Margot Berwin: Scent of Darkness

Author Margot Berwin’s new novel Scent of Darkness examines the power of scent and how it alters a young woman’s life. The book takes readers on a journey “deep into the bayous of Louisiana, to a world filled with fortune-tellers, soothsayers and potent elixirs.”

Here is a portion of the book’s synopsis from the website of publisher Pantheon/Knopf Doubleday:

“Evangeline grows up understanding the extraordinary effects of fragrance. Her grandmother Louise is a gifted aromata, a master of scent-making and perfume. When Eva is eighteen, Louise leaves her the ultimate gift—a scent created just for her. The small perfume vial is accompanied by a note in Louise’s slanted script: “Do not remove the stopper, Evangeline, unless you want everything in your life to change.”

From the moment Eva places a drop—the essence of fire, leather, rose, and jasmine—on her neck, men dance closer to her, women bury their noses deep into her hair, even the cats outside her bedroom cry to be near her. After a lifetime spent blending into the background, Eva is suddenly the object of intense desire to everyone around her. Strangers follow her down the street; a young boy appears at her door asking for a favor; and two men, one kind and good, the other dark and seductive, fall deeply, madly in love with her. As her greatest gift becomes an unbearable curse, Eva must uncover the secret of her scent and the message her grandmother, the woman who loved her most, wanted to tell her.”

Courtesy Pantheon/Knopf Doubleday

Berwin’s best-selling debut novel, Hot House Flower and the Nine Plants of Desire, was published in 2009 by Pantheon and was translated into 20 languages and optioned by SONY Pictures. Berwin earned her MFA from the New School in 2005 and her stories have appeared on Nerve.com and in the New York Press. She lives in New York City and you can follow her on Twitter @MargotBerwin.

After returning from a recent book tour, she was kind enough to answer a few questions about Scent of Darkness and her writing process. So I will turn it over to her …

How did the idea for Scent of Darkness originate?

Scent of Darkness is about sexual obsession, shaving and of course perfume.

When I was a kid I used to mix perfumes in the bathroom like a little four-foot chemist. Much to my mother’s dismay I’d pull the stopper out of her Chanel #5 and pour in a little of my dad’s Aqua Velva just for good measure.

As a writer I’m also a huge reader. At some point I became obsessed with books on scent and scent making such as The Perfect Scent by Chandler Burr and Perfume by Suskind. I found myself learning all I could about the major perfume houses in the south of France—Guerlain, Hermes, Chanel, Creed, Houbigant, Givenchy and many more. It got to the point where I was spending all of my free time in the perfume section of Sephora or Bergdorf Goodman spraying and waving little white strips of paper in the air.

Eventually I started to make my own scents. I hit upon a combination of essential oils in a base of sunflower oil and people in restaurants and bars would come up to me and ask me what I was wearing!

I briefly thought about marketing the scent (well, actually still thinking about it) but instead I combined my love of perfume with my love of writing and turned them into a novel.

What do you hope readers will find appealing about the book?

I hope people will be intrigued enough to learn more about how perfume is constructed.

There are flowers and plants and fruits in perfumes but there are also much darker things inside of those beautiful little bottles—very dirty elements called animalics. They include ambergris, which is made from whale sperm. Not sperm whales, but whale sperm. Civet, which comes from the anal gland of the civet cat. Castoreum from the beaver. And of course musk, which comes from the anus of the musk deer.

These glands, which we remove from the animal to make perfumes, contain the sprays that animals use to mark their territory. And we use them for exactly the same reason. Just remember the next time you hug someone and you get a bit of perfume on their neck you are literally using the anal gland of an animal to mark your territory.

Then there is sado/masochistic element of the relationship between Evangeline and Michael vs. the less passionate but more sustainable relationship between her and Gabriel. I think the age old question of being in love with two men at the same time, one of whom is good and the other, evil, will resonate with readers.

Can you talk about the joys and challenges of navigating a story with elements of magical realism? It must have been a lot of fun writing the character of Evangeline and following her on her journey.

I’m not sure I love the term magical realism. I don’t know why people in our culture are so skeptical and/or cynical about the more magical aspects of life—certainly they exist and are all around us so while my work has had the magical realism term put upon it, to me what I write is actually very realistic!

I love the work of Haruki Murakami. He’s been my favorite writer over the last several years and he is a master at this style of writing. He seamlessly combines odd elements that can appear magical with the rest of mundane existence. I’ve read everything he’s written over and over again to see how it’s done. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle is a great example of this style.

