EROS & RUST Vol. 1, No. 6 - Supplemental Edition : released 24 September, 2004

A Newsletter/Ezine of Good Fiction and Writing Resources

M. Kenyon Charboneaux, Editor (nomadagain2000@yahoo.com)

Susan Snively, Assistant Editor

This ezine is distributed by subscription only. To unsubscribe, check the details at the end of this email. If you were sent this ezine by a friend and wish to subscribe just send me an email at nomadagain2000@yahoo.com I do this all by hand - no autoresponder, no mailing lists, so shoot me over an email and I??™ll add you to the list.

IN THIS ISSUE

* Editorial - A Very Public Apology

* Author??™s Showcase, brought to you by the new, very hardworking, assistant editor, Susan Snively

Interview with the famous and wonderful, Joe Konrath - Just Another Normal Guy in Tights

Stories by Joe Konrath :

The Piranha Pool

Blaine??™s Deal

* Articles & Columns

Writing Column - A Writing Exercise (WARNING - Only for those who really like challenges, who have lots of spare time on their hands and/or those who have incredibly huge egos and who??™ll actually try to sell it when it??™s done!) by Kenyon Charboneaux

* Info re Articles

* Classes & Services

* Advertisements

* Info for Advertisers

* The Legal Stuff

* About Me

* Subscribe/Unsubscribe information

**********************************************************************************

Editorial - A VERY Public Apology

Joe Konrath, I apologize with my entire being and that??™s no bullshit.

You see, Faithful Reader, Joe Konrath, whose writing I hadn??™t read until Sue turned me on to him, has got to be one of the most deserving of writers who??™ve slogged for years before hitting the success button. And it hasn??™t warped him at all. He agreed to be the Showcase Author for this month and that is not the easy gig you might think it is - as a Showcase Author you have to answer a long email interview and you need to have a coupe of stories you??™re willing to let us publish without any payment of any kind other than my deepest gratitude. As a successful writer, Joe could have sniffed in Sue??™s face and told her to "Get lost, Little Girl, I??™m busy being a famous writer!", but he didn??™t. His grace and humor are still intact, despite fame.

And what did I do?? I forgot. I would say that I can??™t imagine HOW or WHY I could have forgotten this very important issue??™s main focus was to be Joe Konrath, but I do know how and why I forgot and while I can??™t say that excuses excuse my forgetting, I can say how very sorry I am that 3 hurricanes and a heart attack messed with my memory and made me forget about this being an Author??™s Showcase issue with a very special Author being Showcased.

There is, indeed, another hurricane moving in - I think his name is Gene. Whatever it is, my husband has finally learned not to say the word "evacuation" to me. I??™d rather die in this apartment than evacuate to my mother-in-law??™s again. Have you ever had to stay days in a boarded up in a 2 bedroom, 1 1/2 bath house with 11 Italians yelling, screaming, fighting, loving and in general wearing you down mentally until you feel like you??™ve been beaned by a palm tree in the hurricane force winds battering the garage where you sit morosely smoking a ciggy and contemplating mass murder? Well, that??™s what I went through with Frances and then might have gone through with Ivan. It was such a terrible storm that we actually evacuated early - too early - because as it turned out, Ivan passed us by ... and yet I had to spend 2 days in the clutches of my Italian in-laws who don??™t understand how silent a life this half-Native American, all recluse, is used to and, in fact, couldn??™t exist without any longer. My desire and need or soitude and quiet, peace and quiet, whatever and quiet! are no longer second nature, they??™ve become all my nature.

So it was that while unpacking from the too early flight from Ivan, I had the heart attack and so it was that I drove the hospital so bonkers that they threw me out a week early and I came home to put out Eros only 3 days late and to congratulate myself on my wonderful professionalism. And so it was, and really, I??™m not making excuses, Mr. Konrath, just an explanation and an apology, that I came to forget that this was Sue??™s Author Showcase and the Author was not a nobody like me, it was Joe Konrath!

My blubbering isn??™t going to correct the mistake or make up for it, but this will, at least partially, I hope. At least I hope the apology and this FIRST EVER Supplemental Issue featuring Mr. Konrath and his work will help to make up for my OOPS!

And now, on to this FIRST EVER Supplemental Issue of Eros and Joe Konrath??™s work and the other things I put together for you all in this supplement (but you can skip all that, just read Konrath - he??™s sooooo fine!) because Gene is coming and although I??™ll be staying here while my husband runs to his familial home (and takes the cat with him, just. in case our unboarded up apartment does go the way of other dwellings in other hurricanes and myself with it ...), I want this to go out tonight. Just in case. With Charly we lost power for one only day but with Frances we lost power and phones for 8 days. I don??™t want this issue to be held up so that by the time Gene and his effects are past, it??™s been another week or two that my mistake keeps Joe Konrath??™s work (and this apology) from going out to the Cyberwaves and your email boxes.

