painting by Mark Ryden: http://www.markryden.com/

- By Adam Wilby

Cordelia moved across to the mirror and silently gazed through it. On the other side the man approached and set a cardboard box down on the floor. Looking up his breath settled on the glass as his attention focussed on the dresser in front of him. Reaching out her hand Cordelia traced a finger in the resulting condensation. The message spoke but one word, “Remember”.

For a moment she thought the man had seen as his teeth lightly bit on his lower lip as he had always done when he witnessed something unexpected. Cordelia’s hopes were dashed as he took hold of a framed photograph which rested near the edge of the dresser. Even without seeing it Cordelia knew what it depicted. Two years ago the two of them had taken a trip to Devon and had stumbled upon Saunton Sands beach more by accident than design. The month of June had been upon them and the summer sun had brought out the surfing community out in force; one of whom had been nice enough to take their photo.

Cordelia turned her fingernails into the palm of her hand and exerted pressure to the point where it almost hurt. Watching as the photo was consigned to the cardboard box she looked on as memories of her previous life followed. As they did so her mind went back to the events of six months ago. It all seemed so silly now. A handful of words hastily spoken and she’d stormed from the house in anger; without slowing down she’d crossed the road without looking and had only been dimly aware of the sound of screeching brakes.

Afterward Cordelia could have realistically have gone anywhere but with no real family in the world she’d felt her choices were limited. In the movies there always seemed to be a way for a ghost to communicate with those who still living but in reality she soon discovered that despite her best efforts it wasn’t so simple. Cordelia’s mind was returned to the present by the motion of the man lifting the box and turning to leave the room. As he did so Cordelia’s lips formed the words, “Remember me,” and the sound was barely more audible than a whisper.

Stopping short the man turned and furrowed his brow as he looked at the mirror for a few moments. As he once again turned away Cordelia bowed her head and looked at her hands as they began to fade. Taking a deep breath as she prepared to embrace the eventual the thought crossed her mind she would probably have done the same thing if their roles had been reversed. Perhaps things were better this way.

Just over a week ago this was placed in my hand by a work colleague following a conversation about Stephen King. My initial comment was something along the lines of “This isn’t a book, it’s a doorstop”, an observation based on it being 880 pages long.

The setting for this story is the fictional town of Chester’s Mill which, like other stories Stephen King has written, is located in Maine. Consisting of a population of approximately 2500 people they are all going about their everyday lives when a ‘forcefield’ suddenly comes down and cuts them off from the outside world.

For anyone who has read Lord of the Flies they might recognise the similar themes of sides being taken which, at a fundamental level, is essentially good vs evil. The protagonist is Dale Barbara, a former Iraq War veteran who quickly finds himself at odds with politician Jim Rennie over the latter’s intention to use what has happened for his own ends.

At times the ‘Dome’ as it eventually becomes known is forgotten in the midst of the ongoing power struggle which, it could be argued, are lacking in the ‘shades of grey’ which so often make up human nature. On the plus side though Stephen King has not neglected to mention the outside world which begins with the efforts of US Military to analyse and break the dome and later deals with re-uniting relatives as far as they are able to do so.

This is about as much as I can say without giving away too many spoilers so shall stop here, my final words on the subject shall be : Yes it is a long book but Stephen King has written it in such a way to make this interesting from start to finish. Buy a copy and read, I promise you won’t regret this.

-By Adam Wilby

I’ve read a number of autobiographies in my life but this is the first I’ve ever read which has made me laugh and made me want to cry in equal measures. Predominately set against the backdrop of Limerick in Republic of Ireland after Frank McCourt’s buck the trend of Irish immigrants settling in America by returning there and experiencing the grim poverty of the 1930′s and 1940′s.
In writing this book Frank McCourt manages to pull off the near-impossible and find humour in a life which saw his alcoholic father regularly spend all his money down the pub thereby forcing the rest of the family to beg, borrow and steal in order to survive.
As this is predominately Frank’s story he does focus on his siblings but the reader can clearly see how his life experiences shape him as a person and ultimately lead to him returning to America as a nineteen year old in a potential cliched bid to seek his fortune.

All in all, a throughly good read…

A King now dead

A city once ever so jubilant

corroded

Buildings with beautiful decorations

now covered with thick, sickening black vines

People once pleasant and gracious to each other

now just rotted corpses

skeletons

The survivors blend in

All hail the Demented

Writing tools are important.

Consider the tools above: a pen, a pen case, ink, and a Carnival of Venice Mask.

Why are these important?

