is introducing was produced while…
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Photograph by Erica MacLean. In the opening scene of the play Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand, first performed in 1897, “orange girls” at a Parisian theater in the 1640s make their way through an audience of soldiers, society ladies, noblemen, and riffraff, selling orangeade, raspberry cordial, syllabub, macarons, lemonade, iced buns, and cream puffs. The handsome soldier Christian de Neuvillette and his friends sample their wares, drink wine, and eat from a buffet. A poet and pastry cook named Ragueneau banter-barters an apple tartlet for a verse. Then the poet and militia captain Cyrano arrives, and in a glorious, idealistic act, spends his year’s salary to get a …
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Photograph by Erica MacLean. For the past fourteen months I have been on a path of conversion to Catholicism. In addition to going to mass, trying to memorize prayers, and worrying about my singing voice, I attend a staid biweekly discussion group moderated by a priest. We are slowly reading a book of contemporary Italian theology. My conversion was spurred by a specific—and specifically Catholic—experience of grace. I am confident about it, but less so about reconciling myself with the many dogmas of Catholic Church. I have struggled especially, as a previously secular person, with believing in sin. As a category, it has always seemed socially malignant, an excuse to bu…
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Photograph by Erica Maclean. Dorothy Sayers’s Strong Poison opens with a description of a man’s last meal before death. The deceased, Philip Boyes, was a writer with “advanced” ideas, dining at the home of his wealthy great-nephew, Norman Urquhart, a lawyer. A judge tells a jury what he ate: the meal starts with a glass of 1847 oloroso “by way of cocktail,” followed by a cup of cold bouillon—“very strong, good soup, set to a clear jelly”—then turbot with sauce, poulet en casserole, and finally a sweet omelet stuffed with jam and prepared tableside. The point of the description is to show that Boyes couldn’t have been poisoned, since every dish was shared, with the except…
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Photograph by Erica Maclean. The painter and poet Florine Stettheimer should have been easy to cook from. Her poetry, commercially published for the first time in the 2010 collection Crystal Flowers, has a section devoted to “comestibles”—including airy tributes to ham, bread, and tomatoes with Russian dressing—and her paintings often portray food. She was born to a wealthy German-Jewish family in New York in the late eighteen hundreds, part of a social circle that included Neustadters and Guggenheims, and she held salons that were a Who’s Who of the New York art world. (Marcel Duchamp, Carl Van Vechten, and Leo Stein were regulars.) Stettheimer did not oversee the cooki…
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Please join Valerie Stivers and Hank Zona for a virtual, Melville-themed wine tasting on Friday, May 7, at 6 P.M. on The Paris Review’s Instagram account. For more details, visit our events page, or scroll down to the bottom of the article. Photo: Erica MacLean. Whenever I would tell someone I was cooking from Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick for my next column, they would gleefully shriek, “Whale steaks!” And I would dither a bit and explain that no, those are illegal in America, and that I was instead planning to make two forms of chowder, clam and cod, that weren’t going to be very different from each other. In our Chowhound-fueled, extreme-eating kind of world, I felt a …
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Photo by Erica Maclean. The novel Basti by Intizar Husain begins with children in the fictional village of Rupnagar— which means beautiful place in Urdu—shopping for staple foods like salt and brown sugar. Trees here breathe “through the centuries,” time “speaks” in the voices of birds, the world is new, and the sky is fresh. From a distance, elephants look like mountains moving. For the children, including the novel’s protagonist, Zakir, one source of information about the world is the town shopkeeper, Bhagat-ji, a Hindu; Zakir’s father, Abba Jan, a Muslim, is another. Bhagat-ji tells them that elephants could once fly and are hatched from eggs. Abba Jan, who is referr…
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In Valerie Stivers’s Eat Your Words series, she cooks up recipes drawn from the works of various writers. Photo: Erica MacLean. Lately, when I think about jealousy or, shall I admit it, when I feel jealous, I remind myself of the story “The Earthgod and the Fox,” by the Japanese writer Kenji Miyazawa (1896–1933). When I think about politics, I consider Miyazawa’s story “The Fire Stone.” For my artistic practice, there’s “Gorsch the Cellist”; for my place in nature, “The Bears of Nametoko.” I can’t say there’s a Miyazawa story for everything—the writer died young and lived nearly a century ago in rural northern Japan—but he had stories for many of our basic human vices, …
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Photo: Erica Maclean This year, I suggest a sad and lovelorn Halloween, tender and tolerant of monsters. The book for the mood is the 1816 novel Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley (1797–1851), a classic of gothic literature whose pages inspired foraged-fare acorn scones, a cocktail, and a bread pudding—not weird science, but foods of love. Readers, critics, and biographers have long sought the key to Frankenstein in Mary Shelley’s life, which had all the tragedy and plot twists of a good gothic novel. Shelley was the daughter of Mary Wollstonecraft, author of the early feminist text A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, and William Godwin, a radical political writer as famou…
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Photo: Erica MacLean. Today, the Eat Your Words kitchen plunges into controversy with Mikhail Sholokhov (1905–1984), the Russian known as Joseph Stalin’s favorite writer, whose greatest work is And Quiet Flows the Don. This book—if it can be called a book, and not an item of propaganda, or possibly a plagiarism, or at least a contested territory—was published in serial format from 1925 to 1932, and then was completed with a final volume in 1940. In the end it comprised four “books” concerning a cast of characters based in the Don Cossack region of Russia (now in Ukraine), set in a time period starting around 1912, before the outbreak of World War I, and continuing throug…
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Photograph by Erica MacLean. I am a baker of pies and a believer in pleasures, but also the kind of killjoy who can’t take a rom-com in the spirit it’s intended. Hence my fraught relationship with Heartburn by Nora Ephron. I remember—from 1983, the year the book was published—it being marketed as a “hilarious” comedy about a woman cooking her way out of a broken heart at the end of a marriage. Heartburn was a cultural sensation in the suburbs of my youth, such that I recall my mother cackling over the film adaptation and criticizing Meryl Streep’s looks—not pretty enough! The story was said to be inspired by Ephron’s divorce from Carl Bernstein and has always been consid…
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Photograph by Erica MacLean. “Dad did not care about food,” the daughter of the Soviet dissident writer Sergei Dovlatov once told me, vehemently, upon my suggestion that I might cook from her father’s work. I knew what she meant, but I also knew that Dovlatov’s books were full of the everyday food that was still current in Moscow when I first arrived there to live in the nineties, a few years after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Dovlatov’s characters pause during phone conversations to scream that someone not forget to buy the instant coffee (the only coffee available—I grew to like it). They drink—continuously—wine, vodka, beer. They offer each other bowls of borscht…
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In Valerie Stivers’s Eat Your Words series, she cooks up recipes drawn from the works of various writers. Photo: Erica MacLean. The most common food in the medieval historical romance Kristin Lavransdatter, written by the Norwegian author Sigrid Undset (1882–1949), is oatmeal porridge, a dish I made elaborate perfection of during my children’s early years. The porridges in Undset’s book are good and nourishing but plain (though in one scene, a young Kristin eats hers with “thick cream” off her father’s spoon). Mine, on the other hand, were ridiculous. I blitzed half the oats in the baby-food blender before cooking. I tried different combinations of milk and water. I mad…
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Photograph by Erica MacLean. The Japanese writer Taeko Kōno is a maestro of transgressive desire whose stories often—and deliciously—use food as a metaphor for sexual appetite. Kōno, who died in 2015, is considered one of Japan’s foremost feminist writers and one of its foremost writers of any kind. She won many of the country’s top literary prizes, including the Akutagawa, the Tanizaki, the Noma, and the Yomiuri. The single selection of her work in English, Toddler-Hunting & Other Stories, first published by New Directions in 1996 and translated by Lucy North and Lucy Lower, contains ten dark, deceptively simple stories about women who find the gender roles in Jap…
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Photos by Erica Maclean. The boeuf en daube in To the Lighthouse, a 1927 novel by Virginia Woolf about an English family on vacation in the Hebrides, is one of the best-known dishes in literature. Obsessed over for many chapters by the protagonist, Mrs. Ramsay, and requiring many days of preparation, it is unveiled in a scene of crucial significance. This “savory confusion of brown and yellow meats,” in its huge pot, gives off an “exquisite scent of olives and oil and juice.” It serves as a monument to the joys of family life and a celebration of fleeting moments. Thus, it is with fear and trembling that I suggest that Woolf’s boeuf en daube, from a cook’s perspective, i…
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In the early stages of quarantine, a lot of people ordered War and Peace. I hesitated. I am not a doctor, or a delivery person, or a health care worker, I thought. I have no god’s-eye view on the real suffering taking place. In the end I reached for Jean Genet’s Our Lady of the Flowers, a lurid masturbation epic first drafted in prison on brown paper bags. Because while a lot of us, in these uncertain times, could use some Tolstoyan omniscience, even more of us could use some sex. Don’t be shy, don’t be ashamed! Reminder that when Shakespeare was quarantined, he definitely masturbated. As with romance and God, so has mankind been motivated to aesthetic heights by “traffi…
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Illustration by Na Kim. We were sitting at a long table, images and diagrams projected onto the wall behind us, while the audience faced us in silence. I was part of a panel on hoarding, along with another psychoanalyst and a memoirist. As I gave my presentation, audience members went about their business as though they were invisible, like people in cars sometimes do. One person directly in front of me scrolled and typed on her iPhone. Another stood up, walked to the back of the room to get a drink, then returned to his seat and rummaged through his bag. I became aware of my attempt to block out these actions, to pretend not to see what I was seeing. At one point, I mu…
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Still from The Seventh Seal courtesy of the Criterion Collection. The film is available to stream, and as a disc set. We’re in a room on the ground floor of a hotel, the bed facing a wall of curtained windows that in turn faces the street. It is nighttime. Rain is coming down, steadily, reflectively, a stream of passersby visible through the curtains, which are sheer. Everyone is moving in the same direction, bent slightly forward and holding an umbrella, from left to right, the good direction, from past to future, the opposite of where Death leads the knight and the squire and the monk and the smith and the mute in their final dance against the backdrop of time in Ingma…
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Author photo of Daniel Galera © Suhrkamp Verlag. Daniel Galera was born in São Paulo, and spent a year and a half in Garopaba, the Brazilian seaside town that became the setting for his tense, violent, and funny 2012 novel Blood-Drenched Beard, which was published in the U.S. by Penguin Press in 2015. His other novels include The Shape of Bones (2017) and Twenty After Midnight (2020). He has translated works by John Cheever, David Foster Wallace, and Zadie Smith into Portuguese, and his latest book, The God of Ferns, published in the Portuguese by Companhia das Letras, is a collection of three novellas. Earlier this year, we read the title story, translated by Julia Sanc…
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David Wojnarowicz, Oct. 22nd postcard, from the Jean Pierre Delage Archive of Letters, Postcards and Ephemera, 1979–1991. Courtesy of the Estate of David Wojnarowicz and P·P·O·W, New York. David Wojnarowicz’s final home was on the corner of Second Avenue and Twelfth Street on the Lower East Side. He moved in after the prior tenant, his mentor and former lover Peter Hujar, died of AIDS. A few months later, in 1988, David was diagnosed with AIDS himself; he’d die in the Second Avenue apartment four years later at the age of thirty-seven. Every time I visit the corner across from his apartment, I picture David walking out the door on a cold morning. The puff of his breat…
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DAWN KASPER, “MICHELLE FRANCO” (2003), ANNA HELWING GALLERY, CHICAGO ART FAIR. Photo courtesy of David Lewis Gallery. Around the turn of the millennium, when she was twenty-three, the artist Dawn Kasper began picturing herself dead. Then a first-year graduate student at UCLA Arts, she was spending a great deal of time in isolation in her studio, and the rest of her time consuming material that revolved in some way around violence: video nasties, death-scene photographs by Weegee, Andy Warhol’s Death and Disaster silk screens, etc. Eventually, a nagging thought set in: However many entries she slotted into her ever-expanding mental Rolodex of female death scenes—Janet Lei…
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Mur de la Peste, Lagnes. Photograph by Marianne Casamance, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons. The Plague was not an easy book to write. Camus was ill when he began it, then trapped by the borders keeping him in Nazi-occupied France. Aside from these difficulties, there was the pressure of authentically speaking up about the violence of World War II without falling into the nationalist heroics he deplored. Like with most problems in art, the solution was to address it directly: in one of the most revelatory sections of the novel, the character Tarrou blurs the line between fancy rhetoric and violence. “I’ve heard so much reasoning that almost turned my head,” he says, “…
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Jack Kerouac’s notebook. Image courtesy of the Jack Kerouac Estate and Charles Shuttleworth. Read any biography of Jack Kerouac and here’s essentially what you’ll learn: that in the summer of 1956 he spent two months in a mountaintop shack as a fire lookout for the US Forest Service in the North Cascades in Washington State, and nothing much happened. Mostly he was bored. Jack’s experience on Desolation Peak marked the climax of his involvement with Buddhism and of a decade of restless travel; it’s the high point of his journeying and spiritual seeking. A voracious reader, he nevertheless chose to go up the mountain without any books, only his personally typed copy of t…
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In Off Menu, Edward White serves up lesser-told stories of chefs cooking in interesting times. Alma Reville with a wax figure of Alfred Hitchcock’s head, 1974. © Philippe Halsman/Magnum Photos. Within the shifted reality of an Alfred Hitchcock movie there is no steady fact of existence that cannot be undermined. The ambiguity extends even to food and drink. In Notorious, Ingrid Bergman’s heroine is poisoned in her own home by a cup of coffee, while homebodies in The Man Who Knew Too Much feel discomfort in foreign lands because of the exotic food they are fed. In mid-twentieth-century America, nothing could be more wholesome and nourishing than a glass of milk—except wh…
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WTF is Wrong With Stephen King?
