Recent Interview

The Creatively Green Write at Home Mom Interview Questions:

Please share a little about yourself, your genres, any other pen names you use.

I have been a resident of South Florida for over thirty years after growing up in New Jersey and attending college in Philadelphia. My first novel was about a musician and written on a bet that I couldn’t write a best-selling novel. After writing my first story, I now realize it’s more difficult to sell a book than it is to write one. That’s not to say I don’t try to improve my skills with each novel, I do. But the marketing is a job all on its own. I made a decision to use my real name from the start after considering a few pen names. But I knew from marketing myself as a commercial real estate agent, branding is important. I didn’t want to have to brand multiple names. 

Tell us a little about your latest release.

My past three novels are about a character named Caeles Novo. He believes his destiny was to remove the souls from people who no longer could appreciate all that was given to them. He was part of a group of soul stealers who had grown tired of stealing souls and wanted to be like many people with ambitions of being community and world leaders. Caeles tried to convince them to return to their original mission. Along the way, he met a series of people who have lost their way and Caeles had to decide if they deserved a second chance and redemption or lose their soul forever. He also met a few characters destined to help him, who themselves had major flaws, like a woman with multiple personalities and a doctor who wanted to cure cancer and in the process destroy Caeles.

Are you a mom (or parent)?

I am a husband and father of three beautiful children. I have an older daughter and a boy and girl set of twins in college.

If yes do you find it hard to juggle writing and parenting?

It’s not as hard for me because my kids are older. Had I tried to write ten years ago, I would think my response would be different. I believe I was an active parent in coaching teams and attending games and doing other things busy parents do. Between working, being a parent, coaching teams, volunteering on committees, it would have been near impossible to have written ten years ago. Now I have more time.

Have you ever based your book or characters on actual events or people from your own life?

My first two novels, A Beautiful Song and Three Long Days have many stories based on things that have happened to me and characters I know in my life. In particular the second one, almost all the names expect for the main character are based on people from my past or current friends. The three soul books, many of the people who lose their souls are based on stories that were current events in the paper the day I wrote them. For example an athlete based in the Boston area charged with murder should be familiar to many Patriots fans, but I changed it to be the Bruins and changed some of the circumstances to make him a fictional character. But I use my life experiences or the news for much of my writing.

 Is there a theme or message in your work that you would like readers to connect to?

All of my books are based on how far would you push your ethics to accomplish your goals. They also allow the reader to make their own choice as to what is right and what is wrong for them. I don’t attempt to push my values on anyone. But I might try to get the reader to think about their own choices and values.

 When you’re not writing what do you do? Do you have any hobbies or guilty pleasures?

I tend to stay busy. I was a Junior Achievement volunteer for many years. I served on school committees, was the president of the local chamber of commerce as well as president of the local commercial real estate board. I have been coaching teams since I was in high school. In the past two years, I have started to unwind and devote more time to writing. I still coach one team, but even that is on a year to year basis. My hobby is photography. I photograph nature, spring training baseball, and volleyball among other subjects.

 Of all the characters you’ve ever written, who is your favorite and why?

My readers would likely pick Dylan James the guitar player from “A Beautiful Song” who does make an appearance in all my books. It would be difficult for me not to pick Dylan but I might pick Rose from “Soul Directive” and “Fortunate Soul”. The reason why is because she has three distinct personalities. I think we all have a little Rose in us. 

What is next for you? Do you have any scheduled upcoming releases or works in progress?

I have started a new book that might turn into a series. It is the story about a young boy who speaks with dead presidents. They teach him history from their own successes and failures based on actual history. It will be written for a younger audience who might not like history. I am attempting to make it fun and not a pure history book. Wish me luck.

The Road Trip

As readers of this blog know, every few weeks I teach a creative writing class at the local retirement center. I have mentioned my 100 year old friend, Selma, more than once. The new writing prompt given to us by the social director was about having a great time at a New Years Eve party. The problem is that you don't remember much about it and your friend lets you know that he is picking you up to fulfill your New Year's resolution. This is what I wrote to take to the class.

*******

Was someone really banging the door or was it my head pounding? The clock read 6:13 AM. It was both. Someone had the nerve to insist ruining my two hours of sleep and wake up me up with a terrible hangover. I had been out with my friend Frankie the night before. We were joined by our close buddies, Jack Daniels and Johnny Walker. “Stop the damn pounding,” I moaned.

I waddled my way to the door still dressed in clothes from the previous night of frivolity. My shirt was filled with all the smells from our wild night out marking the beginning of the New Year. There was the cheap perfume from the newly minted divorcee who I bought one too many drinks, as was well as the smell from the peppermint schnapps she poured in my hair just to be cute. She wasn’t. That I remembered. She may have been damn good looking but there was no way I wanted to hook up with that crazy bitch, who was on a mission to ruin a perfectly good party.

