Hello,
It’s a busy Friday as usual but I wanted to get my blog out; it’s important to me to be as consistent as possible on getting it out each week. Consistency is important to me and especially in my writing life. Now, that the book is out I have been told “you published a book, that’s great” or “you should be so proud to have a book out”. I’m thankful for all my well wishes but I think every time, “…a book or the book”, one book, my goal is five, ten or fifteen books though it has to start at one but oh, I can’t wait to get past “the one” and have two, three, etc out in the world; this I have to consistently work on day-by-day, it’s the only way and it will accept no less from myself. I’m working on the second novel and getting it done--I have to--prolific I don’t believe I’ll be, yet steady, CONSISTENT, and putting out my best work in the world yearly, I’ll do it because it makes me happy and it’s a blessing to do it and I’m glad to be so blessed.
Write always.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
Hello and I hope you have a fun weekend,
For a number of people—me included—this will be a holiday with time off, but for me it doesn’t mean I will not write, I hope to write more because I’ll have a little extra time to do so though it's so easy to procrastinate at writing isn't it? I know you understand; sometimes it’s as easy as breathing. I can come up with a thousand chores, excuses and reasons not to write even when the time is there, yet it’s takes a huge effort on my part to sit down in front of the blank page--even a half-filled page—and do it.
Fear, is the reason I mostly procrastinate and why fear? Of not getting my ideas across, of writing too slowly, of not knowing what I’m writing about and other issues that are not true issues just my imagination coming up with any kind of reason not to write. Though in the end, none of it matters because I do manage to overcome procrastination; move my mountain of excuses aside and write, its not easy and sometimes I have to grit my teeth to do it but I do it for a number of reasons: I can’t help myself, I love to write; the story has to be told and I need to tell it and my writing is one of the ways I define myself and to not do it is not an option. I’ll be writing during my holiday and deep, deep down, enjoying it immensely; you do the same.
Keep writing and see you next week.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
For a number of people—me included—this will be a holiday with time off, but for me it doesn’t mean I will not write, I hope to write more because I’ll have a little extra time to do so though it's so easy to procrastinate at writing isn't it? I know you understand; sometimes it’s as easy as breathing. I can come up with a thousand chores, excuses and reasons not to write even when the time is there, yet it’s takes a huge effort on my part to sit down in front of the blank page--even a half-filled page—and do it.
Fear, is the reason I mostly procrastinate and why fear? Of not getting my ideas across, of writing too slowly, of not knowing what I’m writing about and other issues that are not true issues just my imagination coming up with any kind of reason not to write. Though in the end, none of it matters because I do manage to overcome procrastination; move my mountain of excuses aside and write, its not easy and sometimes I have to grit my teeth to do it but I do it for a number of reasons: I can’t help myself, I love to write; the story has to be told and I need to tell it and my writing is one of the ways I define myself and to not do it is not an option. I’ll be writing during my holiday and deep, deep down, enjoying it immensely; you do the same.
Keep writing and see you next week.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
***************************************************************************************************
Excerpt from
Begin at the End
The Second in the Owen Story Trilogy
Chapter 1
It was a beautiful New York City day for the Eighty-First Annual Macy’s Day Thanksgiving Parade, an event that had become a tradition for people around the world. The temperature was a balmy thirty-five degrees, the sky a clear winter wash blue with a touch of sun. All along the route from Seventy-Seventh Street to Seventh Avenue people dressed in their winter warms laughed and shouted as they enjoyed the sheer camaraderie of watching a parade.
The crowd hadn’t really come to see the B list celebrity entertainers, the spunky dance numbers, the high school marching bands or even the spectacular floats that sailed overhead, they’d come as strangers to stand together in the cold early morning light to catch a glimpse of the true star of the show; the man who’s recognized as the ultimate ubiquitous symbol of commercial getting and giving, the one and only Santa Claus who’s arrival would not only signify the end of this year’s parade but the official beginning of the race to the finish line of the holiday shopping season.
Thousands watched the show on the street while millions watched it from their homes in front of their television sets or on their computer screens while they listened to the mildly interesting commentary tossed off by the NBC hosts Meredith Viera and Matt Lauer who, in their warm enclosed booth at Herald Square were trying valiantly to ratchet up the excitement for the arrival of the main attraction.