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I Could Not Believe It: The Teenage Diaries of Sean DeLear
Courtesy of Semiotext(e). I met Sean DeLear when I was twenty-four, in this house across from the Eagle in Los Angeles—I remember Sean talking about the LA scene, me asking him if he had a Germs burn (I don’t remember the answer), but also being very struck by the fact that up until that point I had probably met only a couple dozen Black punks but never anyone of Sean De’s age and with their poise. Even in Stripped Bare House at 2 A.M. and being festive she just commanded this kind of magic and glamour—it was definitely something to reach for and to aspire to. We don’t always clock these things when we are younger, but the mere presence of her let me be hip to the fact that I could be beautiful, Black, and punk forever—and in fact, it would be the best possible path to take. It had been mentioned to me by Alice Bag (of the Bags, duh) that Sean was amongst the “First 50”—that seminal group of LA kids who were the first freaks to go to punk shows in Los Angeles and the geniuses of LA punk. Being a total-poser nineties punk I can’t even wrap my head around the dopamine effect of being in the mix when it all felt new—when Sean first started taking the bus out of Simi Valley and going headfirst into the scene for shows in Hollywood. How very frightening and liberating it must have been at the time for her, but of course I think Sean De was way beyond the title “trendsetter”—the word for her is MOTHER, forever, for sure, and for always. What is contained in the tiny pages of this book is a blaringly potent historical artifact of Black youth, seconds before the full realization into the scary world of adolescence and inevitable adulthood. Uncomfortable in parts? Yes, of course. I remember in eighth grade reading The Diary of Anne Frank—the uncensored version, which was withheld from the public until her father’s death because he stated he could not live with the most private parts of his adolescent daughter’s diary being consumed by the world. There is a certain sense of protection I feel for baby Sean De’s most private thoughts being so exposed; however, so very little is written about the lives and the bold sexuality of young queers, and specifically of young Black queers, that I also have to give regard to the fact that there is something ultimately explosive about this text. It also denotes the intense singularity of its author. A gay Black punk one generation AFTER DeLear, at the age of fourteen I was rather content staring at a wall and obsessing over my Lookout Records catalog—I can’t even comprehend a gay Black kid some thirty years before planning to blackmail older white boys’ dads for money for acting lessons. Okay, like first of all, YAAAAAAAS BITCH, and second, this level of forward thinking is what propelled Sean De to become the scene girl to end all scene girls. I do have to imagine what level of this diary is real and which parts sit in an autofictional space—did she REALLY fuck all these old white dudes? Or was it a horny and advanced imagination at play? The only real answer is WHO CARES. I think one of the most magical things about Sean De was that her imagination and her fantasy world were so absolute. The world she was spinning always BECAME true—this is the beauty of a shape-shifter, and she was a noted scene darling and muse for this reason. Now amid all this magic, of course, was her fair share of trials and tribulations. Sean related to me that when her band Glue’s music video for “Paloma” debuted on MTV’s 120 Minutes, a higher-up in programming made a call to make sure that it was never shown again—and how sad. Now, let’s consider that Sean De’s performance did not exist in a vacuum—I mean, if there was room for RuPaul, why not for Sean De? Certainly by the nineties there was room for a punk rock gender-defying Black child-gangster of the revolution—or then again, maybe not. Whereas RuPaul was relegated to the dance world, Sean De made rock and roll her drama—and rock and roll to this day REMAINS (disappointingly) the last stronghold of segregation in music. In a post-Afro-punk reality this should not be the case, but as desegregation proves itself to be a one-hundred-year period, Sean De’s struggle to claim solidification and recognition in the world of SoCal nineties music comes as no real surprise. But also, as we are in an intense period of rediscovering buried histories and legacies, Sean De’s is one of great note, triumph, and inspiration. As a matter of fucking fact, she is the Queen Mother of alternative music, and in whatever higher realm of existence she is currently existing in, I can only imagine the sound of great explosions and bells ringing as she is gluing on her ICONIC eyelashes and receiving her flowers. At the time of Sean De’s death, I actually got a handful of her eyelashes, which I promptly put on my altar for the dead. I collected every zine she was in in the nineties and the Kid Congo record of which she was the subject, and I got to read and relish in the world of this great artist as a teen. I don’t know how I got so lucky as to share a planet for a brief time with this punk-rock fairy godmother, but you best believe that I pray to any god listening that I am grateful for such. Long live Sean DeLear. —Brontez Purnell Monday, January 1, 1979 Happy New Year Tony it is now midnight and one second. Well this is my first diary and I will write everything that happens to me in 1979. Will write tonight Bye … Well I am going to bed now so today there was a bitchen earthquake that was 4.6 on the Richter scale. Me and Terry went bowling today and me and Kim got in a fight on the phone. About Ken (fag-it) P. Kim still likes him even though he was going to ask her to go with him but he didn’t. I thought of a name for you, Ty short for Tyler who works at the bowling alley and who I have a crush on madly. I don’t know if he is gay or not but he is so so so so cute cute. Well I am going to go to bed now, so good night. Love, Tony Thursday, February 8, 1979 Dear Ty, Today I did the long jump and got almost fifteen feet, not bad. I had acting class today and I think the play will be okay. I hope I don’t forget my lines and my cues. Well if I forget, oh well—there is nothing I can do about it. Tomorrow I am going to go to Topanga Plaza and try to get a trick and if I do I will swipe all his money, or her money. And Chatsworth High is right across the street and I will go into the locker room and act like I am looking for someone and I will say I am from Great Falls, Montana. I am looking for David B. I hope I get some money or I might just rob a store for all you know. But I don’t think so. Good night. Love, Tony Friday, February 9, 1979 Dear Ty, Well I went to Topanga Plaza and was in the tearoom and stuck my cock out to this man and he was a cop and he arrested me for masturbating in a public restroom. Can you believe it? They took me to the police station handcuffed then they called my mom and she had to come get me. She asked me if I thought I was gay and I told her I don’t know. I went to the high school and could not find the locker room and there were a lot of hunks. Then at about 2:30 A.M. I got my mom’s keys to the Zee and went for a little bit of a spin. It was so bitchen at first. I almost hit a car and from then on I was very careful. I went about twenty-five miles. I went to Simi Bowl and there was no one and then over the hill to Rocket Bowl and they were not open. I came home and Mom went through my room and called Dad. Love, Tony Saturday, February 10, 1979 Dear Ty, In the morning dad was here and he gave me a lecture about why I went over the hill and for what. I don’t know how to tell them that I think I am gay. I don’t think I will tell them at all. I had so much fun driving last night. Dad said “You don’t know how to drive,” that is what he thinks. Oh well. I went to bowling today and I was the only one there and we won two games. I bowled a 115, a 149, and a 169, not bad. I did not go in the tearoom that much because of yesterday over the hill. But I did see this one man’s cock—not bad about six and a half inches long, not that thick at all. Well tomorrow is the big day, I hope I can spin the basketball on my finger and don’t drop it. I hope it will be fun. I wonder how long I will be grounded for ditching and taking the car. When I find out I will tell you. This will be the first time this year. Good night. Love, Tony Sunday, February 11, 1979 Dear Ty, Well today was the big day of the play and it was okay and I didn’t drop the basketball when I spun it on my finger. I remembered all my lines I was so glad. Mom did not take my mags away from me that she found Friday night so I put them back where they belong and nobody knows where they are. We have a three-day weekend but I had four days. I am going to build a fishpond I started digging today and it is half dug up. I want to get little turtles and goldfish and all kinds of plants around it. I hope it does not cost a lot of money. I might get my phone put in but I don’t know. I wonder when I get Grandma’s piano I want to get it so I can learn to play super good. Good night. Love, Tony Monday, February 12, 1979 Dear Ty, Well I finished my fishpond now, all I have to do is get some cement and fish and turtles and a lot of plants to go all around it. I just thought of something—I have to get a good filter to keep it clean so I don’t have to clean it every day. I want to get a good one. I still don’t know when I get to be a free man again. I will probably be grounded for a week or two. I hope it is not long for my sake. It will be a long time I know her too well to let me off that easy. I meant to ask about the piano but I forgot again. I don’t think it will be too soon don’t you worry. I still love Tyler S. he is a total babe so is Dale B. and Victor C. I want their COCKS. Love, Tony Tuesday, February 13, 1979 Dear Ty, It started to rain today so I can’t do my pond today. I don’t think it will ever be finished but I can hope and pray. Today I was at Santa Susana Liquors and this old lady was looking at the naked ladies in the mags I could not believe it. She was probably a lez so who cares anyway. Then I went to Simi Liquors and they have the new Playgirl and the centerfold is a total fox with a huge cock and nice balls. I still don’t know when I will be a free gay person again. Probably a month or so; I hope not. I have to find out where Victor and Dale live so I can see them masturbate alone or together. I hope they do it together. If they do it together I will join them and spread it all over school and that will be hell for those two forever … Good night. Love, Tony Wednesday, February 14, 1979 Dear Ty, In office practice I did not get a chance to find out where Dale and Victor live. Well I went to McDonald’s for lunch and brought it back to school for me and Kim. Everybody was pissed off at me for not getting them something to eat. Oh well. Tomorrow we have our first big test in Mr. Billings’s class. I hope I get a good grade, better than Michelle’s. I still don’t know when I get to be a free gay person again. Right now, I am laying on my big nine-inch cock with a full erection—wish Dale’s cock was up my ass right now but no POSSIBLE WAY. Or Victor’s in my mouth so bad. I still don’t know when I get the piano. Max and Glenda think I broke into their house last night but I didn’t and I know that for sure so they can FUCK OFF. Good night. Love, Tony Thursday, February 15, 1979 Dear Ty, Nothing at all happened today. I still don’t know when I get the piano. Well, that’s all for tonight. I still love Tyler S. and want to see Dale’s, Victor’s, and Ryan’s cocks so bad. I want to find out where Victor and Dale live. Well, good night. Love, Tony Friday, February 16, 1979 Dear Ty, It has been one week since I got picked up by the pigs in the bathroom, and one week since I drove the car at night, and one week since I have been grounded. I still don’t know how long I am grounded. I think I will quit my paper route. I am so sick of Mr. Drunk, I am ready to just quit at the end of the month. I got Victor’s and Dale’s address. I can’t find either streets so I have to get a map of Simi Valley. Well, good night. Love, Tony Saturday, March 3, 1979 Dear Ty, I went to bowling today and we won all four games. I bowled a 143, a 115, and a 143, not bad … I hope my average goes up. We are at Dad’s house right now; I went out tonight. It was a total dud, but one thing I liked was there were a lot of cars and people out on the streets not like in Simi. I was walking home and I met this guy but he was not gay, I asked him and he did not get mad because he was higher than the clouds on coke. But other than him it was a dud. They fixed the hole in the wall at the bowling alley by putting a piece of metal over the hole and welding it. Well, good night. Love, Tony Monday, March 5, 1979 Dear Ty, I finished collecting today and I think Mark J. is gay. He is always in his room. If he is in school he must study a lot but that is still a lot of studying. I have to ask him one day if he is gay if I get the nerve which I doubt I will. Well we went to court today and I have to go to counseling again. See, they did not do nothing like I said. I forgot to ask Mom how much longer I am grounded, I have to ask tomorrow. I hope Mark J. is gay, he is such a cutie I cannot believe it. Now I have a crush on (in order) Dale B., Tyler S., Mark J., and Victor C. I love them all anyway. Good night. Love, Tony From I Could Not Believe It: The Teenage Diaries of Sean DeLear, edited by Michael Bullock and Cesar Padilla and with an introduction by Brontez Purnell, to be published by Semiotext(e) in May. Sean DeLear (1965–2017) was an influential member of the “Silver Lake scene” in eighties and nineties Los Angeles before moving to Europe. In Vienna, he became part of the art collective Gelitin and devised a solo cabaret show called Sean DeLear on the Rocks. DeLear was a cultural boundary-breaker whose work transcended sexuality, race, age, genre, and scene. Brontez Purnell is a writer, musician, dancer, filmmaker, and performance artist. He is the author of a graphic novel, a novella, a children’s book, and the novel Since I Laid My Burden Down. Born in Triana, Alabama, he’s lived in Oakland, California, for more than a decade. View the full article -
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A Freebie, Cooking, & More