With eyes barely pried open, I struggled to unlock the door. It was Frankie. The guy had more energy than the parade of twenty something’s we saw last night kicking it all around the dance floor at the stroke of midnight. None of them turned into Cinderella and I for sure don’t feel like anyone’s Prince Charming.

“Get your ass showered, dipweed,” Frank said. “There’s no way you’re backing out. We talked about this last night. You promised you would be ready no later than 6:30. You even said you would have the Dunkin doughnuts and coffee ready by the time I arrived. Don’t you remember?”

I remembered thinking I no longer had the energy or desire to act twenty three. I would be turning forty in two weeks. I had lost my job of fifteen years the week before Christmas because I was late one too many times. My life was going nowhere.

“Pack up, we are going on a road trip.” Frankie said.

Maybe I was going somewhere but I had no idea where.

“Florida, don’t you remember?” Frankie said. “We’re going to my sister’s place. The car is full of gas. I got clothes for a month or more. Come on, get ready. First get a shower, you stink. No way I’m smelling you all the way down I-95. It’s too cold to put the top down. Hurry, I want to beat the rush hour traffic outta the city.”

No, I didn’t remember making any plans to go to Florida. But why not? I was soon turning forty, unemployed, single, no kids, what was holding me back from a few days on the beach? Hopefully his sister didn’t have a houseful of rug rats to wake me before noon.

I stuffed some tee shirts, shorts and two pair of faded Levis into an old army duffle bag I had picked up the army surplus store. I rinsed the stench of schnapps from my hair and tried to remove the taste of too much whiskey from my mouth. After stopping at the corner store for a cup of hot joe, we were on our way for a few days of glorious beach weather, leaving the cold and snow in the rear view mirror.

The first day of the trip ended with us checking into a Motel Six in Lumberton, South Carolina. Right next door was an all you can eat pizza parlor with beer on tap. My kinda place. Frankie and I strolled in as if we owned the joint. It only took two seconds to realize we didn’t. The place was filled with Gamecocks banners and football memorabilia. University of South Carolina was playing USC in a college bowl game. The place was crammed with ravaged fans screaming at the undersized televisions hung in every corner. Frankie and I downed a pitcher and a pizza each before scrambling back to our hotel for a nights rest.

The next morning Frankie had to shake me to wake up. “Come on, I wanna get there before nightfall. Let’s dip our toes into the ocean before heading to my sisters.”

“What’s the rush? Who cares what day we arrive? The ocean will still have water in it in two days, I can promise you that,” I said.

“Don’t you back out on me now,” Frankie said. “Our New Year’s resolution was to be at my sister’s joint before nightfall on January 2^nd. You promised right after you tweaked your back after trying to do that line dance with all the secretaries from Pisker and Edwards at the party. How can you have forgotten so quickly?”

Maybe it was the ten shots of Jack Daniels, I thought. But I rolled out of bed and after having my first ever bowl of grits with my eggs and toast at the local diner, we were on the road again. We blew through Georgia in no time. Jacksonville had a smell I couldn’t identify but one I didn’t want to smell again. We saw a few hogs and deer along the road. This was not the beach.

After jumping off the interstate near Daytona for a quick burger and fries, Frankie took us to the beach. We waded and played in the ocean like kids. The beautiful babes in bikinis must have thought we were nuts. I didn’t care. After drying off I told Frankie I wanted to stop for a drink before getting to his sisters place.

“Nah, we’re only about thirty minutes away. Stick to your resolution,” Frankie said.

What resolution? I thought. Frankie had convinced me along the way my resolution was to make a road trip with him to Florida and stop for a few days at his sister’s before heading home and starting New Year’s off in a proper manner. If we were only thirty minutes away, what was one drink going to matter?

“No, Frankie said. “No drinks. My sister will provide us both with everything we need. I called her, she’s expecting us. Don’t you remember any of this? She promised she would take good care of us.”

I vaguely remembered Frankie’s sister from when were kids. She was a lot of fun back in the day. Maybe she did have some kinky escapades all lined up for me and Frankie. I took one last whiff of the fresh salt air before jumping back into Frankie’s blue beamer.

As promised, it only took another thirty minutes before we pulled up in front of his sister’s place. The memories came rushing back like the water falling from Niagara Falls. Frankie was right. It was my New Year’s resolution. I wish we had stopped for one more drink before arriving but it was too late. The pitcher of beer would forever be my last drink. Frankie and I had promised each other to dry out at his sisters rehab facility. Some claim forty is over the hill. For me, forty was when I started living with no excuses or hangovers. I was a new man with a new life thanks to Frankie, his sister and the New Year’s resolution that saved my life.