Dear Faithful Readers, you are going to LOVE Joe Konrath!.

ENJOY!!

Cheers - Kenyon

PS -How come Nitro pills taste so bad? Anyone got an answer to that one? YUCK! I hate putting those little suckers under the tongue - maybe I??™ll write a story about Nitro - yeah, a horror story ... hmmmm ... Sue, you take over the massive October issue. I gotta go write a story...

*********************************************************************************

From the desk of the Assistant Editor - Susan Snively

Hello everyone,

This is my contribution to Eros & Rust this month. It??™s a reading recommendation, not an advertisement. I wanted to share some of my favourite stories with you, and tell you about this book I discovered.

A couple of months ago, I came across a call for submissions for CHIMERAWORLD #2. So I thought I would order the first CHIMERAWORLD and see what Hertzan Chimera was looking for in this anthology.

It wasn??™t anything I expected. I doubt I could ever be that depressed or depraved.

Kevin Anderson??™s story, The Web, which you read in this month??™s issue of Eros & Rust is one of the stories you??™ll find in CHIMERAWORLD #1. Did I say stories? No, I meant to say it??™s one of the forays you??™ll take into weird and dark places. CHIMERAWORLD is full of these places, places you will not return from willingly.

CHIMERAWORLD

it's a dark place your mind will never escape.

A collection of the most ferocious, the most relentless, the most

wonderfully rendered nightmare landscapes ever witnessed in

literary history. This is not horror. This is not sci-fi. This is not

mystery. This is not thriller. CHIMERAWORLD exceeds all

boundaries of taste and narrative.

-Hertzan Chimera

Next month, the October Halloween issue, two more stories from this anthology will be unburied. The first will be Need by Steve Short. This eerily seductive story is truly haunting. Not quite poetry, not quite story, it embraces the best of both nightmares. The second is a gem by Queenie Tirone entitled Strange Breed. This chilling tale about a mother??™s love for her monstrous son is not for the weak of heart.

If you would like to buy this book and embark on a hideous journey into the repulsive-yet-thought-provoking, follow this link: http://www.lulu.com/content/40508

The print edition is $14.99, while the download is just $6.03.

Also next month, I will be interviewing the elusive Hertzan Chimera, and discover why he has been murdered.

Susan Snively,

Assistant Editor

**********************************************************************************

AUTHOR SHOWCASE - Joe Konrath

Just Another Normal Guy in Leotards

By Susan Snively

Ask Joe Konrath, aka J. A. Konrath, author of Whiskey Sour from Hyperion Books, what the theme of his writing is, and he??™s likely to respond, "Life??™s hard, but do your best anyway." If you ask him what??™s made him a writer, he??™ll respond with "Two things; a love of books, and an overwhelming desire to entertain people. Plus, I can work in my bathrobe."

Joe??™s great sense of humour is evident from his emails, his books, his wonderful article in Writer??™s Digest (After the Big Sale, June 2004), and his answers to the all-important secrets of his life and writing. His caricatures are subtle and witty, so clear in his short stories Pot Shot and Inspector Oxnard & the Vandenburg Case.

While visiting his webpage, www.JAKonrath.com, I took the liberty of emailing Joe to ask him if he??™d mind answering some burning questions for Eros. He responded within three days saying he??™d love to. Below you??™ll find the answers to those questions.

I need to say three words about Joe??™s webpage: excellent, amusing, and informative. I don??™t usually spend hours on any website, including my own, but Joe??™s page is just so much fun. Done in true crime fashion, with links such as Crimes, Tips, Accomplices, and Priors, his site is loaded with tons of valuable writing tips to new writers, his own writing contest, a newsletter where you can win a chance to be a character in his next book, and even free downloads of his stories. And you have to check out Mug Shots for lots of great pictures, including some revealing ones of Joe in a leotard.

***********************************************************************

EROS : How much did Hyperion offer you for Whiskey Sour and the next two books of the Jackie Daniels series?

JOE : It was good deal for a first-time writer, but my wife still has to work or else we??™ll starve.

E : Where did you get the idea for the "booze" theme for your books? Was it a marketing strategy or just something that came to you?

J : I wanted to write for a woman with a man??™s name (because she??™s a woman in a male-dominated profession), and ???Jack Daniels??™ seemed obvious to me. Naming the books after drinks was an extension of that??”a unifying theme like Grafton??™s ABC??™s or Evanovich??™s 123??™s.

E : You took a great deal of initiative before the publisher even asked, such as soliciting blurbs for Whiskey Sour. What would you suggest to a struggling author to do, before the "big deal" comes through?