The Murder of Mr. Wickham The Murder of Mr. Wickham by Claudia Gray is $2.99! Sarah mentioned this one in a previous Hide Your Wallet and it definitely fits within the Bitchery’s interests. From New York Times bestselling author Claudia Gray—a summer house party turns into a thrilling whodunit when Mr. Wickham, one of literature’s most notorious villains, meets a sudden and suspicious end in this brilliantly imagined mystery featuring Jane Austen’s leading literary characters. The happily married Mr. Knightley and Emma are throwing a house party, bringing together distant relatives and new acquaintances—characters beloved by Jane Austen fans. Definitely not invited is Mr. Wickham, whose latest financial scheme has netted him an even broader array of enemies. As tempers flare and secrets are revealed, it’s clear that everyone would be happier if Mr. Wickham got his comeuppance. Yet they’re all shocked when Wickham turns up murdered—except, of course, for the killer hidden in their midst. Nearly everyone at the house party is a suspect, so it falls to the party’s two youngest guests to solve the mystery: Juliet Tilney, the smart and resourceful daughter of Catherine and Henry, eager for adventure beyond Northanger Abbey; and Jonathan Darcy, the Darcys’ eldest son, whose adherence to propriety makes his father seem almost relaxed. In a tantalizing fusion of Austen and Christie, the unlikely pair must put aside their own poor first impressions and uncover the guilty party—before an innocent person is sentenced to hang. Add to Goodreads To-Read List → You can find ordering info for this book here. Boyfriend Boyfriend by Sarina Bowen is 99c! This is a new adult hockey romance that I believe was mentioned in a previous Hide Your Wallet. It’s also the first book in the Moo U Hockey Romance series. Have you read this one? Tempted to buy it for myself. A new hockey player to steal your heart this fall… The dreamiest player on the Moo U hockey team hangs a flyer on the bulletin board, and I am spellbound: Rent a boyfriend for the holiday. For $25, I will be your Thanksgiving date. I will talk hockey with your dad. I will bring your mother flowers. I will be polite, and wear a nicely ironed shirt… Everyone knows it’s a bad idea to introduce your long-time crush to your messed-up family. But I really do need a date for Thanksgiving, even if I’m not willing to say why. So I tear his phone number off of that flyer… and accidentally entangle our star defenseman in a ruse that neither of us can easily unwind. Who knew that Weston’s family was even nuttier than mine? He needs a date, too, for the most uncomfortable holiday engagement party ever thrown. There will be hors d’oeuvre. There will be faked PDA. And there will be pro-level awkwardness… Add to Goodreads To-Read List → You can find ordering info for this book here. Between Harlem and Heaven Between Harlem and Heaven by Alexander Smalls and J.J. Johnson is $1.99! Sneezy just posted about this one on the latest Whatcha Reading and it seems like a good mix of food writing and recipes. Winner of the James Beard Award for Best American Cookbook “Between Harlem and Heaven presents a captivatingly original cuisine. Afro-Asian-American cooking is packed with unique and delicious layers of flavor. These stories and recipes lay praise to the immense influence the African Diaspora has had on global cuisine.” — Sean Brock “This is more than just a cookbook. Alexander and JJ take us on a culinary journey through space and time that started more than 400 years ago, on the shores of West Africa. Through inspiring recipes that have survived the Middle Passage to seamlessly embrace Asian influences, this book is a testimony to the fact that food transcends borders.” — Chef Pierre Thiam In two of the most renowned and historic venues in Harlem, Alexander Smalls and JJ Johnson created a unique take on the Afro-Asian-American flavor profile. Their foundation was a collective three decades of traveling the African diaspora, meeting and eating with chefs of color, and researching the wide reach of a truly global cuisine; their inspiration was how African, Asian, and African-American influences criss-crossed cuisines all around the world. They present here for the first time over 100 recipes that go beyond just one place, taking you, as noted by The New Yorker, “somewhere between Harlem and heaven.” This book branches far beyond “soul food” to explore the melding of Asian, African, and American flavors. The Afro Asian flavor profile is a window into the intersection of the Asian diaspora and the African diaspora. An homage to this cultural culinary path and the grievances and triumphs along the way, Between Harlem and Heaven isn’t fusion, but a glimpse into a cuisine that made its way into the thick of Harlem’s cultural renaissance. JJ Johnson and Alexander Smalls bring these flavors and rich cultural history into your home kitchen with recipes for… – Grilled Watermelon Salad with Lime Mango Dressing and Cornbread Croutons, – Feijoada with Black Beans and Spicy Lamb Sausage, – Creamy Macaroni and Cheese Casserole with Rosemary and Caramelized Shallots, – Festive punches and flavorful easy sides, sauces, and marinades to incorporate into your everyday cooking life. Complete with essays on the history of Minton’s Jazz Club, the melting pot that is Harlem, and the Afro-Asian flavor profile by bestselling coauthor Veronica Chambers, who just published the wildly successful Yes, Chef by Marcus Samuelsson, this cookbook brings the rich history of the Harlem food scene back to the home cook. Add to Goodreads To-Read List → You can find ordering info for this book here. Shadowbound Shadowbound by Bec McMaster is FREE! Readers absolutely loved the worldbuilding, but found that there were some other dynamic secondary characters who made the main couple seem rather boring. When a powerful relic goes missing from a secret society that dabbles in the occult, Miss Ianthe Martin is charged with finding it at all costs. She needs help, but all clues point to someone on the inside being the thief. The only sorcerer she knows that can’t possibly be involved, is the very man she saw locked in Bedlam a year ago… The mad, bad, dangerous Earl of Rathbourne. When the seductive Miss Martin appears in his Bedlam cell, Rathbourne fears he’s finally lost his mind. The devilish sorceress played a hand in his incarceration, and now she comes asking for help? Perhaps she should begin by begging for mercy… But Ianthe’s offer of freedom is one he can’t refuse, although he has a clause of his own to add. She may bind him with her power–the only way to still the demons haunting him–but for every day spent under her command, the nights will be his… to wreak delicious revenge on her willing flesh Add to Goodreads To-Read List → You can find ordering info for this book here. View the full article -
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New York Write to Pitch Conference 2023 - Reviews
This was my first pitch conference. It exceeded all my expectations. The pre-event materials were very helpful. Our four days together were a mix of tension, laughter, constructive feedback, building craft and camaraderie by the minute. As promised, they told me exactly what I needed to hear. By the end I had a clear—crystal clear—sense of the improvements I need to make in both my novel and my pitch. Who could ask for anything more? -
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Interview with Anna Smith Spark (A WOMAN OF THE SWORD)
Anna Smith Spark is the author of the critically acclaimed grimdark epic fantasy trilogy Empires of Dust described by The Sunday Times as ‘Game of Literary Thrones … the next generation hit fantasy fiction.’ Anna lives in London, UK. She loves grimdark and epic fantasy and historical military fiction. Anna has a BA in Classics, an MA in history and a PhD in English Literature. She has previously been published in the Fortean Times and the poetry website www.greatworks.org.uk. Previous jobs include petty bureaucrat, English teacher and fetish model. Anna’s favourite authors and key influences are R. Scott Bakker, Steve Erikson, M. John Harrison, Ursula Le Guin, Mary Stewart and Mary Renault. She spent several years as an obsessive D&D player. She can often be spotted at sff conventions wearing very unusual shoes. T.O.Munro (TOM) Hi Anna, and thanks for coming back to the Hive for a second interview. A lot has happened in fantasy fiction, the world at large and in your writing since you were talking to Mike Everest Evans back in September 2018, so there’s lots to catch up on. We’ll start by looking at your upcoming release of A Woman of the Sword with Luna Press Publishing – timed for an Eastercon Launch on April 4th and with an online launch on 27th March. There’s also a video of you reading the first chapter for those impatient for the launch! Although A Woman of the Sword is a standalone novel, it is set in the same world as your previous Empires of Dust trilogy. While there is no need to have read that trilogy in order to enjoy or understand A Woman of the Sword I did notice some returning names and characters. Can you tell us a little bit more about how this work fits in with and draws on the previous trilogy? Anna Smith Spark (AS) It’s sort of set in the same world but not … You can certainly read it as a standalone without any knowledge of my previously books. A Woman of the Sword is taking the same backdrop, this huge destructive war and its aftermath, and telling a totally different story within it. So Empires of Dust is about kings, lords, people of power, people playing the game of thrones. A Woman of the Sword is about the people whose lives are consumed in that game. They don’t understand what’s happening, don’t have insight into the intrigue, the backstory to a battle, a betrayal, a surrender – they just have to live with the consequences. In Empires of Dust we saw Marith win or lose a battle, decide to sack or spare a city, and the focus was on his thought processes, the consequences of it all for him and those around him. As I was writing the last volume, The House of Sacrifice, I got more and more caught up thinking about the lives of the footsoldiers in an epic fantasy war. They go into battle and are defeated because … they don’t know why. They march south rather than west, betray an ally or are betrayed, and they have no idea what the reasons are. Or in real history, the Wars of the Roses say – your commander defects, you’re suddenly fighting troops you thought were allies, or your commander decides to sacrifice your squad for the greater victory, but you don’t know that. Or the non-combatants, the farmers, the small shopkeepers – an army crosses a river at one ford or another, choses one city over another to march towards, sacks or spares that city, you don’t know why and will never know but your life is changed forever, you literally live or die because someone somewhere chose a route on a map. I wanted to tell a story about those people, the real people just living in this world not the big lead players. The nameless extras in the background of Empires of Dust, look at the impact of war and chaos on them. Chronologically, the book sits shortly after Empires of Dust finishes. Some of the events and characters are referenced but ‘wrongly’ – they’ve become confused, turned into stories by the people living through them. The way even very recent events are forgotten, changed, muddled up also interests me. In a world with limited literacy and no mass media, the past is very quickly distorted – especially as political allegiances shift over time. I wanted to reframe a few things from Empires of Dust in a way that seemed plausible, change a few details to show a different version through someone else’s eyes. But I swear on my name and my writing hand and the life of my firstborn book, you don’t need to have read anything else I written to read A Woman of the Sword. It’s not like picking up book four of Malazan without having read one to three and you’re totally lost as to what’s going on or why- wait …. thinks about this …. let’s rephrase …. it’s not like picking up a book four where it’s only clear what’s going on if you’ve read books one to three … what I’m trying to say is it’s not book four of Empires of Dust it’s something very different and standalone just with echoes. If you haven’t read my other books you can read this fine. TOM Empires of Dust is a successful and innovative trilogy with a broad ranging narrative in terms of setting, style and varied points of view. I found it resonated with the history and conquests of Alexander the great. As you moved into this book what in your approach and intentions stayed the same, and what were you trying to do differently? AS I wanted to write something more personal and rooted in one individual. The story of you or me, totally and utterly insignificant people, caught up in events we can neither control or understand, trying to survive, trying to protect those we love. The story’s told from one perspective, we don’t get that sweeping sense of multiple perspective epic fantasy has. That was very intentional – it’s the story of one woman’s experience , her life and her attempts to cope in the world. The book came out as a kind of howl of pain and rage during Covid lockdown – it’s very personal to me and my life. It’s written in a stream of consciousness, from inside Lidae’s mind at all times, and the things we see are in places deliberately unclear or wrong, because it’s how one person’s limited knowledge and bias and character interprets the world. Empires of Dust starts off very much about men (I don’t think any women feature at all for the first maybe 50 pages??) and is very much about people with few responsibilities to those around them. Towards the end of the trilogy people talk about family and caring responsibilities and community more. Empires of Dust is very influenced by the life of Alexander the Great and by the Iliad. With A Woman of the Sword I was thinking about stories like the Antigone and the Medea, which explore women’s lives and domestic responsibilities as they deal with the consequences of these huge war and politics events. TOM Back in September 2019 you were interviewed by Nightmarish conjurings. You told them that, after Empires of Dust you were “beginning to work on something which is actually more hopeful. It is more hopeful and redemptive on a personal level. It’s a much more human scale piece.“ However, no book is written in isolation from its context, and the dedication at the start of A Woman of the Sword – “For all the mothers who got through the last few years” alludes to some of the global turmoil that would have been a backdrop to that writing ambition of a hopeful and redemptive piece. To what extent and in what ways did that global crisis context shape and change the writing and the form of the final story? AS Hugely. As I said, the book was written during Covid (well, when the Covid lockdowns eased enough I had childcare again and thus time to write), then edited while staring in horror at images from the war in Ukraine. The experience of being a mother, a carer, trying to juggle everything and keep some semblance of normality for my children, was the only thing I could think about for a long time. Now I’m writing this interview haunted by the image of a man sitting quietly by a pile of rubble that’s all that’s left of his home, holding his dead daughter’s hand, refusing to let her go … It’s a book about those small lives, the things that happen to people, some vast and terrible like pandemics and wars, some small and personal, but all shaping people’s lives. Parents right now in the UK are going hungry and sitting in the dark so they can afford to feed their children … and that means nothing to the people in power, doesn’t even register on their consciousnesses. I reread Middlemarch early on in the pandemic as a comfort read, and the closing lines really hit home: ‘for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.’ Those things that history dismisses as unimportant but are the underpinning of everything , raising a child, caring for a vulnerable friend or relative, making some’s last agonising hours slightly easier … I suppose A Woman of the Sword is kind of about that, in a very sad dark way – the hidden lives, the unhistoric acts that the mighty ones like Marith simply sweep away. And mothers – yes, lockdown had heavily gendered impacts, and I wanted to say that. The book in the Nightmarish Conjurings interview is actually something else I can’t talk about yet that is genuinely more hopeful and redemptive. It’s linked to my story in Grimoak Press’s Unbound II which is a very hopeful and redemptive if frankly bizarre story and introduces something a bit new in my writing. TOM Lidae’s struggles in A Woman of the Sword entangle themes of war and motherhood, particularly the self-perpetuating wastefulness of war, and the conflicts between career and a dutiful maternal love. Tells a bit more about Lidae. What do you admire in her and what do you dislike? And more importantly do you love her or Marith more? AS Oh, Marith is the love of my life and always will be. I’ve never quite got over having to end the trilogy, I could still happily be writing slash fiction about him. Lidae is me. In fact, my feelings about Marith are pretty clearly there in her feelings about war and kings – she gets to do what I only dream of and live in the world I created, get caught up in it without the horrible pain of having to end the trilogy… Lidae is very flawed. She’s uncertain, full of self-doubt, not a great mum. I wanted that to come across strongly, that she’s weak and sad and frightened. Because a lot of mothers are weak and frightened and self-doubting and frankly just exhausted to the point they have no patience left to be a good parents. I was a bloody awful mum for a lot of the pandemic, there’s a point a lot of us reached where you were just sitting on the floor with your hands stuffed in your mouth trying not scream because your children would hear and … where do you go from there? What can you do at that point? I had severe post-natal depression, I find parenting very hard and frightening. It’s the greatest joy of my life, but also the worst part of my life. I don’t think I admire her, but I care very deeply about her. She’s a much better, stronger person than she realises. TOM Some might argue that your writing style is more ‘literary fiction’ than ‘genre fiction.’ Indeed the UK Times described The Empires of Dust as a “Game of Literary Thrones.” Others might say that literary fiction is itself just a genre. How do you see yourself and A Woman of the Sword fitting into the landscape of literary/genre writers and writing? AS I would consider what I write literary fiction, it makes me hugely angry that fantasy doesn’t get the same regard that science fiction or historical fiction does. The shock in the literary pages when Marlon James announced he was writing a fantasy trilogy after A History of Seven Killings … it was painful. Fantasy is so dismissed – but it’s the oldest genre of stories there is, the Iliad is fantasy, Gilgamesh is fantasy, Beowulf, the Mabinogion, the Mahabharata – people have been telling stories of gods and monsters and magic and wonders probably since before modern humans existed. So why shouldn’t we claim the literary high ground? Fantasy gives so much scope for exploring a world, making it different to ours, having people think and feel in different ways. To push the bounds of what language can do, describe magic, horror, wonder, things outside all normal experience. To push description to the limit. It can and should be a hugely literary, yes. TOM Staying on the theme of literary fiction, Amitav Ghosh in The Great Derangement observes that literary fiction has not engaged effectively or fully with the developing climate crisis. There is a question about how far literature can or should engage in the political issues of the day, and I know that you have strong political opinions. It was quite shocking actually to read the prescience of your observation in interview to the Crows Magazine back in April 2020 “The outpouring of support for nurses, careworkers, cleaners in the last few weeks has been wonderful. It’s also been laughable – the people who mop the shit off hospital floors are important, who knew? – and I suspect it will mysteriously disappear again as soon as this is over in favour of ‘fiscal discipline’ and other delightful gaslighting ways of saying the poor stay poor the rich stay rich. We’ll give our medical heroes a big shiny cheer as angels and tell them sadly the need for grown-up economic restraint says we can’t give them a pay rise so f-off and stop being all girly over-emotional.” How far can fiction in any genre hope to shift popular attitudes, e.g. by slipping a progressive message into a fantasy narrative, or is polarisation pre-embedded in people’s reading choices so authors are always ‘preaching’ to their own choir rather than reaching a broader target audience? AS I had forgotten I said that! But yes, it’s so predictable. And so predictable that a lot of people seem to be accepting it. That phrase ‘grown up conversation’ is hideous … flung out to mean stop talking about stuff like family life and feelings and lived experience. Those childish petty insignificant things. I slipped some stuff about environmental collapse into Empires of Dust, in fact, the environmental impact of Marith’s wars. I’d like to think people read my books and see things a bit differently. I think a few people did from the messages I receive. And occasionally there’s this glorious moment in a Bakker fan group I’m in you can see someone go from ‘It’s about what if Jordon Peterson was Aragorn! Woo!’ to ‘Ohhhh shit it’s about what if Jordon Peterson was Aragorn … woooooo….’ I think Thalia’s opening monologue in The House of Sacrifice maybe had a bit of an impact on some people. I hope. But from the hate mail I’ve had, others are going to read a bit, realise it’s a bit more complicated that straight white alpha males being alpha wayhay, put the book down and copy me into a one star because it has gay people in it review. Are they the ones who need to read A Woman of the Sword? Obviously, yes. Are they going to read a book called A Woman of the Sword? Obviously, no. TOM Authors vary enormously in their approach and their routines. Some are plotsters, mapping out every scene in detail before even writing an opening line, others are pantsters just letting the words spill out onto the page and have the story and characters lead them. Where on the plotster/pantster continuum do you see yourself? AS I start as a total pantster, a scene comes into my head, a landscape with a person or persons in it, and I write with no idea who they are or what’s happening. Chapter two of The Court of Broken Knives was just me seeing these men in a desert, no idea why, then the dragon turned up, then there was this other guy in a city, no clue how they connected. The second chapter of A Woman of the Sword was me seeing a place and a woman in it, I had no clue what would happen to her after that first scene. It’s an amazing process of discovery. And then usually maybe 20,000 words in I see the whole thing, suddenly understand what I’m writing and why, and then it’s a matter of finding it. Kind of like I’m letting the book write itself through me, it finds me and writes itself out. So I know the end and the character arcs, and roughly how get there, but things still surprise me as I write them. The world unfolds itself as well, and the characters’ backstories, I discover everything as I go along. It clogs up my head totally but it’s all there in my head sort of dumped there and I can see it. Unless I can’t find it, in which case it’s pain and hell and I feel physically and mentally wrong until I make the right connection and find what it is I’m supposed to be writing. TOM Stephen King famously professes a very disciplined approach to writing, devoting every morning to writing and then taking the afternoons and evenings off. Others have a less structured, more mood based writing regime. Can you tell us a bit about your how your writing routines and processes have developed over the years? Do you have any tips for overcoming writer’s block? AS My writing routines … ah aha ha ha. I supposedly write two days a week and other days when I can. In reality I write two days a week if my children are miraculously both in school with no special assemblies I have to go happening, and if I don’t need to urgently spend all day sourcing a new PE jumper, fashioning a model of an Anderson Shelter out of matchsticks and researching maths tutors. I don’t actually write very much per week, basically, because my life is getting in the way too much. A lot of (male) writers talk about getting into the routine of writing every day, suggest forcing yourself to get up early or write late at night if you really can’t find time in the normal day– which is fine unless your children always wake up the moment you do, or refuse to go to bed until you do, and unless you’re so crushed to a pulp by life that getting up early or saying up late would leave you writing literally nonsense than falling asleep at the wheel during the school run. I tried getting up at five am to write for a while – my daughter woke up the minute I did, after two weeks we were both gibbering wreaks, and when I read the novel I’d tried to write it was garbage. Write where and when you can, and write if and when you enjoy it. Try to write often, but don’t stress if a week goes by and life was more important (it is. Caring responsibilities, or being there for your best friend, or just paying the bills while also getting a chance to relax with your friends and family occasionally or just curling up and chilling out because you’re exhausted really are more important). But trying thinking about the writing as much as you can, build it in your head, so when you do write you can let it flow without the blank page staring at you taunting you because you have no idea what to write. And stay off social media and surfing the internet. When you do get a chance to write, don’t waste it. TOM A Woman of the Sword is being released by Luna Press Publishing, a relatively young (but already award winning) imprint, with a slant towards speculative fiction. Can you tell us a bit about how you found Luna Press – or how they found you? AS I’m honoured to be working with Luna. I’ve known Francesca for years through FantasyCon and greatly what she’s doing in publishing complex, progressive voices in SFF. A Woman of the Sword was never going to be Big Five material, and Luna seemed the idea fit. The book had to be published by a feminist-slanted, female-run publisher really. TOM While the saying may advise against judging a book by its cover, A Woman of the Sword does have a luscious cover designed by Stas Borodin. You have shared some images from different stages in the cover design process on social media. Can you tell us about how much involvement you got in the cover process? (Did you get to deliver a design brief?) and what led you and/or your publisher to embrace the final design? AS I was very involved, and actually suggested Stas to Luna. He gets me completely, some of the pictures he created for Empires of Dust astonished me they were so close to what I could see when I was writing. I gave Stas the design brief ‘like a classic Sword and Sorcery novel but with a mum instead of Conan’ and a copy of the manuscript – and he knew. The cover is perfect. My mum cried when she saw it. So many people have responded to it as capturing something special. TOM In your fulsome acknowledgements you give a slightly apologetic shout out to Ian Drury your agent for his “faith in the book despite it not <quite> meeting his brief as a mainstream commercial blockbuster.” What would be your commercial elevator pitch for A Woman of the Sword? AS Ha, I have done this pitch! If Elena Ferrante was a Bridgeburner. Venn diagram of four people for whom that is literally the book they’ve dreamed of all their life. TOM As I read and enjoyed A Woman of the Sword I found it threw up lots of associations and connections, for example from Shakespeare Richard of Gloucester’s complaint about the Weak piping time of peace, or Mark Anthony’s promise to Caesar’s corpse that Fierce civil strife shall cumber all the parts of Italy. Then there was Buffy Sainte Marie’s song about The Universal Soldier, and – having just seen a production at the Bord Gais in Dublin, Willy Russell’s musical of sibling and maternal torment Blood Brothers. Were there any particular literary influences that helped inspire you in writing A Woman of the Sword? AS Most obviously, there are repeat references to the Wasteland, which is a poem that obsesses me and sort of sits in the back of my head all the time. All the themes of memory, the past and especially the First World War, the terrible sense of grief, the very sense of a wasteland …. And Lidae herself is quite unstable as a character, she has different facets to herself, different voices, she’s as much a ghost of her own past as a person living now in the present. A huge influence was Brecht’s Mother Courage. The subtler women in A Woman of the Sword are a signpost to that. I saw Fiona Shaw as Mother Courage years ago, it was a pretty formative experience (actually, thinking about it, seeing Fiona Shaw recite the Wasteland was another formative experience…). Lidae is very much drawn from Mother Courage and the source text The Adventures of Simplicius Simplicissimus which is about ordinary people’s lives during the Thirty Years War. I mentioned the Antigone and the Medea, which were huge influences. That line of Medea’s: ‘rather would I stand three times in the line of battle than give birth to just one child’. I think House of the Dragon went with that line in a rather too literal way …. I love authors like Philippa Gregory who write about women’s domestic and sexual lives against a backdrop of huge events, the struggles of marriage, childbearing and infertility, sexual desire, self-expression. Her White Queen for example, or Three Sisters, Three Queens. Really brilliant books – but about queens and noble women, not ordinary women. TOM I have delighted in the many friends and connections I have made through a shared love of speculative fiction, and your acknowledgements pay tribute to many names within that online and (at conventions) in person community. There are authors who have inspired you, publishers who have supported you, and friends and readers who have been commemorated in depictions within A Woman of the Sword. The fantasy community at times feels like the kind of extended found family that is itself a popular trope within fantasy fiction. Would you like to elaborate on any of the call outs from acknowledgements? And do you think that the nature of speculative fiction creates a uniquely supportive community, or would romance, crime, and young-adult genres be able to show similar engagement from their followings? AS I have no idea about other genres, I’m afraid. I’m told romance conventions can be pretty bitchy but that’s hearsay. I suppose the inherent untrendiness of fantasy that I was complaining about above helps, there’s something about being in a room with a bunch of other people who share your very unhip love of dwarves and elves that’s special. When you meet another elegantly dressed professional woman and mum of two who gets weak knee’d at the mere words ‘dragon knight’ … you feel a bond there it’s hard to break. The community is a found family for me– the reason my acknowledgements are so fulsome is that I never really had friends of my own until I found the fantasy community at cons. My life revolves around epic fantasy, ancient history and experimental folk music, and I genuinely believe in King Arthur, the Wild Hunt and the Dark Is Rising: it’s never been particularly easy to chat to mums at the school gates about shared interests. Then I finally went to my first fantasy convention. A Woman of the Sword is due for release 4th April from Luna Press Publishing. You can pre-order your copy HERE The post Interview with Anna Smith Spark (A WOMAN OF THE SWORD) appeared first on The Fantasy Hive. View the full article -
