BEGINNING A NEW YEAR, 2014 in review
This is the time we make promises to ourselves, most of which we won’t keep. Time to reflect on the year past and the one that approaches. Time to get on with life.
As in the past, my blog will focus on writing, on where and how to publish your work, and how to endure this absurd profession. If I have any successes, I’ll share them with you. Failure will find itself under the rug.
For the coming year, I’ve decided to begin a new category, one I’ve felt growing for some time now. I already have a category, Observations and Opinions, but I find the title too mellow for what I observe as I travel through space and time. Rants & Raves will be the new category I plan to visit often in this upcoming year. It will encompass subjects which, to me, make little sense, or in general, just piss me off. The older I get, the larger this category grows.
“How does that apply to writing?” you may ask. As I read I find many current authors address issues in their fiction nudging important topic into public view. My last post, Flight Behavior by Barbara Kingsolver, is a case in point where she addresses climate change incorporated in a fantastic story. But this trend is not new. Currently, I’m reading Charles Dickens’, Hard Times, an author whose work constantly addresses the wrongs in English society. Then, there is Upton Sinclair writing The Jungle, altering the meat processing industry. The list goes on and on where fiction is used to alter fact.
Let me finish this post by thanking you for entering my life and thoughts this last year, and hope that our relationship continues.
Finally, I’ve included my past year’s blog life as reported by WordPress.
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,400 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 23 trips to carry that many people.
CHRISTMAS LIGHTS
This short post will surely tell what I was doing today.
I firmly believe, if someone out there wants to be awarded a Nobel Prize, category yet to be determined, they should delve into the electric logic of Christmas lights. Here is the problem to be solved. What is the logic behind these strands of insanity? They light in the garage, yet when taken into the outside environment will not illuminate. I have recently discovered a new phenomenon with my indoor tree, lights one fine are now dimmed. What demented spirit governs these strands of torment?
Am I the only one that thinks there is some demon lurking to do me wrong?
You’ll hear from me again, I know you will as the lights chose their own fate.
Time to watch the Eagles’ game.
What is that noise? Sounds like some demented Christmas bells.
I’m sure you’ll hear
LOVE MACHINE/STEPPING STONE by WALTER MOSLEY
As usual, I’m way behind the curve in becoming familiar with the important authors of the genres in which I’m most interested and participating in, namely science fiction and horror. The problem is, I’m interested in so many different types of works; mystery, historical fiction, literary works. Also nonfiction; biographies, military history to name a few. My stacks of to-be-read books sometimes gets quite ridiculous, as the list of my interests goes on and on.
Not long ago, I picked up my first work written by Walter Mosley and now I’m hooked on the guys writing having read a few Easy Rawlins and Leonid McGill mysteries, two compelling characters. Once you get into his mysteries it’s hard to stop, but then again, why should you?
Some time ago, while on a bookstore expedition, I notice a book my Mosley, Love Machine/Step Stone. Not even reading the blurb about the short novels, I added it to my stacks. There it sat for quite a few months until a few days ago when I decided to give it a try.
Published in 2013 by Tor, I was amazed to find that they were two short science fiction novels. I know I’m probably the last to discover that Mosley wrote science fiction, but just in case there is one more of you out there lacking in this knowledge, I thought I’d write this article. Both works are complex and well written contributions to the genre.
Love Machine is nothing you would expect from its title. Rather, it centers on a device used to merge individual psyches, and that’s just the start. I finished this book in one night and defy you to put it down once you begin turning pages.
Stepping Stone takes you on a fantastic ride, starting slow with a ‘special needs’ man. The pace quickens as you find both of these observations, ‘special needs’ and man, stand on shaky ground bringing you to a conclusion you never see coming.
If you enjoy reading science fiction with a twist, or are a Walter Mosley fan, definitely give these short works a try.
Here are some links where you may purchase my work.
Melange Books
http://www.melange-books.com/authors/walttrizna/index.html
Barnes & Noble.com
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/walt-trizna?store=book&keyword=walt+trizna
Amazon.com
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=walt+trizna
REVISITING MY POEM, PHANTASY
I posted my poem, Phantasy, on poetreecreations.org ( they changed the title) and got a pretty good response so I thought I’d repost it for those new to my blog.
Perhaps you might be induced to check some of my other poems.
First published by New Worlds Unlimited in 1981.
PHANTASY
Sickness pervades this cloistered sphere
this world he calls his own.
Mutterings leap with meanings unclear
crying a message unknown.
Shadowy thoughts revoke the day
God gave his hand, then turned away.
Come see the shell that isn’t a man,
muse at this poor wretched fool.
Look to his eyes a moment and then
Depart his mad vestibule.
Here’s a link to the posting by poetreecreations.org.
http://poetreecreations.org/2014/12/01/fantasy-promote-yourself/#comments
SEASIDE HEIGHTS: I’LL NEVER RETURN, CONTINUED
You can tell my memories of summers spent on Sumner Avenue in Seaside Heights are fond and cherished. I tried to pass some of that fondness on to my kids – didn’t work.