J : Study your intended market, meet writers in that market, beg for blurbs and contacts, and keep writing. Never give up!

E : When you write, do you develop elaborate plot outlines, or are you an intuitive writer?

J : I??™m intuitive, but my publisher makes me do outlines. I HATE outlines.

E : Do you have a muse that you talk to?

J : I think the idea of a muse is, well, amusing. I can write at any time, in any environment. Inspiration is not something I need.

E : Any advice on how to write a synopsis?

J : Explain your entire novel, in present perfect tense, without using dialog, description, or much characterization. Bare bones plot only.

E : What is the one biggest market secret a new writer should know?

J : Sell to publishers like they sell to you. If you give a publisher something they can recognize, they??™ll buy it.

E : Your website has some great tips for writers. One of your suggestions is not to send a SASE with your manuscript, because you believe it encourages rejections. Do you really believe this?

J : A SASE doesn??™t necessarily encourage rejection, but a rejection is all you??™ll get in a SASE. Do you need to collect Xeroxed rejection slips? An agent or editor interested in your work won??™t use the SASE??”they??™ll call or email.

E : How did you create Lt. Jackie Daniels?

J : She??™s a combination of several women and cops that I??™ve known, with my sense of humor and fashion-sense.

Okay, I was lying about the fashion sense.

E : You write a series. Is there anything special to remember when writing a series based on the same characters, as opposed to individual stories?

J : Develop your characters, but not too much??”leave something for the next book.

E : In your Writer??™s Digest article, After the Big Sale, you spoke about a chapbook that you distributed while at your first writing convention, Love is Murder, in Chicago. What was the chapbook about? Do you recommend new writers do the same?

J : The chapbook was a Jack Daniels story, which I later sold. Yeah, I recommend doing it. Everyone gives out business cards and bookmarks. Give people a chapbook, and they??™re more likely to keep it, and hopefully buy your other writing.

E : You have three children. Are they thrilled for you? Do they brag about you to their friends?

J : They??™re pretty happy for me??”they know I??™ve worked a long time for this.

Plus, if they don??™t act happy, I beat them.

E : Your website gives some great advice on how to talk to an agent. Do you recommend using an agent?

J : Absolutely. You won??™t get the best deal without an agent. Get an agent.

E : Do you feel it??™s luck or hard work that made you successful? Did you know you were going to be successful in your writing, or was it just hope that made you continue to write?

J : I??™ve gotten 450 rejections, and wrote nine unsold novels over the past 12 years. I would have killed for luck. And hope was something I lost somewhere during book four.

I write because I have to write; it??™s who I am. And I was finally able to channel that commitment into something publishable.

Do you want to sell a book? Here??™s the secret; write something that someone wants to buy. If a stranger will plunk down $22 for your book, you??™ll sell it.

This is a business. Treat it as such.

E : When you left your job as a server, what did your boss say when you told him you were quitting and why?

J : I clocked in for my shift, went to the bar, ordered a beer, and drank it in front of him.

E : When you finally sold to Ellery Queen, after the sale of Whiskey Sour, was it just as exciting as selling to Hyperion?

J : Yes! I??™ve been an EQ reader for years. It??™s been on my ???wish list??™ for over a decade. I just sold them a second story, too.

So why does the New Yorker keep rejecting me?

E : When you received the edits for Whiskey Sour, what did you think? Did you feel they were trying to "ruin your voice" as so many new authors fear?

J : Editors are editors because they know what they??™re doing. They don??™t do it for the money or the fame. They do it because they really love making good books even better.

While I don??™t always agree with my editor, I respect her vision, and trust her completely.

And then, if I get bad reviews, I can publicly blame on her.

E : How are your audio books doing? Was this your idea or did Hyperion suggest it?

J : My agent retained audio rights, then sold them. I love the audio versions, and they seem to be doing well.

E : What are you currently working on? When will the next two books, Bloody Mary and Rusty Nail be available?

J : Bloody Mary is done, for publication in July 2005. Rusty Nail is halfway done. I??™ve got a few stories in anthologies coming up, another Writer??™s Digest article, and I??™m editing an antho of my own.

E : What has fame done to you? Have you forgotten your mother?

J : Fame has made me realize how important I am, compared to the lowly peasants inhabiting the rest of world.

Seriously??”I don??™t consider myself famous at all. I??™m just another guy trying to make a living. Email me, I always answer. Corner me at a convention and I??™ll read your story??”provided you buy me a beer first.

I talk to my mother all the time. I??™m talking to her right now. She says hello.

E : You write good mystery/thrillers novels. Do you feel that you want to change that direction, or stay with the genre?

J : I write what I like to read??”comedies and thrillers. I??™ll stick with it until I die, and then for ten years after that.