The Pen

There is nothing like writing by hand. It creates a mental time warp that slows thought down to perfect narrative speed. It buffers the mind enough to imbue language with passion, something I can’t get while typing at ludicrous speed illuminated by nothing but the milky backlight of a computer screen.

Writing instruments are personal. I prefer fountain pens that are heavy. I can’t hold a pen like that; I must wield it. Fountain pens glide over the paper and magically make their mark independent from pressure or force. I can write for a long time riding the inertia and momentum of such a pen. The only trick is getting up enough force to start. (ahem) I also love how such pens vibrate in response to the texture of the paper. Point is: the correct writing tool will inspire you. Find the pen, the color, and the notebook! (the only thing missing in my photo…) that you LOVE. And write in it. Write stupid things. Write smart things. Write secrets and write puns. Test out a few until you find a favorite, and then incorporate your pen into your writing routine. Computer work is fine, but every writer needs to write a little by hand.

The Pen Case:

Simple. A wonderful pen must be protected from would be pen fiddlers. The case is the solution.

Ink:

The right color and consistency is a key partner to your pen.

Not Pictured Here Paper:

Make sure you get paper that doesn’t bleed. You should enjoy the texture of it. Try a few in various notebooks.

Carnival of Venice Mask:

If it makes you feel like part of the Eyes Wide Shut Cast, then it has enough weird factor to wear daily. Try putting one on to accent your normal ‘going to the store to buy groceries’ routine. Note the responses you get. It will give you material with just enough kick to rev up the writer engines for when you get home.

How could you not write about that?

]]> http://punkpen.com/2010/12/phantom-of-the-pen/feed/ 0 http://punkpen.com/2010/12/2010-booklist/ http://punkpen.com/2010/12/2010-booklist/#comments Thu, 30 Dec 2010 01:11:34 +0000 Lori Moritz http://punkpen.com/?p=338 - By Lori Moritz

2010 is winding down to a grinding (rapid, smashing????) halt. At least I managed to read a bit.

These are the books I read in 2010, in no particular order… and some with odd commentary:

World War Z by Max Brooks via Paperback

• This book gave me Nightmares. BRAVO!

The Stand by Stephen King via Amazon Kindle

• This book took me a year and a half to read completely. This has nothing to do with Mr. King’s story telling ability. In fact, I read quite a few other King books in the year simultaneously.  In short, LOVED Part 1; The superflu and aftermath was horrific. Great apocalyptic stuff. Part 2 took the longest for me to get through… lots of political and social philosophy weaved into a tremendous amount of character development and people going about their newly assumed roles in the aftermath. There wasn’t much action. Sorry, I am an action junkie. Part 3 returned the action and interest… with the final STAND. Whoot! Overall, the year and a half was worth it. King does a fantastic job getting me to care about his characters. I felt like I was living their lives with them. And I am charmed by his ability to gross me out. That’s not an easy thing to do…

The Passage by Justin Cronin via Audible audiobook

• This book I read because Stephen King told me to. Ha. Ironically enough, the novel follows the pattern of King’s The Stand quite closely. In Part 1, a deadly virus created by the US government wipes out nearly the entire population of the planet by turning the infected into vampires. This part of the book was riveting. Cronin did a wonderful job with this. Part two takes place some 100 years in the future, and concentrates on a colony of survivors. Again, lots of non-action made it slow treading for me. The thing I didn’t quite understand was the importance of the little girl, the supposed hero of the story. I thought the story would have been more effective if told from her perspective in the parts of the story that she arrives. I felt too distant from her as a character, partly because she is so strange, it is hard to feel much affection for her. Anyway, I’m still looking forward to the next book in the series.

Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman via Audible audiobook

• I just finished this one. Gaiman has a wonderful storytelling ability. His subject matter is right up my ally. This one has to do with human incarnations of gods. The narrator of the audiobook does a great job with various accents and changing up his voice to suit each character. I looked forward to getting in my car to drive my daily 120 mile loop to work and back while in the middle of this book. Not a slow point in the whole works. He’s a master.

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman via Audible audiobook

• At first, I was only interested in reading Gaiman’s adult books (sounds so naughty, doesn’t it?), but after one of my students waltzed into my office with The Graveyard Book, I was hooked at the first line. I almost forgot to download it onto my iPod for car listening until the same student came in the next day with a different book. “Are you finished with The Graveyard Book already?” I asked. “No,” she said. “I had to stop reading it. It gave me nightmares.” At that response, I knew I would have to read it immediately. Gaiman narrates the novel and does a fantastic job. I found myself coming home and telling my husband bits of the story. Lots of lovely fantasy in this one. For kids and adults alike.