Can you take us through your process a bit, from the initial kernel of an idea for a novel to a completed first draft? For example do you do extensive plot outlining or do you dive right in and figure out the story as you go along?

To be honest, I’m not totally sure how to answer this question. I try not to over think how a novel happens for fear that I will chase it away. For me so much of the planning of a book takes place subconsciously—and then all of a sudden I’m writing again. I never know exactly when the time to write a new book is going to arrive. And then, suddenly, I just know. I can’t explain that.

I usually sit down and write an entire first draft, quickly, without editing myself too much along the way. This can take a few months. I like to write late at night into the morning. I drink wine listen to music and sometimes read for inspiration. I take long, leisurely hours when no one else is awake and write and write till I can’t anymore. Then I wait a month or so and look at the draft again and begin honing and editing.

After four books, two of which have been published, it’s still a very mysterious process. I never know when it’s going to arrive or what will come out of it. I do use outlines, but they’re in my head. I won’t commit them to paper because it would make me feel less free in my writing. Maybe I should try it. Maybe it would make the process simpler. Maybe next time.

What were the challenges in bringing the book to life?

Writing in NYC is a big challenge for me. There’s something going on, every single second, on every block and every street corner. Couples kissing, people fighting, crying, and laughing. Ambulances screaming down the street, little kids running, trains roaring, homeless people asking for money, and food vendors hawking. It never stops, which is great for getting ideas, but bad for writing because it’s really hard to find a quiet space to think.

So while I love my city, I leave it often—pretty much whenever I’ve got an idea for a book.

With Scent of Darkness, the place I went came easily.

I was at freelancing, writing websites for an ad agency, bitching about how I couldn’t find a quiet place to write when a co-worker of mine offered me his apartment in the French Quarter. He basically handed me the keys for very little money and a month later I was living in New Orleans. I fell immediately and completely in love with the place and I thought, hmmm, how can I get this book to take place here so I can have an excuse to stay and write. So there’s a character in medical school in NYC and I thought well I’m the writer, I’ll just get him accepted to Tulane instead of Columbia. And that’s exactly what I did and I set the second half of the book in the French Quarter.

Since the blogging community is filled with writers can you offer any advice to emerging writers, whether they are fiction writers, journalists etc.?

A lot of creative writing teachers will tell you to write what you know. I say write what you don’t know. Or rather, write about what you’re interested in. The whole fun of writing, for me anyway, is learning. I would hate to spend my time writing about things and people that I already totally understand. Seems like a waste of time. Challenge your mind and write about something that is new to yourself. If it’s eye opening and mind expanding to you, it will probably feel the same to your readers. If it’s boring to you, it will definitely be boring to them.

What if anything do you enjoy about the process of promoting a book, including using social media and making author appearances.

Funny you should ask since I got home from my book tour just a week ago.

I have to say that this tour was much easier than the one for my first book. I was super-nervous all the time back then. I hated public speaking and I felt sick every time I stepped up to the mic.

This time was totally different. I loved it and I didn’t want it to end—that was one of the best things about getting published—it forced me to get over my fear of being in the spotlight. Plus they sent me down south in the middle of the winter … not a bad gig.

Scent of Darkness has been reviewed by a lot of bloggers—and it’s always really strange to read what people have to say about the book. Two separate reviewers have described my book as being about broken children. I’m pretty sure I wrote a book about perfume so I guess one person’s perfume is another’s broken child.

That said I really enjoy being a guest blogger—so thanks so much for having me!!

Ticket to Ride

Since I have been busy with video projects at work, I haven’t had a chance to post anything lately. But I have a short story published in Issue 8 of the Penduline Press, a Portland-based literary and art magazine. You can read Ticket to Ride and check out the many fine stories, poems, interviews and works of art in the latest issue of the magazine.

Spring Anyone?

The anticipation of spring is overwhelming here in upstate New York. March ushers in a sense of hope as winter relents and spring creeps toward us. We’re not there yet. We still have more cold gray days ahead, with temperatures barely climbing out of the thirties. More snow will fall and the wind will continue to chafe exposed earlobes, noses and cheeks.

But you can sense spring is almost here. We’ll be setting our clocks ahead this weekend as Daylight Saving Time resumes.