“We’ve been so lucky the promised rain has held off,” said Ms. Vieira who smiled with perfect teeth at the viewers. “An icy cold shower would’ve just ruined the parade.”
“Yes, we’ve been lucky so far and luckier still because this is the largest crowd since ninety-seventy-five so there’s hundreds of officers out there to keep everyone safe; a phenomenal effort,” said Mr. Lauer who flashed his own set of capped pearly whites to the world. “But I predict no matter what happens no one would miss the arrival of the man himself.”
“Folks, here he comes approaching Herald Square. Oh, my goodness doesn’t he look wonderful,” Ms. Vieira bounced in her seat. “He looks exactly like the jolly happy Santa I remember from my childhood.”
“He’s just stopped in front of the decorated windows of Macy’s department store officially ending the parade folks,” added Mr. Lauer. “The red nose, the red plush coat fronted by white fur—”
“I hope that’s not real fur?” Ms. Vieira cut in her smile losing a couple of wattages as her eyes narrowed on Father Christmas.
“If it is, he’s not going to be sliding down any PETA chimneys this year,” answered her co-host with a plastic chuckle.
Television screens all over the world were presented with the real time image of a huge red Christmas sleigh filled with wrapped presents and seated among the bounty children of all ages waving at the crowd. High above them on a throne sat Santa Claus, with one hand he held on to white reigns attached to imaginary flying reindeer while he waved with the other. The crowd shouted and waved back as if he were the Second Coming.
He was dressed in the traditional Santa suit complete with jaunty red hat, wide black belt with large gold buckle and black knee-high boots but what hit home to all the viewers in television land as well as those gazing at him from the streets was that he did look like everyone’s ideal fairy-tale image of Father Christmas, a white man with a long white beard, rosy cheeks, a round fleshiness to his stout body and wearing a smile of what looked like innocent joy.
He stood atop the magnificent sleigh handing down packages to eager hands. As he picked up a gold wrapped present and straightened, his grin suddenly broke and disappeared. The package dropped from his fingers as the fur lining the front of his coat went from cloud white to crimson red to match the rest of his suit. He fell back onto the throne, shocked surprise on his face as the huge shouting laughing crowd around him went silent.
“What was that?” Mr. Lauer’s alarmed voice came over as the image of the slumped Santa was frozen to screens. “What happened? Anyone see what happened?”
“You see that?” Ms. Vieira’s voice was heard loud and afraid.
Before the stunned world-wide audience Santa lay slumped until the top of the throne and his head disintegrated in blood and wood that sent him over the side of the sleigh.
“Gun,” someone yelled.
Pandemonium in the streets.
Excerpt from
Begin at the End
The Second in the Owen Story Trilogy
Chapter 1
It was a beautiful New York City day for the Eighty-First Annual Macy’s Day Thanksgiving Parade, an event that had become a tradition for people around the world. The temperature was a balmy thirty-five degrees, the sky a clear winter wash blue with a touch of sun. All along the route from Seventy-Seventh Street to Seventh Avenue people dressed in their winter warms laughed and shouted as they enjoyed the sheer camaraderie of watching a parade.
The crowd hadn’t really come to see the B list celebrity entertainers, the spunky dance numbers, the high school marching bands or even the spectacular floats that sailed overhead, they’d come as strangers to stand together in the cold early morning light to catch a glimpse of the true star of the show; the man who’s recognized as the ultimate ubiquitous symbol of commercial getting and giving, the one and only Santa Claus who’s arrival would not only signify the end of this year’s parade but the official beginning of the race to the finish line of the holiday shopping season.
Thousands watched the show on the street while millions watched it from their homes in front of their television sets or on their computer screens while they listened to the mildly interesting commentary tossed off by the NBC hosts Meredith Viera and Matt Lauer who, in their warm enclosed booth at Herald Square were trying valiantly to ratchet up the excitement for the arrival of the main attraction.
“We’ve been so lucky the promised rain has held off,” said Ms. Vieira who smiled with perfect teeth at the viewers. “An icy cold shower would’ve just ruined the parade.”