Bite Me: A Love Story by Christopher Moore via Audible audiobook

• Christopher Moore is one of the very most funny-est-est of all authors ever in the whole wide-est of the word worldlies. Read all of his books <period> (I command you!)

The Eight by Katherine Neville via Audible audiobook

• The positives: Action stays moving, and plot moves forward at a great pace. Lots of tension. Chess is a theme. It mixes past with present. Interesting premise.
• The negatives: How many times can I read about ice blue eyes or vibrant green eyes without puking? And the love scenes are incredibly sappy. Sex without connection to plot bothers me. Not that I’m against sex. Not against that at all. Just make it important. And un-sappy. Visceral is good….

Pump Six and Other Stories by Paolo Bacigalupi via Audible audiobook

• These stories are well-crafted pseudo-futuristic, semi-realistic short masterpieces. I think anyone concerned about the future of the world should read them. Everyone else should read them, too. (And get concerned about the future of the world, already! Geeze.)

It by Stephen King via Audible audiobook

• Highly entertaining. I would have been more freaked out had I been 13 when I read it. Age has numbed the scare out of me.

The Eyes of the Dragon by Stephen King via Paperback

• I would call this a children’s story. I love Randall Flagg as a villain. King uses him in The Dark Tower Series, The Stand, and here. I am sure he is peppered throughout some other King novels that I haven’t read yet, or that I have forgotten about. This novel is classic fantasy. Great characters, yet unusual style for King. He pulls it off like the master he is.

Shade of My Own Tree by Sheila Williams via Audible audiobook

• Not my normal genre, Shade of My Own Tree is a book about spousal abuse. Very challenging subject. I read this because I took a course from Sheila Williams through UCLA Extension Writer’s Program. When going through this novel, I felt that it needed one more draft to be great. As it is, it is pretty good. She peppers the novel with very interesting characters that I found myself caring for. Some repetitive phrasing and disjointed/disorganized construction pulled me out of the story many times, though. The woman has a voice, however. I am sure many women can sympathize with the protagonist’s plight.

Under the Dome by Stephen King via Amazon Kindle

• Cool concept. Great characters.

Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger via Audible audiobook

• Very creative. I hope death is this way.

Write Away by Elizabeth George via Paperback

• Energetic, Step-by-step advice on how to write a novel.

Rock Springs by Richard Ford via Paperback

• I read this collection of shorts for a Dialogue class that I took at UCLA Extension. I would never have picked it up on my own to read, but I am so happy for that fact that we read it for class. Ford manages to weave the correct dialogue with description to paint a very depressing picture of midwestern life in the 80′s. It’s a masterpiece.

Writing Down the Bones – Freeing the Writer Within by Natalie Goldberg via Paperback

• Very spiritual advice for all writers… fru-fru or serious alike.

PEN/O.Henry Prize Stories 2009 edited by Laura Furman via Amazon Kindle

• A yearly tradition to read one of these from cover to cover. Astounding short fiction. Some of the best.

UR by Stephen King via Amazon Kindle

• Written about the Kindle specifically for the Kindle, which illustrates how one can literally use the Kindle to step into an alternate dimension.

Tarot for Writers by Corrine Kenner via Amazon Kindle

• Creative inspiration. Great for ideas for stories or characters.

Orange County Noir edited by Gary Phillips via Amazon Kindle

• Disturbing fiction all very close to (my) home

If anyone else has read these books, drop in and comment!

CHAPTER ONE

Even as his consciousness returned and he started to open his eyes Seamus grimaced as the familiar pain of the previous evening’s alcohol shot through his head. Squinting against the glare of the sun as it streamed through the window he turned over and his heart sank upon seeing the bars of the prison cell. On the far side of the bars a policeman glanced up from his chair as Seamus slowly made his way to his feet.

“Merry Christmas,” he said sarcastically.

Seamus rubbed his eyes as a fresh wave of nausea swept through him, “What time is it?” he asked.

“Eight thirty, suppose you’re going to ask to be let out now?”

“That would be nice,” said Seamus.

The policeman walked over to the cell door and unlocked it before sliding back the bars. Seamus trudged through and began to head for the stairs leading to the upper floor of the police station.

“Thanks,” he muttered over his shoulder.

“No doubt we’ll be seeing each other tomorrow,” replied the policeman.

