Friday, August 10, 2012

69 ~wizards

I SAY WHO, WHAT, AND WHERE!


Note: The Pythagorean Storyteller will be on break the next two weeks. If you are new, you can check out the topics on the right side. Stay well!



My novel I say Who, What, and Where! just came out in paperback—last version.

 “A fresh, witty, and inspirational novel about the courage to be oneself freely in spite of inner and outer conditioning.”

“A funny, heartfelt, often satirical portrait of 21st century life shines a light on the traps we fall into pursuing success, and how challenging can be to establish a hierarchy of values beginning with freedom, happiness, and love. Ultimately it encourages us to take charge of our own life, the sooner the better.”

“Marcy Hunt brings together Bridget Jones’ humor, Carrie Bradshow’s dreams, and Elizabeth Gilbert soul-searching, with a unique and compelling voice.”

Available in the following markets (Click the title):


Coming soon: Japan and China! Whoo! Whoo!

Enjoy the reading and don’t forget to tell me what you think about it.

For my Legitimate Readers, I leave you an excerpt of I say Who, What, and Where! :

CHAPTER 18. WIZARDS

Tuesday, Oct. 21. In the early evening.

Squeezing my head the whole day to find out who murdered Rolando and, in this way, fitting all the plot’s pieces together, evoked in my mind how fascinated people are with writers.

People sort fiction writers into the group of wizards, whose magic powers serve not only for creating threatened lives, in which the mortals can identify the similar slings and arrows of outrageous fortune as they withstand. But also, afterward, our magic brings the hero into a better world, eventually getting his elixir through either a learned lesson or a solved problem.

Likely, they are right.

I must confess that this magic waving of Merlin’s wand doesn’t come from demons or geniuses as the ancient Greeks and Romans used to think. We traipse all over town and other indescribable whereabouts, sniffing, eavesdropping, and stealing good stories, like private eyes, gossips, or word burglars. And afterward, we hide in our cave to puke out all that our senses have captured on a sheet. So I would say, we, the wizards, have a 24/7 job. We must stay alert constantly, even watching our dreams by night, as it were.

On the other hand, there are so many urban legends about writers out there, but thank all Gods we have already superseded the misconception that revolved around them: Most of us are not bohemian, neither alcoholic, nor drug addicts. I guess.

Basically, I’m saying all this, because when someone learns what I do for a living, they start pelting me with question-bullets, like an execution by firing squad. The bullets are: How’s your book coming? What’s it about? Where do you get your ideas from? Am I a character? Are you writing some personal experiences of yours? What’s the main character’s name? Could I read some of it? How many pages have you written so far? Do you know the end right from the beginning? Are you going to give me a signed copy? Is your writing similar to the well-known author’s writing? When are you going to end your book? Are you going to forget me when you become famous?

Wait a minute.

OBJECTION, your Honor! The questions are hearsay.

Trust me, I’m not exaggerating the matter. Not a whit.

As far as I am concerned, I don’t like to talk about my work. I consider that it loses its energy and magic. Besides, one never knows whether the inquirer likes to uncover some author’s real experiences, or is merely a Hollywood wannabe. So, between you and me, I enjoy sometimes making up a trivial story, nothing related to mine, for satisfying the busybody and trapping him in his own trick. Hah!

My point of view said, the manuscript is indeed in constant movement, above all in the first draft. So if I share with you what challenge the character is facing today, it may change tomorrow for the sake of the whole, and I would have to explain it over and over again. Trust me, it would be an interminable report. And what the hell, I don’t need to justify myself. I never ask about the entrails of the job that my friends and other acquaintances do!

Now, I recall the first day when I arrived in Miami, on my cab ride to the Splendor Condo, amazed by the cruisers leaving The Marina on my right hand and the mansions of Star Island on my left one, the Argentinian cab driver, staring at me through the rear-view, asked me the Question. The truth is, I got tempted to answer using my former job, but then it would have been worse. Picture it: putting on either a bitter-face or a sorry-face. So I was expecting the start-up shooting when he shot a new bullet to prove my point, “Oh man, oh man, you should write about my life!”

I caught a glimpse of his eyes through the rear-view.

He continued excited, “I’d like to write about my experiences in life. I’m in my fifties, so it would be quite interesting to close up the first five decade of my life compiling a memoir or a book with some of my experiences, though, I am scared. If I told you… oh man, my life has been a huge roller coaster. If I wrote it literally, I would go to jail and my wife would ask me for a divorce, so never mind… But if you write about my life, well, creating a new character, I mean, I’ll be saved.”

I do believe that some humans have more amazing lives than others–above all, those who don’t sit down in a chair like mere spectators letting their lives happen in front of them, but they take risks as heroes do, experiencing, living, becoming the main character—but no matter what, we all have at least one story to tell. To paraphrase the old adage, “Everyone has a book inside them.” But also I would say a story to hide, let’s not fool ourselves—yes, don’t look the other way, you too!

“Interesting,” I said, taking a deep breath.

When I thought it had just been small-talk, which most of the gossipy cab drivers always force clients to strike up, he handed me his business card. “Call me if you feel like hearing a good story,” he said. In exchange, he would invite me to share a deliciosa sopa de caracol [A delicious snail soup].

Wait a minute.

DISGUSTING!

I totally forgot I had his business card, just to use in a desperate case. But let me tell you, now having a stake in Rolando’s case… Fellas, I have bigger fish to fry.

Far bigger.


Copyright © 2012 by THE PYTHAGOREAN  STORYTELLER. All rights reserved.
Post a Comment