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So Many Decisions
When people find out that I’m a novelist they often have some follow-up questions. This makes sense. Mathematically speaking there aren’t that many of us per capita—like stunt people or tree surgeons—so I’m usually the only novelist that a given person has ever met. There are a lot of questions about where I get my ideas. I wish I knew; I’d go there more often. Others want to know if there’s any money in writing novels, which is usually when I offer them a ride in one of my Lamborghinis. The question I get most, though, is: “When did you decide to become a writer?” This is a tough question, because it’s virtually impossible to answer without sounding overly serious, like I should be speaking in a European accent and smoking one of those long, skinny cigarettes. The truth is, I never decided to become a writer, I just always was one. I know, right? Obnoxious. I’m willing to bet that many of you reading this will recognize the following trajectory, adjusted, of course, for your respective form. I wrote stories and read them aloud to my parents when I was still scribbling in pencil. I started submitting to and being rejected by literary journals during high school. And I took my first crack at a novel-length manuscript in college. I didn’t formally decide to do any of these completely illogical things, I just kinda did them. Writing is the thing, for better or worse (often worse), that I’m meant to do. That said, I’ve made countless decisions both big and small along the way that have allowed me to continue being a writer. The following are some of the most important ones. If you’ve been at this for a while, I bet you’ll recognize a few of these, too. And if you’re new to writing…well, here’s what you’ve got to look forward to. I Tried…But Not Too Hard Unless you’re the descendant of shipping tycoons or British royalty, you probably have a day job. In my early twenties I chose advertising copywriting, and for a few years it was a pretty sweet deal. I’d write brochures, taglines, and radio scripts by day, then I’d work on my own writing at night and on weekends. I was young and inexperienced, and—at least professionally speaking—nobody expected that much from me. Eventually, though, years of general competence added up, and well-meaning managers started wanting me to do more. (Wait, what?) In the face of potential promotions and increased responsibility, I was forced to make one of my first adult decisions as a writer. I would be good enough at my advertising job to stay employed and properly housed, but I wouldn’t be so good that people wanted to actually put me in charge of things. From that day forward, I kept my head down, I did my work, and I avoided climbing whatever corporate ladders were placed before me. As easy as this might sound in theory, the trouble with corporate ladders is that there’s often tempting things up there, like more money and prestige and offices with actual doors. I knew myself well enough, though, to know that a more stressful, time-consuming job would slowly and surely cannibalize the energy I needed to focus on the job that mattered most to me: writing novels. To protect the career you want, you may have to undermine—or even sabotage—the one you have. I Married Someone Who Gets It Listen, I know, the heart wants what the heart wants, right? We can’t choose whom we do and do not fall in love with, and I’m not here to pick your relationships for you. From personal experience, however, I can tell you that your life will be much easier if you’re with someone who accepts and supports your need to write. And, more importantly, that acceptance needs to be a long-term commitment. For richer or poor (often poorer). Like the day-job example above, this may seem easy at first. At the beginning of relationships our heads are all foggy and stupid, and we can’t imagine being anything other than supportive to our new partners, and vice versa. Plus, there’s a certain charm in struggling when we’re just starting out. I used to go to parties in grad school where my fellow writers and I would hang our rejection slips on the wall like melancholy home décor. The trouble with writing, though, is that there’s nothing short term about it. As a writer, you’ll often work very hard and for a very long time and have very little to show for it. Years may pass between even modest successes, and much of your work and effort will seem as if it’s being launched into a blackhole. But, simply put, you have to keep doing it. That’s the gig. And having a person by your side who gets that is essential. I’m Basically a Recluse Unlike the two examples above, this one has gotten easier for me as I’ve gotten older. I’m in my mid-forties now, so, aside from my kids’ sporting events, I’m rarely called upon to leave the house. Hell, I’m rarely called upon to put on pants that aren’t fluffy. When I was younger, though, I had to work hard to defend my writing time. Back then, I treated novel writing like a part time job, so unless I had a damn good reason, I was due at the keyboard Monday through Thursday evenings from 7pm-ish to 10pm-ish and for at least a few hours on Saturdays and Sundays. That meant I had to learn to say no—no to things that in retrospect probably would’ve been fun. Intermural sports and road trips and weeknight concerts downtown and happy hours with friends. The writer as recluse may be a stereotype, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. To write your book, you have to write your book, and that takes time. The good/bad news: if you say no often enough…people will probably stop asking. A Bookish Life For Me Nearly every day someone tells me—usually while sighing and looking tired—that they wish they could read more, or that they used to read so much, or that they can’t remember the last time they read something that wasn’t Twitter. Last year, one of my best friends confessed to me that he hasn’t read any of my books. He was sweet about it, assuring me that it wasn’t personal. He hasn’t read any books by anyone since college. He just…he just can’t do it. That’s fair. After all, we’re basically living in the Golden Age of Not Reading. We’re busier than we’ve ever been, more tired, more distracted, more caffeinated, and, admittedly, there’s a ton of great stuff on TV. However, to be the best writer that you can be you need to immerse yourself in the written word. Sometimes that will happen naturally; other times it’ll take legitimate effort. Do I read as much or as often as I wish I did? Of course not. I mean, come on, I have the Internet, too. But I’m always in the middle of reading something. And I bring that something with me wherever I go—to my kids’ practices and the carpool line and the coffee shop. And this isn’t just because I like reading, which, obviously, I do very much. With the right attitude and focus, anything you read can be a professionally taught seminar on an important writing topic. For example, I recently read Taffy Brodesser-Akner’s Fleishman is In Trouble and took a deep dive into the power of non-traditional narrators in fiction. After that, I read Delia Cai’s Central Places and saw how effectively writers can use exposition to create context between dramatic action. And right now, I’m studying the blending of classic elements of genre and literary fiction in Rebecca Makkai’s new novel I Have Some Questions for You. There are a million books out there, and each one has something to teach you. As I said, though, I’m in my mid-forties, and sometimes my eyes get tired. If that ever happens to you, I recommend stepping into your fluffiest sweatpants and turning on HBO. OMG, have you seen The Last of Us?! What decisions (sacrifices?) have you made over the years to protect your writing? Have those decisions been easier or more difficult to make as you’ve gotten older? Has your need to write ever caused problems in an important relationship? How much are you able to read in this Golden Age of Not Reading? What’s a recent lesson you’ve learned from something you’ve read? [url={url}]View the full article[/url] -
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Announcing the Smart Bitches Sticker Collection!
Hey, y’all, we have stickers and you can buy them. Woo! There are five different stickers, and you can order them individually, or get the entire collection for yourself! First, some familiar designs, which you might have seen if you met me at a book signing or another in-person event (remember those?). We have the The Ladies, hanging out in the masthead since 2005, and The Ladies 2.0, featuring our custom designed Lady created by Emily at Wax Creative (and you can read about that process if you’d like). And, of course, the Bad Decisions Book Club sticker, because we’re all members. There is a new set of five Smart Bitches Advisory stickers! Remember those parental advisory stickers on music back in the 90s? Your books might need some, too. These stickers are sold in a set of 5, and are each 1.4″x1″ – perfect for all sorts of places, like your e-reader, your phone, or your water bottle. The Advisories include: Cliffhanger Alert! Extreme WTFery Danger Boner! Only One Bed Good Book Noise! And finally, a new design I’m very excited about, featuring Pudding, the true star of Elyse’s Bachelor and Bachelorette recaps: This is a die-cut sticker about 3″ across, and is a limited edition. A portion of the proceeds from this sticker will be donated to the Pawffee Shop Cat Cafe in Appleton, Wisconsin, of which Pudding is, naturally, Royal Patron. After all, Pudding is here for the Right Reasons. Shipping is available worldwide, and the store is now open! I hope you like the first set of designs. More options will be coming soon, and I’m very open to suggestions. Thank you in advance for your support! View the full article -
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10 New Books Coming Out This Week
Another week, another batch of books for your TBR pile. Happy reading, folks. * Josh Weiss, Sunset Empire (Grand Central) “In Weiss’s superb sequel… Imaginative worldbuilding enhances the page-turning mystery plot. Fans of Robert Harris’s Fatherland will be enthralled.” –Publishers Weekly Victor LaValle, Lone Women (One World) “A counter to the typical homesteading narrative, this moody and masterful western fires on all cylinders. Readers are sure to be impressed.” –Publishers Weekly Harini Nagendra, Murder Under a Red Moon (Pegasus) “I’m pleased to report that Murder Under a Red Moon exceeds all my expectations. Against a roiling political backdrop — the women’s suffrage movement is growing, as is anti-British sentiment — Kaveri and Bhargavi come to a deeper understanding of each other.” –Sarah Weinman, New York Times Book Review Lina Chern, Play the Fool (Bantam) “With a delicious blend of suspense and madcap humor, Chern’s standout debut is guaranteed to delight fans of Lisa Lutz [and] Alan Bradley, and readers who enjoy witty, fast-paced mysteries.” –Library Journal Fred Van Lente, Never Sleep (Blackstone) “Well-developed characters match the fast-paced plot. Readers will eagerly await the sequel.” –Publishers Weekly Lisa Scottoline, Loyalty (Putnam) “Scottoline brings her characters to life, instilling them with wit and intellect as they navigate the corruption of Sicily’s law enforcement. Historical crime fiction fans will be riveted.” –Publishers Weekly T. Kingfisher, A House with Good Bones (Tor Nightfire) “A House With Good Bones grapples with a thorny family legacy with heart, wit, and creeping horror. I was compelled to read the book in one breathless, white-knuckled sitting. Vultures, ladybugs, and underground children, oh my!” –Paul Tremblay Amulya Malladi, A Death in Denmark (William Morrow) “[A] superb series launch…. Præst’s pursuit of the truth takes some unexpected directions on the way to the satisfying conclusion. A killer plot matches an unusual lead sleuth, and secrets from Denmark’s WWII past enhance the story line.” –Publishers Weekly Evie Green, The New One (Berkley) “The New One is deliciously disturbing, engrossing and surprising at its every turn. This not-to-be-missed novel of family dynamics and what it really means to be human and to love is both pleasurably escapist and thought-provoking.” –Shelf Awareness Alan Prendergast, Gangbuster (Kensington) “Set against the backdrop of 1920s Denver, this colorful real-life legal thriller spotlights crusading district attorney Philip Sidney Van Cise. …. Rollicking yet scrupulously researched, this is an entertaining tribute to a brazen crimefighter.” –Publishers Weekly View the full article -
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Crime and the City: Cyprus
