Writing

My own Poetry, Fiction, Non-Fiction, and occasional commentary on all of the above.

An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

Review: Chango’s Fire by Ernesto Quiñonez

There is something simultaneously appealing and frustrating about Ernesto Quiñonez's second novel, Chango's Fire, a marked improvement over his highly-flawed debut, Bodega Dreams, but in the end, still something of a disappointment. This time, the problem lies in his biting off more than he can chew with too many subplots rolling around what is essentially one man's coming-of-age story at its heart. He's inexplicably combined the systematic burning of Spanish Harlem, insurance fraud, organized crime, gentrification, Santeria, pseudo-socialism, illegal citizenship papers, a shady government agent and a few other random nuggets into a muddle-headed plot that rests precariously, and unsuccessfully,…

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

NaNoWriMo 2004 Update: 15,609

While technically NaNoWriMo ended yesterday, practically speaking, I fell off the wagon two weeks ago and never managed to get back on. Final word count: 15,609.

Well short of the 50,000 word goal, but an amazing leap forward for me in terms of self-discipline. For the first two weeks, at least. I take some solace in these words from the final NaNoWriMo update:

The only time we ever catch a glimpse of our creative potential is when we try something so clearly impossible that only a fool would dare attempt it.

Yep. There’s a tremendous payoff in getting in over our heads. In spending thirty days sleeping too little and writing too much, and watching, delighted, as our imaginations haul their weird and wonderful treasures into the bright light of day.

It’s a heroic endeavor whether you ended up writing 10,000 or 100,000 words, and I hope that everyone, regardless of final word-count, realizes what a brave and inspiring thing they’ve accomplished this month.

Indeed, I caught more than a glimpse, I stared it dead in the eye and…well yes, I blinked, but not before I confirmed that the only thing really standing between me and a completed novel is ME. There’s a million excuses and twice as many distractions, some of each are even legitimate, but the bottom line is that you find the time to do the things you want to do when you really want to do them. Like playing Morrowind til 1am again last night!

(more…)

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

BABE IN THE WOODS: Nine

Thursday, October 31, 2013: Sherman Park, NY, USA Herman Ruth stood perfectly still, partially hidden behind a large oak tree three hundred yards into Leitas Pond Park, directly across from Detective Eric Pearson’s house. It was the first time he’d observed the house, but it was the first time he had company doing it. His eyes sparkled, as if lit from within, as they moved back and forth between Pearson’s house and the other zombie watching it from the edge of the tree line. When the last light in the house had turned off ten minutes ago, he’d locked his…

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

BABE IN THE WOODS: Eight

Thursday, October 31, 2013: Sherman Park, NY, USA Eric Pearson gave the hot water knob another turn, wanting more than anything at that moment to scald away the invisible layer of fear coating his entire body. He winced sharply, but didn’t back away from the steaming spray showering down on him. He’d been standing there for the past 20 minutes and was planning to keep standing there until the hot water had completely run out. The Department of Homeland Water Conservation could fine him double for the violation, for all he cared. It was another twenty minutes before the water…

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

BABE IN THE WOODS: Seven

Thursday, October 31, 2013: West Point, NY, USA “Trick or treat, Vargas! Time to move!” Damon shifted under his green flannel bedsheet, slightly damp from a night of fitful sleep, as he teetered on the edge of consciousness, desperately trying to ignore the insistent knocking at his door. Pulling the lumpy pillow over his head in a vain attempt to drown out Captain James T. Merck’s gravelly voice, he wished for another hour of sleep – “Come on, Vargas! Open it up!” – but his wish wasn’t granted. “Alright, alright! Chill! I’m up! Hold on a minute.” Damon rubbed the…

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

BABE IN THE WOODS: Interlude (two)

2007-2009; United States of America The United States’ second Civil War finally broke out in 2007, after three years of boiling following the controversial 2004 Presidential election. Strangled by a two-party political system that over the years had, for all intents and purposes, merged into one, unable to convincingly differentiate themselves on the major issues like the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, nuclear proliferation, health care or corporate control of the media, political campaigns had come to depend on so-called cultural and moral issues to rally their supporters. Gay marriage, abortion, reality television and pop singer Janet Jackson’s left breast…

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

BABE IN THE WOODS: Six

Wednesday, October 30, 2013: Mt. Pleasant, NY, USA Eric Pearson took three lunging steps backwards, his stomach still clenched tight, threatening more dry heaves if he didn’t find some fresh air in the next 30 seconds. Clear of the puddle of blood, gore and half-digested sliders, he turned and stepped back out of the door he’d entered through, gasping for air to clear his nostrils and lungs. There was a foul stench in the air that reminded him of his time in Iraq, bringing back flashes of memories he’d spent years trying to bury. PFC David Johnson’s torso, separated from…

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