Seamus heard the probable truth in the words but chose to ignore them as he proceeded up the stairs. Even before he reached the top he caught sight of Mary’s red hair, partially buried as it was under a thick woollen hat. Almost as soon as he caught sight of her Mary’s head turned in his direction and the scowl on her face seemed to grow ever deeper. As he drew nearer she turned away and began to make her way toward the exit. As he rushed to catch up with her a round of applause erupted from around them, “If you’re tired of him sweetheart, you can have my phone number” someone called out.

Mary was far nearer the door than Seamus and she vanished through it long before he reached it. Following in her wake he momentarily stopped dead in his tracks at the sight outside. Unbeknownst to him it had evidently snowed heavily during the night and a rich layer now covered the ground. Tearing his gaze away he frantically looked around until he caught sight of Mary. Seemingly she had barely lost a fraction of the athletic ability she’d possessed when he’d first met her and it wasn’t until she was roughly hundred yards from the police station that he finally managed to overtook her. Looking at him in disdain as he bent over with his hands on his knees while he attempted to catch his breath she spoke for the first time.

“Have you any idea how embarrassing it is to be stared at while the police come to scrape you up off the floor, and not for the first time?” she asked, the Galway accent she’d inherited from her mother becoming more pronounced by the moment.

Seamus kicked the snow at his feet while he racked his brain for a suitable response; ultimately electing to keep quiet and shake his head. Mary struck out at him then; an open handed slap which caught him flush across the face. Wincing as the temperature amplified its effect upon his cold skin he instinctively drew her in to defend herself. Despite this the blows continued, bouncing off his arms as Seamus continued to hold Mary and ignore the stares from passers-by as he gradually felt the force behind them diminish. When they finally ceased he released her and stepped back. Tears stained her cheeks now and Seamus felt the onset of guilt as he looked at her. Stepping off to one side he put an arm across her shoulders and began to gently steer her down the street as the two of them set off for home.

CHAPTER TWO

Seamus looked over to Mary as she sat on the window sill staring out the window and poured himself a fresh shot of vodka. Hearing the sound she glanced in his direction.

“Can I have one of those?” she said, a trace of resignation in her voice.

As Seamus poured her drink he continued to look over at her. As he did so the years seemed to fall away as he looked at her with the eyes of his memories. They were both children of parents who had migrated to America toward the end of the nineteenth century and it was in a bar that he’d once worked at here in New York that they had first met. She’d been the lead vocalist of an Irish folk band back then; her long red hair streaming down the white dress she wore combined with her unquestionably powerful voice had been enough to captivate a whole bar of drunken Irishmen.

Afterward Seamus had congratulated Mary on a fine performance when she wandered over to the bar to buy a drink. She’d surprised him by turning her head to one side and giggling in a display of nervousness.

“You’ll have to forgive Mary,” the band’s violin player had explained as he moved up behind her, “She’s prone to being a little shy”.

Mary had taken her drink and with the violin player in tow had walked away then; as she went she’d taken a half turn so that she could smile back over her shoulder at Seamus. He had never forgotten when they shared their first kiss less than a week later on Christmas Eve as they watched the moon rise over the Hudson River.

Returning to the present Seamus moved across the room and joined Mary at the window. Outside the band from the NYPD moving down the street on their way to the main square a half mile distant; in the fading light they looked almost like ghosts as they tramped their way through the snow.

“Where did it all go Seamus?” asked Mary as she took her drink.

“What do you mean?”

Mary drained her glass in a single gulp, “I remember when we both had such dreams. It was supposed to be you and me against the world, and the world didn’t stand a chance. Wasn’t that what you always used to say?”

Seamus hesitated, “Are you saying you’re not happy with the life you’ve had?” he said.

Mary turned to face him and rolled her eyes, “Of course, I’ve loved every minute of more drunks than I care to remember running their hands across my ass”.

Seamus felt the onset of irritation began to grow within him, “That’s not fair,” he protested.

Mary rose to her feet and took a step toward Seamus, “I remember when you used to talk of Broadway and tell me almost every day it was only a matter of time before I was treading the boards there. Do you know that you haven’t said that to me in years?”

Mary crossed the room as she headed for the bedroom. As Seamus went to reach for her she slapped his hand away and he could only watch as she entered the bedroom and none-too-kindly closed the door behind her. Sighing he returned to the table where he’d been seated and poured himself another vodka.

CHAPTER THREE

The words were indistinct as if someone was shouting them at him from a distance, “Seamus wake up,” the voice said.

Seamus groaned by way of reply as he attempted to brush aside the arm that was shaking him. At its continued persistence he opened his eyes to find Mary looking down at him.