Cyprus, the third-largest and third-most populous island in the Mediterranean and historically acrimoniously divided between Greece and Turkey. The Northern portion of the island declares itself the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus; the south the largely Greek-populated Republic of Cyprus with its capital in Nicosia. An island paradise, but also a fraught geopolitical frontline. And long a popular destination for thriller and mystery writers. John Bingham’s Vulture in the Sun (1971) is a spy thriller featuring a British intelligence agent operating out of Cyprus. Bingham’s rather forgotten these days though was more popular back when his Tom Carter (the British agent we meet in Cyprus) was a bestseller. Bingham himself started out writing police procedurals though was a intelligence officer before he opted for the writing life. There’s invariably femme fatales, fights and Carter’s ruthless boss called Ducane. Michael Grant’s kicks off the David Mitre thriller series in our chosen neck of the woods with A Sudden Death in Cyprus (2018). Mitre is a “fugitive crime writer” (aren’t we all mate, aren’t we all!!) living a decent ex-pat life of sun and cold beers in Cyprus. Then he witnesses a cold-blooded murder in broad daylight on Paphos beach, the FBI turn up and his life becomes far more complicated. There’s a second David Mitre book but our crime writing rogue has deserted the Mediterranean for Holland in An Artful Assassin in Amsterdam (2019). Some high-octane thrillers: Paul E Hardisty writes the Claymore Straker thriller series and in the second book in the series, The Evolution of Fear (2016), Straker (who has a price on his head from the CIA accused of a terrorist act he did not commit) ends up on Cyprus, where he is drawn into a violent struggle between the Russian mafia, Greek Cypriot extremists, and Turkish developers cashing in on the tourism boom. In a similar vein is Andy Munro’s Kirkland Finn Action Thriller series featuring Finn, a Captain in the British Army 22nd Special Air Service Regiment (SAS). In Hellenic Storm (2022), book four of the series, Finn takes leave from the army and travels to Cyprus as a tourist, unarmed and unprotected, finds the island is riddled with police corruption and organised crime and teams up with a female Interpol agent, Eleni Petrides. The four book DC Cat McKenzie Series was created by Susan Handley. In her first outing, A Confusion of Crows (2016), rookie detective McKenzie makes her name solving a crime. In book two of the series, Feather and Claw (2018), Cat is burnt out and needs a rest – so she heads for the beaches of southern Cyprus. But when a fellow guest, an American businessman, suddenly dies, Cat’s instincts scream foul play. Going on holiday to Cyprus seems to cause a lot of problems for many long running characters in crime fiction. Detective Mac Maguire, head of a London Murder Squad, has been the hero of ten books. In the tenth book, The Eight Bench Walk (2019), Mac perhaps understandably, needs a holiday. He opts for sunny Cyprus. But at his accommodation an old man falls from the balcony of his holiday apartment. The police believe that he was pushed and Mac becomes involved. Not strictly crime perhaps but those not too sure of the Cypriot history might find Andrea Busfield’s Aphrodite’s War (2010) of interest. It is 1955, a guerrilla war is raging and four Greek brothers are growing up amid exploding bombs and sniper fire. They become involved, take their sides before a freak accident changes everything for them. The Greek author Paris Aristides set her novel The Viper’s Kiss (2001) on Cyprus. Middle-aged private eye Chrisostomos Zaras is on holiday when a whiskey smuggler hires him to find a missing thief and a lost fortune. Leaving his native country of Greece for the tension-filled shores of Cyprus, Zaras immediately seeks out the criminal network of Limassol (the island’s second largest town) which includes Greek mobsters, drug traffickers, corrupt officials, and murderous Turkish separatists. The Koniotis mysteries are a Cyprus-based series of espionage thrillers by Gina Drew looking at both Greek and Turkish Cyprus – from book one, Laughter’s Echo (2010), to book six, Homewrecker (2011), are all stand alone novels and all set on the island. Rachel Lynch’s Helen Scott Royal Military Police Thrillers series sees her character, in Book 2 The Line (2022), starts with Captain Paul Thomas embarking on a dive to the wreck of the Zenobia, off the coast of Larnaca, Cyprus. Within hours, he has taken his final, gasping breath in an accident below the surface. A new Royal Military Police liaison is required to pick up on his work, and Major Helen Scott gets the assignment. And, of course, somewhere as delightful and sunny as Cyprus is going to have a few cozies too. Deb McEwan writes the Island Expats series. In book three, Family Matters (2021), Matt’s daughter, Kayleigh takes a job in Souvia (a fictional stand-in for Cyprus) to escape her abusive ex, she’s horrified to be a victim of a malicious crime that goes disastrously wrong. The whole series takes place in a fictional Mediterranean. As so often there are a few writers people often talk about who just haven’t been translated into English as yet. Panagiotis Agapitos, a Greek academic at the University of Cyprus has written a popular series of historical crime novels (in Greek), set in Byzantium of the ninth century while Hasan Doğan is a Turkish writer who has written a couple of mysteries set in Northern Cyprus. As ever a final book that is somewhat different. MM Kaye was a prolific and popular British writer, best known perhaps for her saga of the British Raj in India, The Far Pavilions (1978). But she also wrote half-a-dozen detective novels which are far less well known and remembered. Each were set in a different exotic locale such as Death in Kashmir (1953) and Death in Zanzibar (1959). She also wrote Death in Cyprus (also known as Death Walked in Cyprus, 1953). 21-year-old Amanda Derington who, against her strict uncle Oswin’s wishes, has decided to have a holiday on Cyprus. However, whilst on a boat to the island, she witnesses the murder of a passenger. But she has a nagging doubt that the intended victim was her. Admittedly, it is perhaps not one of the best mysteries ever written but it does have a certain sun-soaked Cypriot feel and is redolent of the 1950s. Arguably it’s odd that there hasn’t been more crime fiction set on Cyprus. Greek-Turkish tensions remain pretty high, as a popular holiday destination there’s always scandals and, of course it has in recent years become a notorious haven for dodgy money and Russian oligarch shenanigans. So perhaps Cyprus is about to have a moment as real life events inevitably work their way into crime fiction. View the full article -
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Murder in the Air? The Mysterious Death of Stunt Pilot B.H. DeLay
The two-seater biplane had been roaring above Santa Monica for about twenty minutes, executing a series of graceful loops against a cloudless sky. Motorists fleeing the stifling heat of Los Angeles on 1923’s Fourth of July holiday pulled over to watch from the side of the main highway to Venice and Ocean Beach. Thousands of people, it was later estimated, stopped what they were doing and looked up. Venice residents would have recognized the plane preforming the impromptu airshow. It was The Wasp and at the controls was B.H. DeLay, “one of the best known aviators in Southern California,” as the Venice Evening Vanguard described him. He operated the airfield in the resort town, owned a small fleet of passenger planes, and staged aerial stunts in Hollywood movies. No holiday or special event was complete until DeLay swooped over Venice’s beaches and amusement parks to dazzle the crowds with his daredevil performances. The Venice, California daily paper was the first to publish allegations that aviators B.H. DeLay and R.I. Short were murdered. (Venice Evening Vanguard, July 6, 1923) The Wasp was at an altitude of about two thousand feet when its wings suddenly collapsed. “Both wings of the plane bent back,” by one account, “as though on hinges.” Another report described them as “snapping like reeds.” The plane went into a freefall, dropping “like a wounded bird” and plummeting to the ground at high speed. Other fliers watching from Santa Monica’s Clover Field, about a mile away, jumped into cars and raced to the scene. The plane was a shattered mass of wood and metal. Thirty-one-year-old DeLay, the father of two young daughters, and his passenger, Los Angeles businessman R.I. Short, were dead. Their fellow pilots managed to remove the bodies – both “mutilated almost beyond recognition,” the Los Angeles Times told its readers – before the wreckage burst into flames. Flying was a risky business. It was just two decades after the pioneering Wright Brothers designed and flew the world’s first manned, self-propelled aircraft. Planes were rickety by today’s standards; wings and fuselages were framed in wood and covered in fabric, and most had open cockpits that exposed pilots to wind and weather. The newspapers of the day were filled with reports of fatal crashes due to mechanical failures, pilot error, and bad weather or poor visibility. Commercial air travel was in its infancy but at least three airliners crashed that year, killing a dozen passengers and crew. Stunt pilots and fliers trying to set new distance records died at an alarming rate. “So long as the dangers of air travel are as great as they now are and the accidents as numerous,” scoffed an editorial in Muncie, Indiana’s Evening Press in 1923, “we must conclude that air navigation still is in the experimental stage.” ___________________________________ This story originally appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. ___________________________________ DeLay himself had survived crashes and close calls. He was a skilled and experienced pilot who had been flying for a decade. For all his stunts and daredevil feats, he had a reputation as a careful, safety-conscious airman. “A man of his knowledge of the flying game,” the Venice newspaper noted, “would not be likely to endanger his life with a faulty plane.” Was the crash an accident, or was there a more sinister explanation for the catastrophic structural failure that sent the Wasp into a nose dive? DeLay’s friends suspected someone had tampered with his plane. Not long before, on a night when DeLay was at Clover Field, someone had fired a shot at him. “Had Enemies Here,” the Venice newspaper noted in the wake of the crash. The rumors of foul play soon caught the attention of the editors of a new weekly magazine that had hit newsstands four months earlier. Time offered a brief account of the crash under the eye-catching headline, “Modern Murder.” DeLay, the magazine mused, may have been the victim of a new form of homicide “more subtle than mediaeval poison … the first airplane murder.” * * * Beverly Homer DeLay was the son of a wealthy mine owner and seemed bound to follow in his father’s footsteps. Born near San Francisco in 1891, he studied mine engineering and managed an Arizona gold mine before he discovered his real passion: speed. He graduated from racing cars to flying. By 1919 he was competing in long-distance races, including a multi-leg flight from Los Angeles to Phoenix, and taking thrill-seeking celebrities and tourists on flights over Santa Monica Bay. Soon he was in charge of the Venice airfield and operating five planes, including a six-passenger aircraft that was the largest in service on the West Coast. Reports that DeLay was the victim of the “first aerial murder” appeared in newspapers across America. (Muncie Evening Press, July 17, 1923) Motion picture stunt work for Fox, Warner Brothers, Vitagraph and other studios became a lucrative sideline. DeLay and his planes appeared in dozens of Hollywood movies between 1919 and 1922, sometimes performing feats never before captured on film. He swooped down from the sky to pluck stunt men from buildings, from moving automobiles, motorcycles, boats, and trains, and even from horseback. He earned the distinction of being the first pilot to use his plane to knock down a movie-set building. DeLay became a fixture in the sky over Venice. Promoters hired him to buzz the beaches and drop advertising leaflets and free theatre passes to the bathers below. He performed dives, barrel-rolls, tail spins, and loop-the-loops for the crowds attending exhibitions and holiday events. For one stunt, he flew overhead with a man dangling below his craft on a rope ladder. He teamed up with other pilots to stage mock dogfights, setting off fireworks and smoke bombs to simulate explosions and gunfire. He installed lights to illuminate his plane so he could entertain spectators during nighttime events. Some stunts did not go so smoothly. During Christmas celebrations in 1920 he was enlisted as a “modern Santa Claus,” but his attempt to land on Venice Beach to distribute presents went awry when a large wave struck his plane as it taxied and almost dragged the machine into the sea. DeLay and his passenger escaped unhurt, but the plane’s propeller was broken. Another flight almost ended in disaster. A gust of wind buffeted his plane as he was landing and sent it into a nosedive. DeLay, who was badly bruised and suffered a concussion in the crash, was lucky to have survived. He earned praise in March 1921 when he skimmed over the ocean in a futile attempt to locate a drowning man. Within days he had established a life-saving station at the airfield, equipped with buoys he could drop to aid other swimmers in distress. But not all his deeds were as civic-minded. He wielded enormous power in local aviation circles, and rubbed some people the wrong way. He slashed the price of a plane ride by half, to five dollars, forcing his competitors to follow suit. Venice appointed him its inspector of aircraft, and no plane could be operated in the city until it had passed his inspection. He even scolded homeowners to repair or replace their roofs, to ensure they would “look nice” when viewed from airplanes passing overhead. In the summer of 1921 DeLay announced bold plans to make Venice “the center of commercial aviation in California.” The B.H. DeLay Aircraft Company issued $100,000 worth of shares to finance a major expansion that included buying more planes and establishing new passenger routes. DeLay had the exclusive rights to fly to Catalina Island and was about to launch regular service to San Diego, San Bernardino, San Francisco and other centers. And he had deals with two hotel chains to take their wealthy guests aloft for aerial tours. DeLay could barely contain his enthusiasm for the future of the industry, as well as his airfield and his company. “The general public does not appreciate the rapid growth of the enterprise,” he told a journalist. “If it did there would be a mad scramble to capture this field.” There soon was. * * * A fight for control of commercial aviation in Venice broke out in September 1921, two months after DeLay bragged about the bright future in store for the local aviation industry. Four fence posts were driven into the turf at his airfield, making it impossible for planes to take off. After DeLay had them uprooted, a man named C.E. Frey showed up with a group of men who began to dig a trench across the runway. Frey claimed he had purchased the property and had the right to evict DeLay and his company. DeLay’s father, a director of the aviation company, filed criminal charges of disturbing the peace against four of Frey’s associates – pilots who were storing their planes at the airfield. Frey responded by charging the DeLays, their lawyer Francis Heney and two of their employees with the same offence. Crowds gathered to see a biplane that landed on the beach at Venice in 1913. (Author Collection) “Aviation Field Battle in the Venice Court,” screamed a front-page headline in the city’s Evening Vanguard. Journalists turned up for the hearing expecting legal fireworks. Heney, who had once shot and killed – in self-defence – a man he was suing, was “one of the most famous lawyers living,” one reporter gushed. His “remarkable powers as a court lawyer, his fiery eloquence” and “the novelty of arresting an attorney with his clients” made a big local story even more newsworthy. Perhaps thanks to Heney’s eloquence, criminal charges against all nine men were dismissed. The dispute moved to the civil courts, where DeLay won an injunction banning Frey and his supporters from the airfield and barring them “from interfering with the DeLays in any way in the aviation business.” B.H. DeLay also demanded $10,000 in damages – almost $150,000 in today’s terms – from Frey’s group, but it is not clear whether his claim succeeded. After the deadly Independence Day crash two years later, the messy legal battle looked like a possible motive for murder. “DeLay has numerous enemies in the bay district,” the Evening Vanguard reminded its readers, “in spite of his pleasing personality.” One of DeLay’s close friends, a man named Charles Raymond, went public with allegations the Wasp had been tampered with. Bolts attaching the web-like struts to the upper and lower wings were only three-eighths of an inch in diameter, he claimed. More robust, three-quarter-inch bolts should have been used. The smaller bolts had “slipped out of place,” one news report explained, “and forced a loosening of the struts holding the wings.” Undersized bolts might have accounted for the sudden folding of the plane’s wings. And Raymond said it would have been easy for someone to sabotage DeLay’s plane as it sat in its hangar. The press needed no further convincing. “Aviator Believed Murdered in Air,” Washington, D.C.’s Evening Star reported. A photograph of DeLay appeared in newspapers across the country, under the headline, “Police Are Investigating First Aerial Murder.” One of the few dissenting voices was the Los Angeles Times, which suggested the plane had been built “for straight flying and not for stunts.” The murder allegation, however, was discounted within days. After “a complete investigation,” the Long Beach Telegram reported five days after the crash, police had “discarded the theory that the plane had been tampered with.” The allegation of sabotage took a further hit when Charles Raymond admitted he had not personally recovered undersized bolts from the burned wreckage. News reports that “he had found a faulty pin in the death machine,” the Telegram revealed, were “not founded on fact.” Were DeLay and Short the first victims of “airplane murder,” as Time magazine termed it? Ninety-nine years later, what – or who – caused their plane to break apart in mid-air remains a mystery. View the full article -