March brings with it Friday fish fry specials that are welcomed by Lenten observers, St. Patrick’s Day celebrations and the apogee of the college basketball season. After the conference tournaments wind down, fans will be dissecting the NCAA tourney pairings and filling out their brackets. The NHL season is moving along and the playoffs will be upon us soon.

This is my favorite time of year, because it’s a season of possibility, where the full glory of spring and summer lies ahead, just waiting to be plucked like a ripe peach. Now we can allow ourselves to imagine barbecues, pool parties, softball games, weekend getaways, outdoor concerts and fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Trees in full glory. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

I am reminded of The Twilight Zone episode Walking Distance (1959) where a business executive returns to his hometown and finds it unchanged. He is overcome by a feeling of nostalgia when he encounters his boyhood self during a summer marked by merry-go-rounds, cotton candy and band concerts, and he tries to instruct his younger self to savor his childhood while he still has the chance.

The man, Martin Sloan, says to the boy: “I only wanted to tell you that this is a wonderful time for you.”

So in this northern corner of the world, as Mother Nature gets ready to release a measure of heat, we can prepare to store our boots, coats, gloves, hats, sweaters and scarves for another year. We can get to ready to strike the terms black ice, lake effect, wind chill and Nor’easter from our vocabulary, at least for another nine months. It’s about time to step outside, stretch our limbs and live again.

Baseball’s Opening Day and the Big Feast at Vinci’s House

Meanwhile, spring training continues in Florida and Arizona—another sign that winter will be ending soon—and the first pitch of Major League Baseball’s regular season is less than a month away.

Bill Vinci, my best friend from my hometown of Rome, N.Y., holds an annual party on the first full day of the MLB season. Regardless of the weather, regardless of where he happens to be employed at the time—and he’s rotated through several jobs over the past decade—he invites friends over to his house to watch the opening day games.

The party host, Bill Vinci. Photo courtesy of Bill Vinci.

It’s an all-day party with a group of friends debating their fantasy teams. Unfortunately, I haven’t had a chance to attend one of these parties because I’ve always had to work or I’ve lived elsewhere in the U.S.

But I find the concept appealing because of the allure of playing hooky from work to watch baseball; and it’s also entertaining to see the players shivering on the basepaths and in the dugouts and outfield grass during early April games in cities like Chicago, Detroit, Cincinnati and Boston.

Vinci tells me the party consists of watching baseball from the first at-bat to the “final pitch on the West Coast.” And his celebration has real roots in the Rome area, stretching back to Vinci’s high school days, starting around 1985.

“I would skip school and have my friends come over and watch baseball and eat in my parents’ basement,” he says. He adds, “As the years go by the attendees have decreased due to work, kids, etc., but that hasn’t stopped me from putting on the greatest opening day party in Rome.”

Bill Vinci swinging away. Photo courtesy of Bill Vinci.

And the action on the diamond is enhanced by the menu for the occasion; the spread of food includes “dogs, burgers, sausage, hot and sweet peppers and sausage bread, along with chips and dip.”

So that’s what I’ve been missing all these years.

But Vinci, who serves as director of marketing for the Utica Brewers baseball club of the Perfect Game Collegiate Baseball League (PGCBL), says the “reason I host opening day is the love and passion of the game of baseball. It’s in my blood and to have friends and family enjoy it with me makes it all worth it.”

He adds, “as long as I’m on this earth, you can always count on one thing—opening day of baseball at Vinci’s house.”

To that I say batter up.

Getting reading for the season. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

Getting ready for the season. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

The Big Move

Someone called my attention to a recent New York Times article about the concept of relocation therapy. It seems more and more people who experience a major life change, such as the death of a loved one or the end of a relationship, are deciding to move to different neighborhood or another part of the country as a way of coping and to get a fresh start.

I think it’s an interesting topic because at one time or another most people have probably felt the urge to pack up their belongings and make a new home somewhere else. Place is important for our sense of wellbeing and where we live can influence how we feel.

Window with Lace Curtains. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

At the same time, I’ve discovered—in the process of moving several times—that you can’t outrun yourself and your problems follow you wherever you go.

Ken Torrino, a web relations specialist for Elliman, brokers for New York City real estate, shares some information about RT:

What is Relocation Therapy and How Can It Help?