It was shortly before Easter when I drove my wife and two daughters through the pine barrens of New Jersey to visit Seaside Heights for a weekend to renew my love and establish theirs for this beach town. It had been more than twenty years since I last visited the resort. I expected some change, or course, but was not prepared for the amount of change I discovered. I guess Thomas Wolfe was right. Driving down Sumner Avenue I was stunned. Where were all the bungalows, the salt water toffee selling that traditional costal confection, the bakery where daily we purchased rolls for lunch – all gone? The eccentric guy who lived on the corner of Sumner Avenue across the street from the boardwalk whose overgrown yard was the source of fantastic stories – gone. All replace by an endless parking lot surrounded by loud bars. My mind’s eye could see what was once there, but nothing could be shared with my family other than what was now.
But there was still the boardwalk.
Surprisingly, the boardwalk was more or less as I remembered. It was off-season so the only ride open was the indoor merry-go-round. Of course the penny arcade – gone, replace by mindless video games, no chance to claw-up those precious little false teeth. At least my girls got to play skeeball and watch their prize tickets accumulate to be redeemed for useless junk precious to kids their age.
Driving home, I know my family wondered what the big deal was, while I sought to regain the memories dashed by our pilgrimage, trying to erase the reality of our visit. Now, only the boardwalk anchored my memories of what used to be, and that young boy with his pennies and his dreams of the rewards they would win.
Then Sandy came for a visit and the roller-coaster was ocean-bound and the wheel-of-chance booths blown asunder. Rebuilding slowly accomplished only to be erased by fire.
First, all my memories finding no renewal other than that beloved boardwalk, and then the double dose of destruction visited upon the memorial of my youth. I cannot revisit Seaside Heights. That little boy haunting the boards did not survive fire and flood.
Here are some links where you may purchase my work.
Melange Books
http://www.melange-books.com/authors/walttrizna/index.html
Barnes & Noble.com
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/walt-trizna?store=book&keyword=walt+trizna
Amazon.com
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=walt+trizna
SEASIDE HEIGHTS: I’LL NEVER RETURN
When I was young, growing up in Newark, New Jersey, a week’s vacation at the shore was rare for our cash-strapped family, but they did occur. When they did take place, it was always at Seaside Heights and always the same bungalow on Sumner Avenue. The event was an extended family affair with my mother’s siblings and always with her oldest sibling, unmarried Auntie Zosia (Polish for Sophie). I have a feeling she contributed a great deal of my family’s share of the cost, she was always helping us out. Perhaps, a future post will be dedicated to Auntie Zosia. She deserves to be remembered.
Another unusual characteristic of our shore vacation was that every night my dad would be handing out cash to us kids to spend while walking the boardwalk while normally little money was available. I think this was Auntie Zosia in action again behind the scenes. Nothing was ever said about the source of this new-found wealth, but that was the way she usually worked.
The bungalow on Sumner Avenue was only half a block from the boardwalk, and because of its close proximity to the ocean, the house was permeated with a constant salt-tinged moistness, not an unpleasant benefit of a life near the ocean.
The week was filled with family bonding and boardwalk adventures. An early morning visit to the beach to claim our piece of sand with an army blanket, in those days everyone had an army blanket, then a patrol exploring the area of the boardwalk under the shooting gallery to harvest the small copper shell casings that would fall through the boards. Why, because we were kids.
The days were spent on the crowded beach with the occasional dip into the frigid ocean jumping the waves. Nights were spent on the boardwalk playing miniature golf and going on rides. The adults would congregate around the spinning wheels of chance hoping to win towels, candy and yes – cigarettes.
Those were also the days of the penny arcade when a pocket full of pennies could entertain you for hours. Investing pennies in claw machines harvesting tiny sets of plastic false teeth along with other plastic junk you kept forever or until your mother cleaned. One of my favorite ways to spend my pennies was at the card machines. For two cents inserted, out would pop a post-card sized picture of a baseball player or airplane, depending on which machine you chose.
Rainy days were not a washout at the shore thanks to the penny arcade. If you wanted to make a slightly larger investment of a nickel, you could play the baseball pinball machine. A steel ball was pitched and the lever you worked was your bat. Depending on your skill, and of course luck, you scored runs. The best part was, as the runs added up, you were rewarded free games. A nickel sometimes brought you an hour’s worth of entertainment if you were ‘hot’ that day.
To be continues…
Here are some links where you may purchase my work.
Melange Books
http://www.melange-books.com/authors/walttrizna/index.html
Barnes & Noble.com
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/walt-trizna?store=book&keyword=walt+trizna
Amazon.com
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=walt+trizna
THE STRAIN by GUILLERMO DEL TORO AND CHUCK HOGAN
In the past I wrote about the FX series, The Strain, and indicated that I intended to read the novel. Well, I kept that promise and am now well into, The Fall, the second of the three book series.