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Everybody Panic: 5 Strange and Sinister Cases of Crime and Mass Hysteria
The first time I cared about mass hysteria was Grovers Mill, New Jersey. Technically, I first learned of the concept through the Salem Witch Trials, when nineteen were executed on suspicion of witchcraft in colonial Massachusetts. But the Trials were merely a historical footnote to my assigned junior high reading—The Crucible and The Scarlet Letter—and it was easy to look down my 20th century nose at those primitive and superstitious Puritans. Witches? Seriously? But Grovers Mill had aliens. The New Jersey town was ground zero for the infamous October 30, 1938 “War of the Worlds” radio broadcast. Led by a young Orson Welles, the show eschewed a traditional presentation of H.G. Wells’s 1897 science fiction novel in favor of a dynamic, dramatized bulletin with all the hallmarks of a real emergency broadcast. Those who tuned in late from another program missed the initial announcement that the broadcast was literally “fake news” and listened for a terrifying 40-minute stretch that gave no indication the invasion wasn’t genuine. The results were, in a word, hysterical. The next day, the New York Times wrote: “In Newark, in a single block…more than twenty families rushed out of their homes with wet handkerchiefs and towels over their faces to flee from what they believed was to be a gas raid…. Throughout New York families left their homes, some to flee to near-by parks. Thousands of persons called the police, newspapers, and radio stations here and in other cities of the United States and Canada seeking advice…” Mass hysteria encompasses unusual behaviors, illnesses, or health symptoms among a group of people, but it is the sweeping panic that fascinates me to this day. However, the things that go bump in the night and set off waves of frenzy are typically more sinister than supernatural. Here are a few examples of crime-induced mass hysteria that influenced my new novel, The Guilty One, and the killer at its center: Old Town Jack. The London Monster In London, between 1788 and 1790, a man attacked women through piquerism—pricking or stabbing someone with a needle, pin, or knife. There were more than 50 reported victims, with most stabbed in the buttocks. The press called him “The Monster,” and predictably, Londoners freaked out. Vigilantes prowled the city, women wore copper pots over their petticoats, and men wore “No Monster” lapel pins to demonstrate that they were not, in fact, the Monster. (Note: If I ever commit a crime, I will simply wear a pin that declares I did not commit that crime. “Hey! Did you steal those donuts?” I will wipe the powdered sugar from my mouth, point to my “No Donut Thief” pin, and sashay away scot-free.) Eighteenth century pickpockets had a similar scam; when caught, they pointed and screamed “It’s the Monster!” then vanished in the melee. Spring-heeled Jack The first sightings of Spring-heeled Jack in London were around 1837. Unlike the Monster, Spring-heeled Jack’s legend quickly tilted toward the supernatural—penny dreadfuls depicted him with a demon’s head and a scalloped cloak, giving him the appearance of a devilish bat—but his origins were the same as the London Monster: assault. There was an account of a strange man leaping from an alley to attack a woman, then another of a man leaping in front of a carriage, causing it to lose control, then leaping away and cackling madly. Sightings spread like wildfire. Cases differed in description—Jack had claws or pale features or burning eyes, resembling a ghost or a devil—and the papers reported all of it, with accounts of “women being deprived of their senses.” Despite Spring-heeled Jack’s incredible leaps, fifty years later, a more legendary—and lethal—Jack emerged. Jack the Ripper Jack the Ripper’s grisly slayings occurred in the fall of 1888, in the Whitechapel district of London’s impoverished East End. The victims, mostly prostitutes, were progressively mutilated. On multiple occasions, someone purporting to be the killer sent correspondence to the press and the civilian “vigilance committee.” In late September, the Central News Agency received a letter signed “Jack the Ripper,” the first time the legendary name appeared, that pledged to keep “ripping” prostitutes. Worse, the president of the vigilance committee received a gruesome package containing half a human kidney with a note that began with “From Hell” and claimed the author had fried and eaten the other half. Most of the many notes were later debunked, written by the very news agencies that printed them to boost their papers’ circulation. But the letters’ authenticity hardly mattered—the horse was already out of the barn, hysteria-wise. Headlines screamed of Ghastly Murder and Dreadful Mutilation. Mobs chased people through Whitechapel. Police, convinced the killer was “mad,” rounded up mentally ill residents and committed them to asylums. The murders received international media coverage, a first. And with no official killer identified, more than one hundred and thirty years later, Jack the Ripper remains the reigning champion of boogeymen. Son of Sam Nearly a century later and across the pond, a serial killer murdered six people and wounded at least seven others in New York City. Some victims had long, dark hair, prompting women throughout the city to cut and bleach their hair. Blonde wigs sold out. Since the shootings took place at night, discos and popular clubs stood empty. The killer left a note at one of his crime scenes identifying himself as the “Son of Sam” and wrote subsequent letters to the tabloids, who were only too happy to publish them to increase sales. By July 13, 1977, after a year of terrifying attacks, sensational articles, a financial crisis, and a brutal heatwave, all the Big Apple needed was a spark to set its many anxieties ablaze. That night, in what ConEd called an “act of God,” multiple lightning strikes hit powers lines and crippled substations in a matter of minutes. At approximately 9:30 pm, New York City plunged into darkness and what Time Magazine later dubbed the “Night of Terror.” Widespread looting and vandalism plagued the city. Nearly 4000 arrests were made, the largest mass arrest in the city’s history. NYFD fought over 1000 fires. After 25 hours, power was restored, and the following month, David Berkowitz was finally arrested. A More Modern Example Mass hysteria is not consigned to irrational ancestors, vexed by invading Martians or bouncing Englishmen. Under the right circumstances, anyone can abandon their senses. All it takes is a desperate environment and the right trigger, which history shows is often killers, criminals, and conmen. And there is a far more recent—and pressing—example of powerful people willfully feeding propaganda, aided and abetted by a complicit media, to an anxious public. And there’s clear and overwhelming footage to prove it. I am of course referring to the notorious 1988 summer when everyone lost their minds and poured sugar all over each other. The perpetrators, English rock band Def Leppard, even telegraphed their despicable intentions: “Pour Some Sugar on Me” was featured on the band’s 1987 album Hysteria. Despite this obvious smoking gun, no charges were filed against the group and that hot, sticky sweet fever eventually broke. * View the full article -
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Interview With Christine Wolf, Host of Write to Heal Retreat
Today I had the opportunity to interview Christine Wolf, host of the Write to Heal Retreat. From May 9 - May 13, writers will congregate at the Civana Wellness Resort & Spa in Carefree, Arizona. It's a time to embrace self-care and reframe difficult memories through expressive writing. Christine is a memoir coach and CEO of Writers' Haven LLC, a workspace for women writers. She is an award-winning freelance columnist with Tribune Media's ChicagoNow and a former opinion columnist with the Chicago Tribune. She also won a Moth StorySLAM in June of 2022. I'm so excited to talk with her about this amazing writing retreat. Register now! Registration closes on April 7, 2023, so don't hesitate. --- Interview by Nicole Pyles WOW: Thank you for chatting with me today about the Write to Heal Retreat! What inspired you to start this writing retreat, and what led you to hold it in Carefree, Arizona? Christine: I've been hosting local writers' retreats near my home in Chicago for about 10 years. I'm always grateful to be in the company of other women writers, working independently while still being together, then gathering around a table at the end of the day to share insights and laughter, and even a few tears. There's nothing like connecting with writers during a retreat about our work-in-progress. I'm always so rejuvenated after the extended conversations and opportunities to exchange sincere feedback while exploring new perspectives and building new friendships. Unfortunately, when Covid hit, my in-person retreats ended. In 2021, as the pandemic world began to "reopen" I was nervously optimistic about reconnecting with the world. After such a confusing and uncertain time in history, my heart was pretty raw and tender, and I dreamed of ways to practice some serious self-care, like going somewhere sunny and getting some writing done. I'd never done anything like this for myself, so I felt guilty as hell for even considering it. Even though I was fifty-two and owned my own business and had a little bit of savings, I kept trying to justify my decision to take a trip that was "just for me." But, after a ton of research, I found a spot in Arizona that seemed almost too-good-to-be-true. It looked special—but, like, affordable-special. So, I took a huge leap of faith and booked myself a 3-day trip over Mother's Day weekend. It was exactly what I needed: Sunny and easy to get to, lots of beautiful, comfortable spaces in which to write. The best part: I got to pick a couple of wellness classes every day at no additional charge. So, I tried things I'd never experienced before, like sound baths, aqua therapy circuits, Yoga Nidra, intention ceremonies, and walking through a nature labyrinth. Overlooking the sunset during dinner one night, I noticed a table of women gathered nearby, many of them kind of leaning in, sharing a conversation that seemed... really sacred. And I thought, That's the kind of conversation I have with other writers when we're talking about our perspectives on life. I was reminded how fortunate I am to be a writer, always observing life and documenting what I see and feel. I thought about how much I love interacting with writers — even when we're working independently, even when we're not talking about craft. With writers, it seems, I'm often my freest, most vulnerable and open self. We seem to view and reflect on the world in a unique and sacred way. And so, as I sat there, watching these women, I thought: If I, as writer, find this place magical, maybe other writers would feel the same? The next year, I went back to Civana for another solo getaway, during which time I wrote and rested and hiked nearby. While at Civana, I worked with their staff on some initial ideas for a retreat, talking through what a program might look like. On my flight back to Chicago, I started planning the 2023 Write To Heal Retreat in earnest. WOW: What an amazing journey! What can writers expect by joining your retreat? Christine: The 5-Day retreat goes from Tuesday, May 9 through Saturday, May 13 — plenty of time to get home for Mother's Day (or just extend your stay). From the start, we'll focus on the transformative impact expressive writing can make. We'll challenge ourselves to spend short periods of time (20 minutes max/day) writing about difficult memories and moving them from our heads to the page. All this happens in a warm and nurturing environment with the support of our team of writers and wellness professionals who offer their invaluable skills and compassion as we use writing to process and heal. You'll get to choose 2 wellness experiences every day from a selection of 100+ weekly options, including yoga, meditation, sound baths, aqua therapy circuits, and more. We'll have three group dinners and, to give you as much flexibility as possible, you'll receive a $300 food & beverage credit to use for any non-scheduled meal-times. There's also a world-class spa on site if you'd like to pamper yourself. Guests also receive a lovely welcome bag, including a small, personal journal, hand-crafted just for them. Day 1: TUESDAY After check-in, we'll gather for a brief welcome reception. Then, everyone's welcome to do their own thing for dinner. Head out to downtown Carefree or nearby Cave Creek, or stay at Civana and join me for a meal. Days 2-4: WEDNESDAY/THURSDAY/FRIDAY The heart of your Write to Heal Retreat includes... ...Workshops Optional workshops from 10:30-11:30 and 3:30-4:30, exploring topics like the Science of Expressive Writing (and how it improves physical, emotional, and interpersonal health), Mandala Meditation, Trauma-sensitive Care, Journeys of PTSD and Post-traumatic