You might have heard the term relocation therapy being tossed around, but what does it really mean? It’s a concept that seems contradictory to most people. The contradiction lies in the fact that moving is considered one of the stressful events of a person’s life. Therapists suggest relocation for overcoming a stressful event such as job loss, a loss in the family, a mid-life crisis or a divorce. While adding the stress of moving to another life stressor seems to be counterintuitive, it may be effective. Here are some reasons why relocation therapy works.

It Offers a Chance to Start Over

Starting over after a divorce, job loss, or a death in the family can be easier in a new location. There are fewer reminders of the person or job you are mourning, and thus, it may be easier to heal. Even if you are just going through a mid-life crisis, moving can help you establish a new identity in a new location. You can buy a new car, a new house, and a new wardrobe. You can even find new friends. This could give you a more youthful feeling and help you get over your mid-life crisis.

Better Networking Opportunities

There are often better networking opportunities in other locations. When the networking circles are fresh, you can try a new and more effective approach that may not work in social circles that are already familiar with you and your style. A change of scenery may help you meet more people for work or for other tasks in your life that you are trying to complete. Moving to a high volume city could maximize your potential to get more job leads and interviews.

A New Home

A new home can prevent you from mourning or crying every time you look at a room or a common place that you and a deceased loved one shared or that you and a former mate shared. This may help the healing process go faster and easier. Experts, however, do not recommend this strategy until one year after a major split or the loss of a loved one.

If you are finding yourself in a rut or simply down in life, relocation therapy has been proven to be effective. Speak to your therapist to learn more about the concept.

Follow-Up Questions

Why is relocation therapy gaining popularity? Is the rising interest tied in any way to the growth of technology?

The reason that relocation therapy is gaining so much popularity is because it is now, more than ever before, easier to pack up and move to another city. The opportunities and options are endless throughout the world.

The growth of technology has absolutely tied into the rising growth. In a simple Google search those that are interested can find a number of communities and areas, along with job opportunities, that will make a transition in a new city extremely simple.

Are we seeing this trend played out across the U.S., in small towns and cities, or just in major metropolitan areas like New York, Chicago and Los Angeles?

While this trend can certainly be seen throughout cities and towns both small and large, it seems as though the most popular options are large cities. The reason behind this trend seems to be the endless amount of possibilities and activities that lie within a larger city.

What are some things people should think about before they decide to go through with a move like this?

The most important thing that readers need to know before making a move like this is that it will not instantly eliminate the pain. Whatever your reason that caused the move, it will always lie within you. Relocation therapy is a solution to block out these painful feelings and memories and help you to move on from these sorrows but not eliminate them altogether. For this reason, it is very important to consider your options heavily before you pack up and make a life-changing decision such as this.

Thanks Ken. I would be interested in hearing any stories from people who may have moved after a life-changing event. Did it work out for you? Were you happier before or after the move?

Travel Encounters

This essay appears on the Yahoo! Voices Contributor Network.

To me travel has always been more than just scenery, hotels and restaurants. What makes it memorable is meeting travelers along the way and finding some connection with them.

I may have developed this philosophy—even though I haven’t traveled all that much—because in my youth I read Jack Kerouac’s On the Road and John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley. In fact, Travels with Charley altered my viewpoint of America and helped to ease the groaning I possessed in my twenties to see beyond the hills of my hometown in upstate New York and investigate the full landscape of the U.S.

Even in the 21st Century, when travelers occupy and insulate themselves with iPads, iPods and smartphones, the central message of Travels with Charley still holds up: interesting characters can be found anywhere and the humanity of people can be discovered on the road.

I witnessed this during a train trip in the spring of 2009. I took an overnight Amtrak ride from Syracuse to Toledo, as I was heading to northwest Ohio to see my sister, her husband and their two young kids, Paul and Elizabeth, along with my mother and stepfather, who had already driven there from their home in Rome, New York.

The cab was scheduled to pick me up after work on a Friday, since I would be boarding Amtrak’s westbound Lake Shore Limited shortly after 10 p.m.

Aboard the Lake Shore Limited. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

It was one of those late May days when all traces of winter had passed. The evening sky was bright, with hints of lavender color, and the sun felt warm, as if its heat originated from someplace far away from upstate New York.

The taxi picked me up at my apartment in Syracuse. The cab driver was a black man missing two front teeth who wore an opened gray sweat jacket, revealing his smooth brown chest. I’ll call him Leon, because he reminded me of boxer Leon Spinks from the Sports Illustrated cover in 1978 when Spinks defeated Muhammad Ali.