“Yes, we’ve been lucky so far and luckier still because this is the largest crowd since ninety-seventy-five so there’s hundreds of officers out there to keep everyone safe; a phenomenal effort,” said Mr. Lauer who flashed his own set of capped pearly whites to the world. “But I predict no matter what happens no one would miss the arrival of the man himself.”
“Folks, here he comes approaching Herald Square. Oh, my goodness doesn’t he look wonderful,” Ms. Vieira bounced in her seat. “He looks exactly like the jolly happy Santa I remember from my childhood.”
“He’s just stopped in front of the decorated windows of Macy’s department store officially ending the parade folks,” added Mr. Lauer. “The red nose, the red plush coat fronted by white fur—”
“I hope that’s not real fur?” Ms. Vieira cut in her smile losing a couple of wattages as her eyes narrowed on Father Christmas.
“If it is, he’s not going to be sliding down any PETA chimneys this year,” answered her co-host with a plastic chuckle.
Television screens all over the world were presented with the real time image of a huge red Christmas sleigh filled with wrapped presents and seated among the bounty children of all ages waving at the crowd. High above them on a throne sat Santa Claus, with one hand he held on to white reigns attached to imaginary flying reindeer while he waved with the other. The crowd shouted and waved back as if he were the Second Coming.
He was dressed in the traditional Santa suit complete with jaunty red hat, wide black belt with large gold buckle and black knee-high boots but what hit home to all the viewers in television land as well as those gazing at him from the streets was that he did look like everyone’s ideal fairy-tale image of Father Christmas, a white man with a long white beard, rosy cheeks, a round fleshiness to his stout body and wearing a smile of what looked like innocent joy.
He stood atop the magnificent sleigh handing down packages to eager hands. As he picked up a gold wrapped present and straightened, his grin suddenly broke and disappeared. The package dropped from his fingers as the fur lining the front of his coat went from cloud white to crimson red to match the rest of his suit. He fell back onto the throne, shocked surprise on his face as the huge shouting laughing crowd around him went silent.
“What was that?” Mr. Lauer’s alarmed voice came over as the image of the slumped Santa was frozen to screens. “What happened? Anyone see what happened?”
“You see that?” Ms. Vieira’s voice was heard loud and afraid.
Before the stunned world-wide audience Santa lay slumped until the top of the throne and his head disintegrated in blood and wood that sent him over the side of the sleigh.
“Gun,” someone yelled.
Pandemonium in the streets.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Hello and early post,
I had my first book signing last Saturday at my local Barnes and Noble and though I worked myself up to a fit of nervousness, I have to tell you it was all for nothing, it turned out to be one of the best experiences of my life, I had Fun with a capital: F-U-N.
Why was it fun and not as traumatic as I knew it would be? It wasn’t because of me, I was still nervous, a few minutes late and forgot my cards and handouts, what made all this not important, was the folks who showed up to support me and the novel; friends I hadn’t seen in years, new friends, folks who had heard about the novel or seen me on the television interview, folks I work with—it was wonderful to see everyone and to have their good wishes. I sold books in between —always a plus right—but having such fun and enjoying my first book signing with good vibes all around was a revelation and I hope it’s the template for my future book signings. I have to make sure of it; that they are a great experience not just for me but for those who make the time to come and buy my novel, it’s the least I can do and it would be a thank you to them for their faith in my work which I hope they read and enjoy.
Talk to you soon and keep on writing.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
I had my first book signing last Saturday at my local Barnes and Noble and though I worked myself up to a fit of nervousness, I have to tell you it was all for nothing, it turned out to be one of the best experiences of my life, I had Fun with a capital: F-U-N.
Why was it fun and not as traumatic as I knew it would be? It wasn’t because of me, I was still nervous, a few minutes late and forgot my cards and handouts, what made all this not important, was the folks who showed up to support me and the novel; friends I hadn’t seen in years, new friends, folks who had heard about the novel or seen me on the television interview, folks I work with—it was wonderful to see everyone and to have their good wishes. I sold books in between —always a plus right—but having such fun and enjoying my first book signing with good vibes all around was a revelation and I hope it’s the template for my future book signings. I have to make sure of it; that they are a great experience not just for me but for those who make the time to come and buy my novel, it’s the least I can do and it would be a thank you to them for their faith in my work which I hope they read and enjoy.