Retire like Willie Mays

Growing up I was a Los Angeles Dodgers fan. It remained that way until the day I was sitting in the upper deck of then Joe Robbie Stadium watching the first ever Florida Marlins game. My loyalty to the Dodgers was difficult as a kid since I lived in New Jersey and viewing Dodger games weren’t as accessible as they are today. Yet I stuck with them all through my youth and into my late thirties.

My viewing choices as a kid were mostly limited to the Yankees, Mets and Phillies. I was too young to see Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays in their prime. I did see Mike Schmidt in his. I remember watching Mets games with an over forty year old Mays sometimes struggle at home plate as a late inning pinch hitter, wondering why he would continue to play knowing he must have realized his best days as a player had long faded.

I wasn’t ever a Giants or a Mets fan, but I wanted Mays to hit a home run every time up, even against the Dodgers. When I was young, I would read the sports pages. At times, the reporters weren’t kind to Mays, which might have been why I rooted for him. To me, it didn’t matter why Willie Mays was still playing, it only mattered to me that he was. He was going to decide when he stopped doing what he loved doing. No sports reporter or team executive was going to tell the “Say Hey Kid” when to stop playing ball.

Not everyone is Willie Mays. Not everyone gets to decide when to stop doing what they have a passion for. Sometimes your skills diminish to the point where you can’t do it any longer. Maybe it’s no longer a joy to do what you do. I remember the day Mike Schmidt retired. I remember seeing him cry on television because he wanted so badly to continue playing but he felt he couldn’t do it at a high enough level to make him happy. He decided when to quit.

Sometimes I wonder when is enough, enough? Over the past few years, I think I have gotten better as a writer and have improved with each book. But when do you make that decision about staying the course and trying to become a full time author or find a job that pays more money? I love to write but I also have to eat and pay bills. This is one day when I wish I was Willie Mays or Mike Schmidt and could make a decision on my terms, not a financial one. I wonder how many authors or others doing what they have a passion for are forced to make the same tough choice?    

Her Special Day

As readers of this blog know, I help with a writing class at a local retirement home. My friend Selma had fallen and broken her hip. I have visited with her a few times and by all indications not has she healed well, she will be returning to class tomorrow. But as I do on occasion, I wanted to share with you the writing prompt and my story. I thought the timing was appropriate.

Writing prompt:
Catching the signal from one of her friends, Angela brushed her dress, took a deep breath, and waked toward where he was sitting.

My Story:

There are few days in a girl’s life so well remembered. This occasion would be one of those times. The day had been anticipated and marked on her calendar for weeks. Angela Miller took out her magic marker and put a large X on the day just before the magical day.  She later spent a restless night in her bedroom surrounded by mementos of her short life.

Her mother insisted Angela close her eyes and get some sleep, but that request was near impossible. Angela needed to come up with the perfect words for when the two would meet. She tossed and turned, rolled over several times, staring at the eggshell colored ceiling, now barely visible from the darkness of the night sky. Only a small night light plugged into the wall several feet from her bed, kept the room from total darkness. Impossible to think any longer, Angela fell asleep soon after the stroke of midnight.

As the morning light made its way through her white lace curtains, Angela raced from her room downstairs to make sure she had plenty of time for her mother to help wash and curl her hair into picture-perfect form. The dress that Angela hand-picked for this special day was laid out across the sofa. The red dress offered her the confidence she would need later in the day.

The telephone rang a few times. They were calls from friends questioning if Angela was ready. She was. The clock crept along at a protracted pace. But as the appointed time neared, Angela was ready to leave with a smile glued to her face.

When she arrived, the room was crowded. Her eyes spied who she had waited to see. He was sitting in a chair fit for a king, donning the perfect suit. She inched closer. The noise from all others surrounding her was drowned out by her inner thoughts. She never dreamed her body would be this stuffed with nervous energy. But after weeks of running this moment through her head, the time had come. Catching a signal from one of her friends, Angela brushed her dress, took a deep breath and walked towards where he was sitting.

She was assisted up onto a makeshift stage decorated in shapes and colors designed for the event. This was her first time. The young Angela inspected her surroundings one last time. He looked kind and gentle. His soothing voice settled her nerves. “Please, come sit with me,” he said.

Angela took that last leap of faith and climbed into his lap. All the planning, all the anticipation came down to this one moment in time which would never be forgotten. After all, her mother was paying for the photo. “Hello, Santa, my name is Angela Miller and I have been a very good girl this year.”