The TV series closely follows the novel, with a few alterations and new characters that have little or no impact on the storyline. What I enjoyed about FX series, which will continue in the future, I found reinforced in my reading of the book, i.e. the science. We’ve all grown up with Bram Stoker’s classic novel, Dracula, and watched film presentations beginning with Nosferatu and on to movies starring Bela Lugosi and Christopher Lee. Vampire movies still popup, usually during the summer movies season focusing more on the scantily clad, or more commonly unclad, maidens, and less on the traditional legend. What makes The Strain unique is, for the first time, there is a detailed scientific explanation for the vampire condition. Low and behold, and I don’t think I’m giving too much away, the condition is the result of a virus, a virus that has been around for hundreds or more years. Other vampire characteristics are also explained scientifically; I love it. There are also hints as to the origin of the malady and I’m looking forward to that revelation.
As a former scientist, I enjoy playing with scientific fact in my writing to make the storyline plausible and to pack a little punch. For instance, my as yet unpublished novel, The Beast Awaits, has a terrifying beast produced from mishandling stem cells, and I rely heavily on my tissue culture experience to make the story believable.
In this day and age of daily scientific breakthroughs, I feel the reading public wants and demands substance behind the terror.
Here are some links where you may purchase my work.
Melange Books
http://www.melange-books.com/authors/walttrizna/index.html
Barnes & Noble. Com
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/walt-trizna?store=book&keyword=walt+trizna
Amazon.com
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=walt+trizna
STRUGGLING TO GET IT PUBLISHED: PUBLISH YOUR POEMS
I either stumbled upon site or they stumbled and found me. However it happened, it was to my benefit and became the new home for some of my poems and, if you have the poetry addiction, I encourage you to give them a try and follow them.
They refer to their site as ‘Promote Yourself’ and they give you every opportunity to do just that. Even if you’re not a Robert Frost or Billie Collins or even a Delmore Schwartz, if you have a poem you want the world to see, give them a try. If they publish your poem, it will be accompanied with a fitting picture or photo. They have a large following and you’ll get feedback as to how many enjoyed your work with the number of ‘likes’. If you do not write poetry but like to read what other ordinary people are writing, also give them a try. Remember, those that were once ordinary, upon getting exposure, can become extraordinary.
I want to thank the Sims for their hard work and dedication to the art of poetry.
Here’s a link to their site.
Here are some links where you may purchase my work.
Melange Books
http://www.melange-books.com/authors/walttrizna/index.html
Barnes & Noble. Com
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/walt-trizna?store=book&keyword=walt+trizna
Amazon.com
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=walt+trizna
THE DAY KENNEDY DIED
With this being the anniversary of the Kennedy assassination, I thought I’d re-blog a post i made some time ago.
November is the month of thanksgiving, when the weather no longer bounces between summer and winter, when the chill of fall sets in with a vengeance preparing us for the hard cold of winter. It is also the month John F. Kennedy died at the hands of an assassin.
During November 1963 I was a junior at East Side High School. I already had a deep interest in science and forfeited my study hall to work in the school biology lab. I designed an experiment to study Medallion heredity. The experiment required two black and two white mice, which I purchased, and began mating the mice in all the various combinations possible, trying to predict the color of the littermates. I soon ran out of space in the cellar where I was keeping my mouse colony and asked permission to move my many mice to school I pressed on, until I began seeing litters with brown siblings, something I had not anticipated. This brought an end to my experiment and an introduction to the unpredictability of science.
It was while I was working in the school lab one November Friday afternoon that someone came in and said that the president had been shot. I recall reacting to the news with horror and disbelief. The emotions of I felt will always stay with me, the sense of experiencing a moment that defied all logic, the vitality of our young president in jeopardy. I sensed that the world had changed; this quiet November afternoon would become a milestone in history. All I knew was that the president had been shot; there was still hope of survival as I headed home from school that day. But as I walked the mile and a half home from school, I saw something I shall never forget, something that dimmed my hope. On my way, I saw clusters of people standing on corners and most were crying. The residents of Newark are not known for their emotional displays so this sight was disturbing. It was the first signal I had that something was extremely wrong, that the world had changed, and not for the better.
When I reached home, my father was already there, not unusual for he began work early in the morning and was home before me most of the time. I would find him sitting in the kitchen with his beer and paper, but today he was in the parlor watching the TV and he was crying too, something I recalled seeing only once before. The last time I saw my father cry was when my mother lost a baby girl shortly after birth. Ironically, my sister died almost the same time the Kennedy’s lost their third child and also for the same reason, underdeveloped lungs. As my father sat weeping before the TV, he told me that the president had died.
The days that followed were surreal. Long before the age of cable and satellite dishes, there were only three major networks and a few independent New York stations broadcasting to Newark. All normal broadcasting ceased; TV carried nothing but news and insight into the assassination. On the radio, all normal programming came to a halt. The radio played nothing but somber music and news of the assassination. Everyone watched the news all weekend, watching history unfold before our eyes. Shortly after Kennedy died, Oswald was captured. The nation viewed live, the instrument of their sorrow. We watched Oswald’s murder at the hands of Jack Ruby, adding confusion on top of the misery. Everyone’s thoughts were in turmoil as these historic events concluded with JFK Jr. saluting his father’s casket.
The day Kennedy died; I learned something of the unpredictability of life.
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