But I do have this literary story stuck in my head. It takes place a hundred years ago, on a ship, and has an obsessed captain searching for a white whale. I think I??™ll call it "Gone With the Wind."

E : Is there anything else I should have asked you?

J : You haven??™t asked about the deep, dark secret in my past that has almost torn my life apart. Thank you! Because if you??™d asked, I would have been compelled to answer.

In response to this last question, I did ask him what his deep, dark secret was. He would not say for his mother and his therapist have warned him not to talk about it. That??™s okay, Joe, we won??™t pry; of course, I think the leotard says alot.

************************************************************************

This first story has a home on Joe??™s website and I just have to include it here because it made my day. Joe??™s writing is delightful; it??™s succinct, humorous, very easy to read and has great dialogue.

This is what Joe has to say about his Piranha Pool, a story about writing stories:

"Though played for laughs, the underlying horror is obvious to any writer...."

Piranha Pool

"What do you think?"

I was a cup, waiting to be filled with praise. Instead I got silence. She sat there, my pages in her hands, staring at a point over my shoulder.

"How about that ending?" I prodded. "Weren't your surprised?"

Miranda clucked her tongue. "I guessed the ending."

"You did?"

"Yeah. And I really don't think you need the first few paragraphs."

"Hold on a sec." I motioned time-out with my hands. "The first paragraphs set the scene."

"Sorry-- I didn't think you needed them."

I looked away, then back at her. My friend, wife, companion for eight years.

"Did you like anything?"

"Joe, you're a wonderful writer. But this story-- I think you were just trying too hard." She brightened. "I thought the middle part was funny."

My eyes narrowed. "When the character died?"

"Yeah. It was cute how you did that."

"That wasn't supposed to be funny."

"Oh."

There was a ticking sound. The hands of my watch. Miranda tried on a smile.

"I like the title."

Great. I remembered how much I loved her, and somehow found the strength to thank her for her opinion. Just because we were man and wife didn't mean we had to agree on everything.

This particular piece didn't speak to her, but that was probably a matter of taste. I was certain that others would view it differently.

* * *

"It stinks."

"Excuse me?"

Gerald pinched his nostrils closed. "The story stinks, Joe. Sorry, but it isn't your best."

"What about the surprise ending?"

"Saw it coming."

"You did?"

"It was obvious."

I took the story from my brother's hands and paid too much attention to lining up the sheets of paper.

"You probably guessed it because you know me too well."

"I guessed it because it was clich?©. The middle part was kind of funny, though. What did Miranda think of it?"

"She loved it."

"Well, there you go. My opinion probably means nothing, then. I liked that other story you did. The one about the otters."

"I wrote that in second grade."

"Yeah, that was a good one."

I looked at my bare wrist. "Damn, I gotta run, Gerald. Thanks for the input."

"It's a good title, Joe. Maybe you can write a different story using the same title."

* * *

"Wow. Great story."

"You liked it?"

"Loved it."

The relief was better than a foot massage.

"How about the ending?"

"Terrific."

"What was your favorite part?"

My mother's smile faltered for a split second. "Oh-- there were so many."

Mr. Dubious took over my body. "Mom...?"

"The middle part. I have to say that was my favorite. Very funny."

So much for my relief.

"You thought the death scene was funny?"

Caught in the lie, her demeanor cracked.

"No, not that. But there were some other funny parts."

"What parts were funny, Mom?"

"Well... you had some pretty funny typos."

I rubbed my eyes. "Did you like anything?"

"Joe, I'm your mother. Everything you do is precious to me."

"How about the title?"

Mom shook her head sadly.

"Not even the title?"

"Joe, I'm not a good judge of fiction. You should ask your wife or your brother. I'm sure they'll love it.

* * *

"Poopy."

I stared at my four-year-old, a child who is captivated by his own toes.

"Why is it poopy?"

"You should have Spider Man in it."

"I don't want Spider Man in it."

My son looked at me, serious. "Spider Man can climb walls."

"I know he can. But let's talk about Daddy's story. Did you think it was sad when the character died?"

"Does Spider Man tie people up and suck their blood?"

"What?"

"Spiders tie up bugs and suck their blood."

I sighed and looked at Fluffy, the family cat.

Why the hell not?

* * *

"Fluffy, dammit, get back in this house!"

But the feline had beat a retreat only two pages into the narrative. Gone to tree, sitting ten feet out of reach in the crook of an elm branch.

"I'm serious, Fluffy."

He stared back down at me with indifferent eyes and then began to groom.

"Fine. Count the days until you get tuna again, cat."

I smoothed out the wrinkled edges of the manuscript and went back to my desk.

A few clicks of the mouse later and I was online. Surely Usenet had fiction forums. Without too much difficulty, I located an amateur fiction newsgroup and posted my tome proudly. Let the compliments

commence...