Talk to you soon and keep on writing.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
Friday, May 09, 2008
Hello and Happy Friday,
I told you at our last visit I was reading the novel No Country for Old Men by Cormac Mccarthy http://www.cormacmccarthy.com/s, it’s a terrific tale and I mean tale in the sense of the spell binding, long lost lore telling fashion that has kept generations of writers w—I believe Mr. Cormac is a master of story telling because he is only spare on the not-necessaries: over punctuation, he doesn’t use quotations around characters words, he just lets them speak; character description, Mr. Cormac lets the characters paint the pictures of themselves in your mind by what they say and how they say it, so each one stands out and you know which one you’re reading about immediately. And his description of the world, the land, these folks are from and live in, you not only read about it but its as if you feel it, smell it; the cold river Llewelyn jumps into to save his life, the water stinging his bullet wounds or feel yourself reaching for the mountains the sheriff looks toward that seem a million miles away as they stand in silent judgment of you and all before—finding us wanting in every way--as he ponders what kind of human monsters he’s up against.
Mr. Cormac takes liberty with structure, he has earned the right to do so, he’s brave to do and it works beautifully and he does it for story alone which is a gift. He is a storyteller in its most meaningful term and its few like him still around to our detriment. There is such much to think about, love and rejoice in when reading a novel like No Country for Old Men and it helps me with my writing in the sense, I want to reach my special place in writing where story is king, a handsome, kind, sad and riveting king, but king nevertheless; Mr. Cormac has reached his special place.
Talk to you soon.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
I told you at our last visit I was reading the novel No Country for Old Men by Cormac Mccarthy http://www.cormacmccarthy.com/s, it’s a terrific tale and I mean tale in the sense of the spell binding, long lost lore telling fashion that has kept generations of writers w—I believe Mr. Cormac is a master of story telling because he is only spare on the not-necessaries: over punctuation, he doesn’t use quotations around characters words, he just lets them speak; character description, Mr. Cormac lets the characters paint the pictures of themselves in your mind by what they say and how they say it, so each one stands out and you know which one you’re reading about immediately. And his description of the world, the land, these folks are from and live in, you not only read about it but its as if you feel it, smell it; the cold river Llewelyn jumps into to save his life, the water stinging his bullet wounds or feel yourself reaching for the mountains the sheriff looks toward that seem a million miles away as they stand in silent judgment of you and all before—finding us wanting in every way--as he ponders what kind of human monsters he’s up against.
Mr. Cormac takes liberty with structure, he has earned the right to do so, he’s brave to do and it works beautifully and he does it for story alone which is a gift. He is a storyteller in its most meaningful term and its few like him still around to our detriment. There is such much to think about, love and rejoice in when reading a novel like No Country for Old Men and it helps me with my writing in the sense, I want to reach my special place in writing where story is king, a handsome, kind, sad and riveting king, but king nevertheless; Mr. Cormac has reached his special place.
Talk to you soon.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Hello,
Remember when I told you I was reading non-fiction as well as fiction? I'm still doing so but I've halted my non-fiction reading for a day or two because I've been overtaken by a fiction work I just cannot put down, it's No Country For Old Men by Cormac Mccarthy. I know the movie has been out for a long while, but I just happened to pick up the book and fell right into it. In this novel do I find no truer term than "the book is always better than the movie". The novel is outstanding and I'll tell you why next week.
If you have any comments or suggestions, please e-mail me at: matwrite1@hotmail. com. I’ll love to hear from you.
Until next time, God willing,
Lori
Remember when I told you I was reading non-fiction as well as fiction? I'm still doing so but I've halted my non-fiction reading for a day or two because I've been overtaken by a fiction work I just cannot put down, it's No Country For Old Men by Cormac Mccarthy. I know the movie has been out for a long while, but I just happened to pick up the book and fell right into it. In this novel do I find no truer term than "the book is always better than the movie". The novel is outstanding and I'll tell you why next week.
If you have any comments or suggestions, please e-mail me at: matwrite1@hotmail. com. I’ll love to hear from you.
Until next time, God willing,
Lori
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