We talked in the cab, and Leon said he was a resident of Fort Lauderdale but was living and working in Syracuse for an undetermined period of time. I think he said his kids lived in Syracuse, and he came there because he had a huge fight with his wife in Florida.

“We weren’t getting along, so I just left,” he said. “I tell people when you’re having problems, just take a break. No one gets hurt and you can come back to each other.”

I had the sense this was not a permanent situation for him and that he would likely return to Florida sometime soon. He said, “I don’t like this cold, my blood’s too thin. I’m a Florida boy.”

In the meantime, he said he wanted to earn some money as a cabbie and just spend time with his children.

Leon dropped me off at the Regional Transportation Center near Alliance Bank Stadium (home of the Triple-A Syracuse Chiefs), and I thanked him for giving me the ride.

What impressed me most about the cabbie was you could tell he really cared about his kids. And he said he still loved his wife, despite the argument and separation, and he had every intention of going back to her at some point in the near future. He also said he was happy spring had finally come to Syracuse.

On my return to trip to Syracuse, again on board the Lake Shore Limited, which I picked up at around 2:30 a.m. on a Saturday in Toledo, I sat next to a soldier or former soldier. I never got his name, but I remember he was dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans and was traveling all the way from the West Coast to visit his children in the Syracuse or Watertown area.

Somewhere between Rochester and Syracuse, when both of us happened to be awake, we had some time to talk.

Aboard the Lake Shore Limited. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

He said he was originally from Oregon and had served overseas, in either Iraq or Afghanistan (I can’t remember which one), while stationed at Fort Drum as a member of the 10th Mountain Division. He said he had to get back to “see his boys” in upstate New York. I took “his boys” to mean his sons—I think he said he had four of them—as opposed to his Army brothers. I didn’t ask him about his marital status or whether the mother of the boys was around.

It also did not sound like he would be redeployed to the Gulf anytime soon. He had taken up digital photography as a hobby, and with pride, he showed me his camera and some of the pictures he had snapped. There were images of scenery, landscapes, sunsets, his sons and shots out train windows.

Later I said to him, “Thank you for serving.” It had been bothering me that I hadn’t said it sooner, and I wanted to make sure I said it before we parted. He responded, “Thanks.” He then paused for a few seconds, perhaps sighing, and said it had taken him a long time to learn to say “thank you” in return when someone expressed gratitude for his military service.

He told me he used to get angry and tell the person offering thanks, “Well, why didn’t you serve too?” He said now he just replies “thank you” back to the person.

When it was time to leave the train in Syracuse, I turned to the man and told him I had enjoyed talking to him.

I scooted out first because I had the aisle seat. I waited for the passengers ahead of me to gather their bags and then I walked forward and stepped down to the cement train platform suffused with bright afternoon sunlight, and made my way down the tunnel leading to the inside of the station.

In reflecting on that trip, these two figures, the cabbie at the beginning and the soldier at the end, served as bookends to my journey and renewed in me a desire to explore more of the U.S. in the future, by train, by plane or by car. It also sparked my imagination about all the other characters still waiting to be encountered on the road. I guess we all have stories worth telling and I am eager to listen and learn.

Trestle seen from passenger seat. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

Here’s to nurturing goals in the year ahead

Last week I was looking through some composition books that I use for jotting down writing exercises, journal entries, story ideas and other scraps of information. In leafing through the pages I found an entry dated August 3, 2012. It’s about an encounter I had over the summer, but I will present it here as a brief essay because I think the story has some relevance as we get ready to catalog another calendar year.

A woman was sitting with her legs crossed on a wooden bench in a wide hallway near the entrance to a lecture hall in the S.I. Newhouse School of Public Communications on the campus of Syracuse University.

Her back was to me as I came down the stairs from my office on the second floor of Newhouse One. I turned in her direction and walked toward the men’s room at the other end of the hallway.

Newhouse Three Hallway (photo by Francis DiClemente)

A hallway in Newhouse Three in the S.I. Newhouse School of Public Communications.

I noticed she was in her early twenties and I surmised she was a graduate student. She had long straight brown hair, was wearing a gray sweater and had a cell phone cupped to her ear.

As I strode past her I overheard her say, “I love it. I really do. But I have all these other goals that need to be nurtured. They really need to be nurtured.”

I wondered who was on the other end of the phone. I also wanted to know what goals she was talking about.