Growth, and Building Your Resiliency Toolkit. ...Wellness Choose 2 wellness experiences/day from a weekly schedule of more than 100+ options. ...Nourishment Breakfast & Lunch: On your own; use your $300 retreat food & beverage credit as you wish. Dinner: Gather as a group for a wonderful, nutritious meal. Day 5: SATURDAY Enjoy 2 final wellness experiences before heading home restored and rejuvenated. WOW: That sounds like an amazing experience! Why is it so important to the creative process to get away from it all and clear your mind? Christine: It's no secret that, as women, we regularly put others' needs before our own. So, we often tend to lose our voice and our sense of self without even realizing it...until we show up irritable, resentful, tearful, or worse. But, just imagine turning off your racing mind and letting the sun wash over you. Imagine letting yourself get lost in thought, restoring and tending to your long-lost or blocked creative connections. When you give yourself some space that's just for you—free of guilt or justification that you deserve it—you leave empowered, restored, and more ready to navigate life. WOW: I completely agree! Why is self-care so important for handling (and reframing) difficult memories that come up during the writing process? Christine: Every one of us experiences difficult times, albeit some more difficult than others. It takes time to process those experiences, and when we do, writing is such an excellent tool to use. Make no mistake: writing about difficult memories isn't easy, but doing it in an environment designed specifically for self-care (and with a team that gets it) can help. Humans can be such introspective creatures. Sometimes, we're not even aware of how much we notice, hold, and even unconsciously carry every day. Layer in some difficult memories, and we risk burnout and breaking points, where we just hit a wall or can't hold another thing in our hearts. And, when our overburdened hearts run out of room (or energy) to deal with the rest of life (including so much GOOD and BEAUTY), that's when self-care really offers an opportunity for release and transformation. Think about it. Memories and emotions are held in our bodies, and when they're heavy, we feel heavy, especially when we have to work to keep things inside (or secret). When we give ourselves time to write about some of the toughest stuff, we often surprise ourselves. Though we assume it'll be nothing but agony and reliving pain, what tends to happen with expressive writing is that the act of writing things out isn't as horrifying as we think it'll be, especially if we give ourselves a short burst of time (20 minutes or less) to do it. We take those awful memories and put them into words that we can look at, delete, rip up, put away, or reorder in ways that make us feel more empowered and less flooded with overwhelm. WOW: Those are such great insights. Getting in touch wit the emotions of those experiences is so freeing. You have such amazing successes under your belt. How has self-care and prioritizing your own healing aided in these successes? Christine: Oh my gosh, that's so nice of you to say, and it's easy (and almost instinctive) for me to want to downplay the success and focus on all my challenges and missteps. But, self-care has really taught me how to say thank you—and to mean it. Yep, I've had plenty of challenges that led to my anxious, hypervigilant response to life, and self-care taught me how to acknowledge them while keeping them in perspective, and to accept my experiences (even the toughest ones) with gratitude rather than frustration or a sense of victimhood. For years, I never took the time to let myself really FEEL my feelings. I constantly kept myself "busy" and didn't know how to say no (to people, to work, to requests for help). My personal operating mode had one setting: REACTION. But then, when it dawned on me that my reactive stance was draining me and rooted in fear ("If I don't say yes, that person will think less of me..." "If I don't work harder, I'll lose my edge..." "If I turn down that invitation, I'll never be invited again..."), I asked myself what the alternative was, like, "Can I make decisions from a place other than fear?" Once I realized I could, then I wanted to know HOW. The answer began with learning to value and love myself. But how do we do that? I felt grief and regret realizing that I'd spent so long prioritizing everything outside of me so that I could ignore my deepest feelings. And, I knew that a change in my behavior would surely have an impact on others. That really scared me. I worried how others would react, and that they'd see me as selfish. How ironic that, in my quest to find my own voice, I wrestled with guilt and worry about those who I might make feel uncomfortable by using it. It was a bit crazymaking...and I knew I had to break the cycle. I knew I had to make myself a priority before I could be my best, most decisive, and confident self. When I accepted a weeklong writing residency, it felt like a treat...like walking through an unfamiliar door that I wasn't supposed to know about. I loved the freedom and the sense of agency I had to work on my craft and spend time in the company of other writers, but I also experienced some discomfort when my loved ones struggled with my time away and my decision to take time for myself. I felt pulled...hard...between two worlds. I questioned if I'd made the right choice. I didn't realize then that it was EXACTLY what I needed to do for everyone involved. That first time away was less about self-care and more about making myself a priority. With that experience under my belt, I looked for more opportunities to carve out time for my own interests and needs. It felt kind of like cleaning out a messy old basement. I had to start with one section and build up my tolerance to tackle more. And then, once I got rolling, the benefits of my actions became more and more obvious. This time to myself wasn't frivolity. It wasn't being selfish. My intention wasn't to run from others or abandon them (though at times, others—and even my own mind—tried to convince me I was). This was making my needs a priority and clearing space for all the GOOD in my life. When I took myself on that first trip to Civana in 2021, I sat in yoga classes, meditation sessions, and sound baths and let my mind wander to some memories and moments of struggle and pain. It wasn't easy, AND YET, instead of feeling upset, I felt relieved. I can't tell you how many tears I shed, filled with GRATITUDE and self-compassion for having survived those experiences. Rather than keeping those painful memories tucked deep inside where they seemed to have so much power and control over me, I created space to let them rise up, and when that happened, I was ready to face them and remind myself that I'm not a victim: I'm a strong, resilient, empathetic woman who can offer some valuable wisdom to others. The way I choose to share that wisdom is through writing. WOW: That's so powerful. I'm so glad you've shared that experience with us. What advice do you have for writers wondering if it's worth the cost to attend the retreat? What would writers be surprised to learn or experience from this retreat? Christine: Until I'd created my own self-care retreat and experienced its long-term benefits, I had those very questions, too. Only when I dove into the research about the lasting benefits of self-care and all the many misperceptions about it (news flash: it's not hippy, dippy voodoo science) did I feel more comfortable parting with some money to do it. Before I'd ever taken a self-care retreat, I'd taken myself on walks and drawn bubble-baths and used facial masks and changed my diet and gotten new haircuts to "boost my spirits"...but I'd never figured out a way to turn off my racing mind and just rest it. I mean, what a completely bizarre and unfamiliar concept. I'd been caregiving and pushing down so many unpleasant memories for so long that I didn't even know there might be an alternative. By spending time in the company of others who understood the value and science of self-care (and taught me skills I could take home and start using immediately), I found that my relationships improved, my patience increased, and my ability to roll with life's challenges soared. Study after study tells us how important self-care is. Still, I appreciate that self-care does require investment—of effort, of time, and sometimes, of money. We can do quick, low-commitment things to perk ourselves up, or we can invest in something deeply meaningful and lasting. After too many attempts at quick-fixes, I was ready to do something that made a long-term impact, not only on my own outlook but also on my ability to interact with others. As for the financial investment, I asked myself how much a continuing education course might cost, or a solo escape to a sunny island, or a week off of work spent lying around and reading. When I ran the numbers and figured out the cost of a plane ticket and a resort bill, I was floored to realize that, by spending 4 nights at Civana, I'd get so much more than an "escape" or a "reset" or "time to myself". In addition to relaxing and resetting my overwrought nervous system, I would also learn new ideas and approaches. I'd immerse myself in time just for me, with reminders to offer myself tenderness, kindness, and nourishment. I left that first, self-designed self-care retreat at Civana feeling on top of the world. I felt lighter yet stronger. I also felt like I'd received the biggest hug from the person I needed it from most: Myself. WOW: And sometimes that is exactly the hug we need! I love how there is something for everyone on this retreat! How did you plan this in a way that everyone has something to gain from the experience? What do you hope writers walk away with by joining you on this retreat? Christine: I planned this retreat from many different perspectives—as a busy mom, as a solopreneur, as a trauma survivor, as a writer, and as someone who's been asked to carry the emotional weight of others. Each of those sides of me needs attention and tending and nurturing, so I found a place and designed a workshop that offers a multi-dimensional approach to healing. Sometimes I need physical activity...or community...or solace...or a beautiful place in which to write...or a healthy meal that I don't have to prepare...or a new way of looking at my life. This special retreat offers opportunities to address all those kinds of needs and more. Most of all, I hope writers leave this retreat feeling restored and also empowered to navigate their dynamic lives with actionable tools and increased confidence and peace in their hearts. WOW: Thank you so much for your time, Christine! Remember, register now for the Write to Heal Retreat. It closes on April 7, 2023, so don't hesitate. (C) Copyright wow-womenonwriting.com Visit WOW! Women On Writing for lively interviews and how-tos. Check out WOW!'s Classroom and learn something new. Enter the Quarterly Writing Contests. Open Now![url={url}]View the full article[/url] -
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Cover Snark: Leaving Room for Jesus
Hey all! It’s time for Cover Snark! From Carole Sneezy: Are we looking at pee or jizz cocktail? Tara: If we are, it’s quite psychedelic. Sarah: The splash is distressing. Elyse: If any of your bodily fluids come out Lisa Frank colors you need to consult a doctor. Kiki: My partner and his friends just discovered that sometimes romance novels have absolutely bananas covers and he is now in joyous tears beside me as he looks through all the cover snark posts on the site. From Elizabeth: Overall it’s just general nonsense, but he does seem to have a glowing belly button. And maybe fire skin? Sarah: If my belly button could be a flashlight that would be VERY handy. EllenM: Those muscles look like they are 1 second away from popping Sneezy: Oh ew, no exploding muscles please Sarah: PEW PEW Elyse: Press 2 for penis Sarah: Maybe this is a clue that this person is a hemipene? or has a hemipene? From Shoshana Sarah: Awww, they’re at a 7th grade dance and they’ve left room for Jesus! Carrie: Are all Werewolves purple or does it vary from wolf to wolf? Did he dye his hair or is it natural? Is there werewolf hair racism between the purples and the greens? Does the color activate when lightning goes up your nose, as seems to be happening here? Why are their asses glowing? Elyse: Is it just me or is that Fiona from Shrek? Sarah: Or one of the Olsen twins? EllenM: You can’t tell me that wolf isn’t a highly photoshopped plastic action figure. Sneezy: Wait, his ass is SEE THROUGH. Is that a normal werewolf thing? From Kimberly: Where is that extra leg coming from? There’s no way it is attached to either torso. Sarah: I’m VERY confused. Carrie: I know there’s a lot going on here, but I’m a simple girl and I’m fixated on the most simple thing – what the fuck is the end of word “mo”? Sarah: It’s MC. Motorcycle Club Does look like an O though, no question Carrie: Well yes because there’s a rogue leg over it! Sarah: I hate it when a rogue leg interferes with my graphic design, too! Tara: It’s okay, Carrie. He looks equally confused. Sneezy: Doesn’t it also look like his torso from the pecs down is truncated and shrunk? View the full article -
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New York Write to Pitch Conference 2023 - Reviews
NY Pitch to Write 2023 has been one of the best experiences of my adult life. Michael was genuine, funny, and friendly from the get go. Never saying no to any questions that popped up in my head, never rejecting anyone's thoughts...but always offering advice that he thought would lead us to getting our work closer to a piece that would sell. He made sure everything from our titles, to the tone of our pitch, to the passion we felt for writing our books was conveyed when we spoke to the visiting faculty. He made sure we got several chances to show him our work, even if it was after working hours in the basement of an Irish bar, he was intent on giving us the best fighting chance. The faculty was warm and friendly and offered great advice. And then of course there was the gang - the group of authors that has now become a solid team rooting for each other, helping out with great suggestions and constantly wanting to stay in touch - I love the community we have created for each other and cannot wait to meet these fine folks again! The conference was 4 days of nonstop thinking about our pitches, being able to take constructive criticism, and being ready to spend the evening hours rewriting and refining and was tough for sure, but Michael and the other authors made it such a worthwhile experience. It's been a week that I've been home and already Michael has been on top of his game sending us post pitch editorial input, responses from editors/ agents, and friendly check-in emails. What began as a journey to get feedback on a solo project has ended up giving me so much more in return - a big thanks to Michael for setting this up! -
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New York Write to Pitch Conference 2023 - June
Test of Nove Meyers.
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