* * *

"Joe? What is that sticking out of out computer monitor? Is that a hammer?"

"It slipped."

"You attacked the computer with a hammer? What were you thinking?"

I gave Miranda malice wrapped in a fake grin. "I don't want to talk about it, honey. It's still under warranty."

"I don't think a hammer in the screen is covered by the warranty."

"Miranda..."

"What's wrong with you? Does this have anything to do with that stupid story?"

I stood up, deaf. The story was clenched in my left hand. "I'm going out. I'll be back later."

* * *

"So, what did you think?"

The wino held out a filthy hand. "Do I get my five dollars now?"

"First you have to tell me if you liked it."

He brought the paper bag to his lips, took a pull off the unseen bottle.

"It was..."

"Yes?"

"It was wonderful."

His eyes went dreamy, beatific.

I beamed. "Wonderful?"

He hic-cupped. "The loveliest thing I ever heard."

Who would have thought it? I didn't normally endow people who smelled like urine with good taste, but here was an obvious exception.

"What was your favorite part?"

"The chicken."

I stared at my pages, confused.

"Chicken? There's no chicken in this story."

"I ate chicken in Cleveland. Cooked so tender, it fell off the bone. You gonna give me my five bucks?"

Great-- he was a lunatic. You can't get an honest opinion from a lunatic. I turned to walk away.

He grabbed my arm. "Man, you owe me five bucks! I stood here listening to that garbage, I want my money!"

I decided, right then, that I'd rather be disemboweled than give this guy five bucks.

I pulled free and hit the street in a sprint. Shouldn't take long to lose him. He was drunk and disheveled and--

"Gimme my damn money!"

--right behind me. For a guy wearing at least four layers of clothing, he could run like the wind. I cut through an alley and hurdled a cluster of garbage cans.

"I listened to that whole crappy story!"

The bum was closing in. I could hear his mismatched shoes slapping the pavement only a few steps back. Just my luck-- I'd given a reading to an Olympic sprinter fallen on hard times.

Another turn, between two apartments, into the back parking lot. Dead end.

"Gotcha." The bum grinned, gray teeth winking through a scraggly beard. He gestured with his hand-- give it to me.

I sucked in air and nodded submission, my hand producing my wallet.

He shook his head. "All of it."

"You said five bucks."

"I'm gonna need a month's worth of booze, to get that lousy story out of my head."

I left the parking lot forty bucks lighter.

* * *

I stared at the page. My story. My child. Why couldn't anyone else see the symbolism? The imagery? This story was perfect! From first word to last, a marvel of narrative genius! What the hell was wrong with the world, was it--

Hmm. Actually, I could probably change this part, here, to make it stronger. And this sentence could be tightened. And perhaps that paragraph is a bit wordy. Where's my pencil?

* * *

"Wow, Joe. It doesn't even seem like the same story."

I grinned at my wife. "I took everyone's suggestions into account, and did a little self-editing."

"A little? You practically changed every line. Even the characters are different."

"I kept the title, though."

Miranda nodded, handing back the papers. I could see her searching her thoughts for the right compliment.

I gave her some help. "So it's tighter?"

"Oh, yes. Much tighter."

"Is the death still funny?"

"Not funny at all. Very somber."

I sighed, letting out the tension. "So it's a lot better."

Miranda winced. "Actually, I thought the other version was better."

* * *

"See that?" I held my painting in front of my son, keeping it out of reach because the acrylic hadn't dried it. "Daddy made a picture of Spider Man."

My son squinted at my artwork. "It's poopy."

* * *

"Joe, you've been staring inside the fridge for ten minutes."

"I want to make a sandwich," I told my wife.

"What are you waiting for?"

"I doubt my ability."

"Joe-- it's a slice of ham and two pieces of bread."

I frowned. "I'm having some competency issues."

"Didn't Darren like your cow painting?"

"That wasn't a cow. It was Spider Man."

Miranda rubbed my back. "Go sit down, honey. I'll make you a sandwich."

* * *

"Miranda! Come here! What is this?"

She stared at the kitchen table.

"It looks like you've made a big letter A out of pretzel sticks."

"Damn right!"

"Joe-- are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Want to see me make a B?"

"I'm calling Dr. Hubbard."

* * *

"Many people have feelings of inadequacy. It's natural."

The shrink was old, bespeckled. His gray goatee pointed at me when he talked.

"This is more than inadequacy, Doc. I'm questioning every move I make. I feel totally incompetent."

"All because of one little story?"

"That's how it started."

"May I see it?"

Without getting up off the couch I pulled the crumpled story out of my pants pocket and handed it over. As he read, I could feel body go numb. Ice cold, unfeeling. One more heartless comment couldn't hurt me. I was immune to criticism.