Were they career goals, family goals, personal goals, artistic goals, romantic goals, financial goals? What did this young woman want from her life and what was standing in her way? Lack of time, lack of money, lack of opportunity, lack of patience, lack of support? Or was she on the cusp of seeing her ambitions realized?

But I also thought, can goals really be nurtured? Can we massage them and bend them to our will?

And what’s the difference between goals and dreams? Goals and hopes? I guess a goal implies making a plan, setting forth on a path toward a destination, toward accomplishing something tangible. There’s more effort involved than just making a wish and hoping for the best.

In reading my notes, I wanted to relive the incident; instead of going down the hallway to the bathroom, I would have liked to stop and talk to the woman and try to get some answers to my questions.

And since this is just a notebook exercise, I took the liberty of transcribing a fictitious conversation with her.

“What do you mean by nurturing goals?” I asked the woman.

“What?”

“What are you talking about when you say you have all these goals that need to be nurtured?”

“Were you listening to me?”

“Yes. I couldn’t help it. I was walking to the men’s room.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“OK, I understand. And I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m interested.”

“In what?”

“In you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m curious to know if people can really nurture goals. And since you mentioned it, I’d like to know what goals you’re talking about.”

“I already told you, that’s none of your business. Now leave me alone, please.”

“All right. But I had to ask. The curiosity was killing me.”

Even in a fictional world the woman revealed nothing to me, so her story must remain a mystery.

I don’t know if she will make good on her plans for success. I don’t know if she will go beyond nurturing her goals to seeing them come to fruition.

But I will make a wish as we usher in 2013. I wish her good luck on her journey of self-discovery and I hope all of her goals will be fulfilled in the new year.

I also wonder if the woman was a plant by God, an angel placed there to make me listen to the ticking clock, to awaken me from the routine of that summer workday and remind me that time is elapsing. And if I want to do anything with my life I can’t wait for tomorrow.

So the incident makes me reflect on my own life goals. I ask myself, am I doing all I can to nurture them? Am I expending the effort necessary to achieve them? I guess I have a way to go in that department.

But I will take my cue from the woman sitting on a bench and talking on a cell phone. In 2013 I will do my best to nurture my personal and professional goals. I hope you will do the same, and I wish you the best of luck as you go at it.

Final push for Infinity

Advance sales for my poetry chapbook In Pursuit of Infinity end on Dec. 28. And since pre-publication sales will determine the size of the press run, I am sending out a gentle reminder for those who might be interested in purchasing the book. You can order it here or by using the following order form:

Please send me ______ copy (ies) of In Pursuit of Infinity, by Francis DiClemente, at $14.00 per copy plus $1.99 shipping . . .

Enclosed is my check (payable to Finishing Line Press) for $__________

Name

Address

City/State/Zip

Please send check or money order to:

Finishing Line Press
Post Office Box 1626
Georgetown, KY 40324

With that said, thank you for enduring this sales intrusion and I wish everyone a Merry Christmas, happy holidays and a blessed new year. I hope all of your blogging, professional and personal goals will be achieved in 2013.

Book Review: The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

I get by with a little help from my friends . . .

Some books offer pure joy between the pages. There is no other reason to read them except for their entertainment value. These are not masterworks of literature like Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, Dickens’ Great Expectations, Marquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera and Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath. Consider the Danielle Steel or Nicholas Sparks’ romance or James Patterson thriller. The value of these books lies in capturing the attention of readers and keeping them turning the pages until the conflict is resolved.

I think L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz falls into this category. I decided to read Oz because I recently purchased a Kindle and found the free eBooks on Amazon. But it wasn’t the digital device that produced my happiness, but rather Baum’s prose and storytelling ability.

And what hooked me about Oz, aside from the colorful imagery of the Munchkins, the Flying Monkeys and the Wicked Witch, were the main characters—Dorothy, the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman and the Cowardly Lion—and how this band of misfits stuck together as they overcame obstacles while embarking on their journey to the Emerald City to see the Wizard.

I also liked how the group expanded along the way to include new members, all yearning for some need to be filled. At each stage, it was as if the existing members said to the strangers, “sure, come and join us . . . the more the merrier.”

This passage, courtesy of Mr. Baum, illustrates the point:

“Do you think Oz could give me courage?” asked the Cowardly Lion.

“Just as easily as he could give me brains,” said the Scarecrow.

“Or give me a heart,” said the Tin Woodman.