“Niall stopped by while you were asleep,” she said, “He told me everyone was making their way over to Mulligan’s and wanted to know if we’d be joining them”.

“Well you’ve certainly perked up,” observed Seamus as he clambered to his feet.

Mary dismissed the words with a wave of a hand, “Ah well, it is Christmas Eve after all” she said with a smile.

Seamus’ eyes quickly flicked to the now empty vodka bottle on the table and back to Mary again. For her own part she continued to smile and rock from side to side as if she was aboard a ship at sea.

“Well if everyone is expecting us, I suppose we’d better join them,” he said.

Picking up his coat from where it was hanging off a nearby chair he pulled it on before taking hold of Mary’s hand. The two of them proceeding outside and Seamus drew Mary close as he felt her shiver with the cold.

Long before they reached Mulligan’s they could hear the sound of singing. They entered to find that the pub was packed and a rendition of Whiskey in the Jar in full flow. From near the centre of the pub Niall waved at them as he gestured toward a couple of spare chairs and they made their way over.

“So Mary, will you do us the honour of singing for us tonight?” said Niall.

Mary’s eyes sparkled as she stood and climbed onto her chair. The chatter from within the Mulligan’s fading away as all eyes began to turn in her direction. Seamus watched as she took a deep breath before starting to sing Cliffs of Dooneen; a song he hadn’t heard himself since he was a child. Once she’d finished Mary bowed in response to the thunderous ovation of clapping and beer tankards clanking against wood before climbing down off the chair.

“After that I’m in need of a drink,” she said to Seamus.

The two of them shared a grin before Mary turned away; the crowd making way for her as she headed for the bar. As Seamus watched her go he reflected upon her words of the previous day of how once it had been the two of them against the world and, if only for a moment, his smile faltered.

I have read it countless times by a countless number of successful writers: You should exercise your body if you want to exercise your mind.

Now, I used to shrug this stuff off with an, “ of course!” But that was because I always maintained a strict exercise schedule consisting of running, biking, and weight-lifting… that is, until I had a baby.

That sort of threw a wrench in the whole “I’m the healthiest writer in the Universe!!!” mantra.

It wasn’t that I had no time to get the sweat on. Instead, I had absolutely no motivation to find out that I had gotten VERY out of shape.

So, many months pass with absolutely NO exercise, and guess what… the same amount of months pass with NO writing or fresh writing ideas, either.

Why was that?

Well, I wasn’t exercising.

So, how does exercise help the writing mind?

For me, exercise forces me to get deep in thought… it is the only way I can avoid the pain of exertion. While deep in thought, the ideas flow. I can concentrate on character, plot line, dialogue… I find solutions to logical inconsistencies in my storyline… it’s amazing!

Recently, I have had a dearth of ideas.

Running cured that.

It happened this weekend, when I decided to start back on the old routine. I took a four-mile loop around the neighborhood and ran into a patch of bees.

In short, I got stung in the chest, back, and the upper left arm.

I have an aunt that is deathly allergic to bees. I asked myself the question, “What if I were deathly allergic to bees?”

I really could be. It runs in the family.

I wondered if I should stop running and sit down for a moment. Then, all sorts of mental tragedy ensued.

What if I died right there on the sidewalk, just blocks from the nearest hospital, because I had left home without an epiPen? What would my husband feel? Would my newborn son miss me? What would my dying thoughts be?

Then I imagined running along a lonesome trail in the mountains, away from any immediate pathway to salvation. What if I got stung there, and died? How long would it take for someone to find me?

I don’t know about you, but to me, that’s a great story to write! It isn’t complete as-is… but I can bounce off those ideas, and really construct a situation full of conflict.

Now, I’m set. I really want to write this story! I want it to be tragic, creepy, and yet, I want something about it to shock the reader. I know exactly how I want to do this… and all of it crafted on my way back home, throbbing from my bee stings.

Once I got inside, I jotted down a few thoughts, and completed my mental outline in the shower.

Fantastic!

I would never have known that exercise was vital for my creativity if I hadn’t stepped away from it for a while, gotten back into it, and suffered three itchy welts.

So, get going, y’all! I want to hear your exercise stories. Write them, and post them!

I have been away from online ventures for the past two months because I almost died.

You think I’m kidding, but it’s true.

I know it has created a detriment to my writing audience, so I am in the works to ramp this back up again.

The good news is, I am having fun. I want to wrap up the old contest I have up here by Thanksgiving, and then start a new contest.

Anyone have any good prompt ideas? Respond with them below.