"This is pretty good."

I sat up and spun towards him. "Excuse me?"

He held up a finger, still reading. When he finished the last page, he handed back the story and smiled.

"I liked it."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really."

"You aren't just saying that because I'm paying you three hundred dollars an hour?"

"Really, Joe. I thought it was a nice, touching story. Good structure. Well-defined characters. Interesting subtext. I'd actually like to have a copy to pass around the office."

I sprang to my feet, my blood replaced by helium. "Well, sure, no problem, you can have this copy, absolutely, it's all yours."

"Would you sign it for me?"

Were there clouds above nine?

"Of course. Here, I'll borrow your pen."

"You know," Doc Hubbard said as I scrawled my name on the top margin, "I'm a bit of a writer myself."

"Really?" I added 'To Doc' above my name, and then underlined it.

"Perhaps you'd like to ready one of my stories?"

"Sure," I told him, drawing a large circle around my signature. "Be happy to help you with it."

Doc grinned, then opened up his desk drawer. He held out some paper. "Go ahead. Off the clock."

I smiled and accepted his story, pleased to be valued for my opinion.

It was bad. Real bad.

"So? What did you think?"

"Well, Doc, it's interesting."

"Yes. Yes. Go on."

"Um, very few typos."

His grin lost some wattage.

"How about the ending?"

"Actually, I, uh, saw it coming."

The grin was gone now.

"Should have figured," he mumbled.

"What was that?"

"How can you recognize talent, when you have none yourself?"

"But you said..."

"I lied. I said it for three hundos an hour. I've read aspirin bottles with more entertainment value than your stupid story."

"How can you..."

"I'm sorry," Doc Hubbard offered a placid smile. "Our time is up."

* * *

"Joe?"

"Hmm?"

"Were you ever planning on going back to work?"

I glanced at Miranda and scratched at my stubble. "I haven't given it much thought."

"You've been lying in bed for three weeks."

"Hmm."

"Work called. I told them you were still sick. They want a doctor's note, or you're going to be fired."

"Bummer."

Miranda's eyes went teary, and she walked off.

* * *

"We're leaving."

I stared at my wife and son over the pile of cellophane wrappers cluttering my bed.

"Leaving where?"

"Leaving you, Joe. You're not the man I married. I've been talking to a lawyer."

She handed me a sheaf of papers. The word DIVORCE was on the header. I gave them a token look-through.

"This is terrible," I concluded. "Poor sentence structure, too much legalese, look at this typo..."

But they were already gone.

* * *

My story was in front of me, on the table, next to a picture of my family.

I was done dwelling. I'd had enough.

The gun went into my mouth and I pulled the trigger, my last sensation a tremendous BOOM coupled with a sense of perfect relief.

* * *

The pitchfork jabbed me in the ass.

"Hey!"

"Keep moving."

I stared out across the inferno, Satan's minions tormenting the damned as they slaved away.

"This room is for rapists. Any rapists in the group?"

Two guys in line with me raised their hands. The devil opened the door or them, and they were seized by a huge goat-like creature and thrust into a cauldron of boiling oil.

"Next room, adulterers."

Four more of my group went in. I winced when the whips began to swing.

"Bad writers. This room here, bad writers."

No one moved.

"That's you, Joe."

I was prodded in, my bowels jelly. But rather than hideous tortures, I found myself in a large classroom, stretching back as far as I could see. People of all races, creeds, and dress sat at undersized desks, rows and rows going off into infinity.

"Hello, Joe." The teacher had a pig snout and tusks, her hair done up in a bun and her pointy tail raised behind her like a question mark.

"What is all this?"

"This is eternity, Joe. Who would like to critique Joe's story first?"

Three million hands went up.

"Who are these people?" I asked.

"Murderers. As punishment for their sins, they were forced to listen to your story. Several times, in fact."

"My story is their torture?"

"Well-- I have read it several times. There used to be twice as many people in the room, but a few million elected to go to the boiling oil chamber rather than hear it again."

I shut my eyes. When I opened them, I was still there.

"And I have to listen to their opinions for eternity?"

"Every thirty years you get a one week vacation in the piranha pool."

The teacher made me stand in front of the classroom, and the critiques began.

I counted the days until the piranha pool.

 

 

end

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The next story is a new, currently unpublished one by Joe called Blaine??™s Deal.

BLAINE'S DEAL

JA Konrath

They shoot cheaters at the Nile.

Blaine lost his mentor that way, a counter named Roarke. Didn't even have a chance to get ahead before the eye in the sky locked on, videotaping skills that took years to master. Then it was burly men and a room without windows. One between the eyes, tossed out with the trash.

Poor bastard deserved better.