HAPPY HOLIDAYS

Fortunate Soul - Opening

Sadness and euphoria are intertwined within the fabrics of our lives. I should know; they are the emotional landscape I’ve crossed back and forth for decades. I never wanted for material items, mine were more spiritual. Maybe I didn’t care about the material things because I never had to think about them. They were always provided to me by my fellow disciples. The spiritual ones developed over decades of following my instincts and intensive education. My entire life was dedicated to my craft, which led me to another dangerous exchange between sadness and euphoria.

        My name is Caeles Novo. My grandfather believed I was sent from the heavens to change the ways of our lost disciples. This is why I was given my particular name. You won’t know me. I work in the shadows. I look like any other human wandering the busy streets of large cities. I can also look like a broken man on the side of a country road. That’s the idea.

My education and that of my fellow disciples was more extensive than most that travel the earth. You see, my life expectancy was once more than three times longer than ordinary humans, so my structured learning lasted three times longer as well. Ordinarily you would think more education could only be a plus. Think again. Our superiority has destroyed our way of life. We are not ordinary humans.

Despite my superior intelligence, I was victimized by some who no longer found my way of leadership in compliance with their own way of life. Priorities changed for some, mine were more secure. My fellow disciples and I were trained for one mission in life. I followed my gut and continued our predetermined journey, others didn’t. But suddenly, I again crossed over from euphoria to sadness. I realized I lost the ability to do what I was destined to do. In those mere seconds of self realization, when you have once again crisscrossed back to the other side, you must decide who you are.

Some are designed to lead, while others follow. Some are dominant. Others live a more submissive way of life. Some live very conservative lives while others want to change the structure of every institution they meet. Some are men, some are women. Some have dark skins, others the shade of cream. None of that mattered to me. I only cared about the next soul on my list. I could read souls like some read the daily newspaper. If yours was broken, I stole it. That was my mission in life and I make no apologies for who I am. If you couldn’t appreciate all that life had bestowed upon you, welcome to my list.

I was trained to be an unseen shadow. You never found me. I found you. When I did, you would either fall to the ground or barely feel a scratch. Everyone has a soul. However, depending on how much one believes they own a soul, determines how much the loss affects them. Non-believers are fools. I know the truth. I will steal your most possession if you make my list of being a dark soul. I’ve taken from some who laugh in my face, or cry for redemption within moments of my thievery. Either way, I was completing what I was born to do.

If I wasn’t taking your soul, one of my fellow disciples would do so with as much passion as me. After all, we trained for fifty years to be experts in our decree sent from the heavens. However, some of our disciples claimed that the extra education, they evolved past being mere soul stealers. For their sin in wandering away from our mission, I will destroy their perfect lives.

 

Be yourself

Sometimes it's not easy to tell other writers why it's important to find your own voice and not someone else's.. this says it all and not just for writers.

“Be a first rate version of yourself, not a second rate version of someone else” – Judy Garland

Writers Groups

I'll be the first to admit I wanted to quit my writers group after one session. I had taken the first page from my first book about a guitar player. I explained to the group, the main character would go on to be a world class musician and travel with his band. One of the members in the group stated, "Wow, you really are that good of a guitar player?" To which I stated, "No, but Dylan was, my character." Which brought this person to state, "If it never really happened to you, you cant write it."
I wanted to get up and leave right then. When I asked this person if they had ever heard the word fiction or not, the stares around the table were not pleasant. I've now survived that meeting and close to 100 more. There are still days I scratch my head like at my last one where again one of the members wants to debate me that I can't possibly write about a soul stealer because stealing souls is not possible. When I asked him if he was sure, only another dirty stare. I've survived critiques that were justified and some that I think were over the top. I've learned to balance them and there is no question I am a better writer for continuing to go most Wednesdays and the occasional Friday. I bring this up because I just read this piece from Writers Digest Online which shares some of my same sentiments. If you are an aspiring writer or even one who has published a few things, I would encourage you to join a group. But find one where the members know you can write about things you have never done. And when someone critiques you, remember that's why you went in the first place.


From:  How to Become a Kick-Ass Writer by Chuck Wendig

Writers are not editors. (File under D for “duh.”) They have different priorities and different perspectives. (And they’re probably also raging drunkaholics. Editors are nice and drink wine. Writers will drink all the cough syrup at CVS if they can get their ink-stained fingers on it.) Whereas an editor will often highlight a problem, a writer will come up with a solution. That doesn’t mean it’s a solution you want, but it’s worth it to have that perspective just the same. Submit your work to other writers. Demand that they not be kind. Mercy will not strengthen you.