“Or send me back to Kansas,” said Dorothy.

“Then if you don’t mind, I’ll go with you,” said the Lion, “for my life is simply unbearable without a bit of courage.”

“You will be very welcome,” answered Dorothy, “for you will help to keep away the other wild beasts.”

In an introduction, datelined Chicago, April, 1900, Baum writes that the story of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz was “written solely to please children of today.” He adds, “It aspires to being a modernized fairy tale, in which the wonderment and joy are retained and the heartaches and nightmares are left out.”

Even though the book was written more than a century ago, Marie Deegan, children’s librarian at the Sullivan Free Library in Chittenango, New York—the birthplace of Baum—says it still appeals to kids today because of its adventure story and “the concept of going someplace and losing yourself and finding your way home again.” But she says more adults than children come to the library in search of the book, in part due to the nostalgic appeal of Oz.

Having seen the 1939 MGM movie several times, I encountered one problem while reading the novel. I could not envision the character of Dorothy except as Judy Garland, who played the girl in the film. No matter how Baum described Dorothy or her actions, in my mind I could only see Garland in her full Technicolor glory.

In comparison with the film, the book reveals much greater character detail about the Scarecrow, Tin Woodman and Cowardly Lion. For example, I discovered that the Scarecrow and Tin Woodman did not need to eat, drink or sleep in order to survive. I don’t remember this being mentioned in the movie. And I found it comical in one scene when Dorothy went to sleep and the Scarecrow stood in a corner and “waited patiently until morning came.”

For me I suppose the greatest testament to the literary power of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz was I did not want to abandon the characters after finishing the book; so I decided to read it a second time. I also downloaded other free Oz-related eBooks by Baum.

In Pursuit of Infinity Chapbook Forthcoming

Two of my poetry collections are now available. The first, entitled Vestiges, was released in November by Alabaster Leaves Publishing. And advance sales for the second book, In Pursuit of Infinity, by Finishing Line Press, are underway and will continue until Dec. 28. The release date for the book is scheduled for Feb. 22, 2013. Pre-publication sales will determine the press run, and so if anyone is interested, you can order the chapbook online. Thanks for taking the time to read this. I appreciate it. Below you’ll find some excerpts from Infinity.

Dreaming of Lemon Trees

I dream of words
I strive to recapture
When I awaken in the morning.
I dream of stories with endings unknown,
Vibrant scenes imagined in my sleep—
A Degas ballerina alone in her dressing room,
A wagon train backlit on the horizon,
A hummingbird dancing on the windowsill,
And a lemon tree in the church courtyard in mid-afternoon.
Wherever I go in my dreams,
The air is balmy and sunlight abundant.
Trees sway and the scent of evergreen finds its way to my nose.
I dream because when this tired body hits the mattress,
It relaxes, then releases and gives up its earthly weight.
My eyes close and I sink to the deep recesses of my mind,
Setting the subconscious free.

Morning Coffee

My mother sits
in the kitchen chair
after she recites
her morning prayers.
Sunlight streams through
the lace curtains
and cigarette smoke
is suspended in the air.
She bows her small head
and presses her fingers
to the bridge of her nose,
as she contemplates
the chores for the day,
while her milky coffee cools
in a blue ceramic mug,
resting within reach
on the laminate counter.

The Shed

Independence Day, 1979 (Rome, New York)

Whipped-cream clouds smear a powder blue sky,
while Grandpa nurses a carafe of Chianti
and dreams of waltzing down Bourbon Street.
The DeCosty family gathers on the patio,
with Uncle Fee roasting sausage and peppers
and Nana dribbling olive oil over fresh tomatoes,
then adding alternating pinches of basil and parsley.

Inside the backyard bordered by overgrown hedges,
the rambunctious cousins wham Wiffle balls
with a thin banana-colored plastic bat,
evoking the hollers of Grandpa . . .
who watches out for his mint-green aluminum shed,
situated perfectly in left-center field—serving as our own Green Monster.

And when we get ahold of that little white ball,
it smacks up against the aluminum obstacle,
clashing like two marching band cymbals in a halftime show.
And with sweat coursing down his neck,
Grandpa barks out his familiar line under the patio awning:
“Son of a bitch . . . keep that goddamn ball away from my shed.”
But Nana is always on our side,
and cancels out his power and keeps him in check.
“Fiore, you let those kids play and mind your mouth,” she says.