Blaine pushed back the worry. He was dressed like a tourist, from his sandals to his Nile Casino T-shirt. Made sure to spill some beer from the paper cup down his chin when he took a sip. Sat by a loud slot machine called Pyramids and plunked in quarters, trying to look angry when he lost. Ugly American. Probably had a job in the auto industry.

When the coins ran out, he frowned, scratched himself, and made a show of looking around. He'd had an eye on a particular Blackjack dealer for the last two hours. Surfer guy, looked like a tan version of the Hulk, too young to have been in the business long.

Blaine wandered over to the table, pretended to think it over, then sat down and fished some cash out of his shorts. Three hundred to start.

He took it slow. Six deck shoe, sixteen tens per deck. Too many to keep track of mentally. But no need to. Every counter had his tally method.

Roarke had been one of the best. Subtle. See a ten, adjust the elbow. Ace, move the foot. Depending on his body position, Roarke knew if the shoe was heavy or light with face cards.

But the silver globes in the ceiling caught him just an hour into his game. Roarke was found a few days later in an alley, the offending foot and elbow smashed. Back of his head was missing, and no one bothered to look for it.

Blaine was a counter as well, but his tally couldn't be seen by the cameras. No tapping feet or odd posture. Pit boss could be taking a dump on his shoulder, wouldn't notice a thing.

He bet small, safe. Won a few, lost a few. Turned more cash into chips and bided time until he got a nice, fat shoe. Then it was payday.

"You??™re mine" he whistled to himself.

Thirty minutes. Twelve thousand dollars.

He lost a grand, on purpose, before tipping the Hulk a hundred bucks and calling it quits for the night.

Blaine walked out of the casino happy, not needing to fake that particular emotion. He'd be off this tropic isle tomorrow. Back to his wife, laden with money. A memorable and profitable trip.

The goons grabbed him in the parking lot. Nile Security. Guys with scars who were paid to give them.

"What the hell's going on?"

No answer. They dragged Blaine back inside. Past the crowd. Down a hall. To a room without windows.

Panic stitched through his veins. He fought to stay in character. Hackles and indignation.

"I'm calling the police! I'm an American!"

The door slammed. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, casting harsh shadows. The pit boss forced Blaine to his knees. Big guy, a walrus in Armani, breath like rotten meat.

"We shoot card counters here."

"What are you talking about? I won the money fair!"

The blow knocked Blaine off his feet. Concrete was sticky under his palms. Old stains.

"Camera caught it. Under the table."

The blood in Blaine's mouth contrasted sharply with his blanched face. The pit boss reached down, pulled at Blaine's shorts, his underwear.

Blaine stared down between his naked legs. The abacus was along his thigh, taped to the right of his testicles.

The pit boss ripped it off, a thousand curly hairs screaming.

"This belong in your shorts?"

"How did that get there?" Blaine tried for confused. "I swear, I borrowed this underwear. I have no idea how that got on me."

His explanation was met with a kick in the head. Blaine kissed the mottled floor, his vision a carousel. He flashed back to Roarke's funeral, closed casket, the promise he made. "I'll beat the Nile for you, old buddy."

Should have stuck with Vegas.

The pit boss dug a hand inside his sport coat. "Never saw a guy count cards with his pecker before. Man with your talent, should have gone into porno."

The gun was cool against Blaine's temple.

"No one cheats the Nile."

Blaine's wife cried for seven weeks straight when she learned of his death.

 

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ARTICLES & COLUMNS

WRITING COLUMN

A Writing Exercise (WARNING - Only for those who really like challenges, who have lots of spare time on their hands and/or those who have incredibly huge egos and who??™ll actually try to sell it when it??™s done!)

by Kenyon Charboneaux

As some of you know, but most of you don??™t, I??™ve been going through a crisis with my writing for the last 13 months or so. I??™ve been trying to figure out what it is I was born to write, as Erica Jong would put it, and where my talent really lies - in novels, short stories or just writing whatever and sticking it in an old steamer trunk to be discovered long after I??™m dead by some poor soul who??™ll throw it all out or burn it in the backyard bar-b-que pit as a commentary on what I should have done with my writing back when I was alive.

Anyway, one of the things I came up with to try to figure this problem out (and I??™ve been sharing this little experiment with others since last May when I initially dreamed it up because it seems I??™m not the only one with the "Where do I belong?" affliction) I call the Faux Biography.

I dreamed it up in May, yes, but it wasn??™t until last week in the hospital (GOD what a boring place!!) - after I??™d been moved to the regular cardiac floor from CCU (where my pleas for pencil and paper were uniformly ignored) - that I actually began to attempt this writing exercise. I warn you. If you don??™t have a lot of spare time or a huge ego and if you don??™t love a self-challenge, don??™t try this at home!