Grandpa abandons his no-win cause,
turns up the volume on the Yankee game
and pours himself another glass of red wine.
He watches quietly as the shed stands erect in the late afternoon sun,
sacrificing its facade for our slew of ground-rule doubles.

The Bridesmaid

The most adorable pregnant bridesmaid ever
Waddles down the church’s center aisle,
Unable to hide her protruding belly.
And with her feet swollen,
Her lower back sore and forehead warm,
She endures the ceremony standing
On the altar beside the joyous couple.
But she nearly passes out while
Posing for pictures in the lakefront park.

Inside the reception hall,
She almost vomits at the sight
Of shrimp cocktail and chicken Florentine.
She orders hot tea and lemon from the top-shelf bar,
And dines on rolls and garden salad.
This single-mom-to-be, though not merry,
Offers a smile when others turn to stare,
And bobs her head to the music
As the guests hit the dance floor.

She nibbles on a sliver of white-frosted wedding cake,
And asks for guidance from her parish priest, wise old Father Meyer.
Then the bride overthrows the eager females huddled
Near the dance floor and the bouquet lands
Softly in the expectant mother’s lap.
Her face turns red as everyone looks at her.
So she just grabs the bouquet and throws it back.

New poetry collection published

It’s been a while since I’ve had time to write, as I was busy working on some video projects for the past couple of months. But I am now happy to announce that my latest poetry collection, Vestiges, has been published by Alabaster Leaves Publishing.

This 58-page chapbook features both narrative and observational poems. And the book is available for sale on Amazon.com. Please do not feel pressured or obligated to purchase it, but I just wanted to provide the link in case anyone is interested.

And here are a few excerpts from the collection:

Father’s Day Forgotten

Daddy and Christi parted ways at a bus depot
In the early morning hours.
No big scene, just a kiss on the cheek,
Then she turned around and was gone for good—
Hopping aboard the Trailways bus headed westbound for Chicago.
And she never looked back.

Daddy went home to his beer bottle and sofa seat,
And he drew the living room curtains on the rest of the world,
Letting those four eggshell walls close in and swallow him up,
Wasting away in three empty rooms and a bath.

And the memories can’t replace his lost daughter and wife.
So he tries not to remember his mistakes
Or how he drove them away.
Instead he recalls Halloween pumpkins glowing on the front porch,
Training wheels moving along the uneven sidewalk,
Little hands reaching for bigger ones in the park,
And serving Saltine crackers and milk
To chase away the goblins that haunted
Dreams in the middle of the night.

Now Christi has a life of her own,
And she lets the answering machine catch
Daddy’s Sunday afternoon phone call.
She never picks up and rarely calls back.
So Daddy returns to the green couch
Pockmarked with cigarette burns.
He closes his eyes, opens the door to his memory vault
And watches the pictures play in slow-motion.
He rewinds again and again without noticing the film has faded
And the little girl has stepped out of the frame.

Man Versus Ant

an ant races
across the sidewalk,
intent on getting
to the grass
on the other side.
I face a quick decision:
do I step on it
or avoid its path?
better leave the ant alone,
I think to myself.
what if that’s me
in the next life?

Side Dish

A mundane scene of modern living
played out one evening
while I walked along Ninth Street
near East Grovers Avenue in north Phoenix.

I heard the sound of a sliding glass door
opening from behind a retaining wall
running parallel to the sidewalk.

And although I had
no intention of eavesdropping,
I then overheard a woman call out:
“And now the great vegetable debate, green beans or corn?”

The question evoked a few seconds of silence,
followed by a man’s reply:
“Uh . . . both,” he said.

And as I turned the corner,
heading up the next block,
I was tempted to stop and ask the couple,
“Hey, what else is for dinner?”

Perseverance

You can’t expect the world to fall in line for you.
You can’t will happiness or alter your existence by whim.
You have to accept you are not in control.

Work and sleep.
Sleep and work.
Monotony and solitude.
You march on with stubborn persistence.

I believe there are other forms of bravery
Besides firefighters scaling burning buildings
And plucking toddlers from the top floor.
There is courage in accepting your condition,
Realizing you have fallen short,
But not quitting, not becoming bitter,
Not drinking yourself to death,
Or giving up and erasing your place in the world.

There is dignity in continuing to endure an unhappy life.
By making due and moving on,
You shine forth and elevate your humanity—
Even if no one notices or your situation doesn’t change.

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