The Faux Biography or How To Discover What Your Own Work is All About

Plenty of you out there in SubscriberLand went to college, I??™m sure. And plenty of you that went to college took Lit courses and had to read critical studies of authors, right? I loved therm, to tell the truth. I??™m still a Critical Study Addict when it comes to any type of artist - from painters to novelists - which is probably why this idea seemed to me a great way to discover what my themes are, my lietmotifs, my reason for writing and what I should be writing because I have this hollow feeling lately that horror and mystery suspense novels and short stories ain??™t it. I could be wrong. If I am, this exercise will show me that I??™m wrong and then I??™ll apologize to all my friends who??™ve had to bear with me asking them over and over (and whining to boot!), "Am I a good writer?" "Are you sure I??™m a good writer?" "Don??™t you think I should be writing something else, because i do, you know, I really do think ...". ARK!

As I said, I actually began to do the experiment only last week (or was it the week before? well, the week of Sept. 18th anyway) and guess what? For all that this is probably a project that will take months to complete and for all that it requires an awful lot of digging into the past and into wounds that don't like having their scars ripped off, I do believe that this is the most important writing exercise I??™ll ever do. I think it is also worth sharing with you guys and gals, or I??™d wouldn??™t be here. I??™d be in the living room, lying on the couch and watching a movie on Starz while stuffing my face with cinnamon toast, but since I??™m not supposed to be on the computer working after 12 noon and my husband is due home soon, I??™m typing with massive speed to get this to you before Gene hits and/or my husband comes home.

So, get yourself a nice notebook, something aesthetically pleasing to your eye because you??™re going to be using it a lot over the next month or so. Or if you??™re an unrepentant child of the digital age, open up those word processors and make a new file - call it whatever you want. I use the title of this section of the article because it sounds so cool to my ears. Kinda like the critical studies I read in college.

The first thing to put in the file or the notebook is the name of every single thing you??™ve written, novel, short story, screenplay, creative non-fiction, whatever (except, of course, things like articles - they don??™t contain the themes and lietmotifs that you??™ve dealt with in your fictional or creative non-fictional writing - they??™re just utilitarian articles and not the stuff of which this experiment is made).

Now, write a critical study of your own work.

That??™s right.

Write a critical study of your own work. You can divide the sections into either subjects like I did - themes, lietmotifs, obsessions (like mine with mirrors, mazes and masks - whatever floats your RC boats) or you can do the study beginning with the earliest material, moving onto the last thing you wrote. Don??™t write it as yourself, though. Pretend you??™re one of those academic writers who thinks no one else has ever written, or ever will write, such a detailed and marvelous study of (your name). IE, pretend you??™re not who you are, but rather the famous writer you will be one day (your name in capital letters) and the study you??™re writing is titled the nicely pompous The Art of (YOUR NAME).

Now if that seems a little obscure and difficult to understand, here??™s an example of what I mean. This is what I wrote in the hospital on that yellow legal pad I finally bribed a nurse to bring me (I??™ve written more on it since, and I??™m here to tell you it is addictive and it is even fun, but it is also as difficult as writing a real biography or your own memoirs (except that you get to be as pompous and a vain as you want because you??™re not you writing it, you??™re this professor who loves, adores, worships your literary output). It??™s that difficult because I don??™t always cooperate with myself. I keep catching myself trying to keep things hidden, trying to avoid certain questions - but you??™ll find out what I mean if you actually take a potshot at this writing exercise and I hope at least some of you (my students and ex-students listen up!) will.

So here goes :

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From the Themes section of The Art of MKC

The truth is worth knowing, even when it leads to nothing, as it usually does.

(Paraphrase of Charles McCarry, found in MKC's Writer's Notebooks - year of 2004)

 

The most important of the themes of MKC is Truth, not in the sense of some Absolute Truth which can be discovered if one simply seeks long enough and hard enough, but in the sense of Authenticity, the importance of the authenticity of the individual and the quest for those truths which make up the individual's authentic life and authentic expression of life in his or her art.

McCarry's quote, illustrates (and validates) her own fascination with this quest for truth and the non-essential nature of whether or not the "truths" sought, perhaps fought for, perhaps even died for, have any practical valuation or use in the "real world". The inner world is MKC's territory, especially its edge-places, and it is a terrain which has its own valuations, its own values.

In Eva, we find a protagonist who doesn't care about the truth of her past, who does not want to regain her memories of that past, and who fights not to remember. She sees the loss of her personal past as a rare gift; now she recreate herself as the person she wants to be without the burden of the past Self always threatening to tear down the efforts to make a new Self. We have probably all experienced this at least once in our own lives, in the prosaic attempt, for instance, to break a bad habit like smoking, or to correct a personality trait which is interfering with the accomplishment of an important personal goal, such as overcoming a lack of discipline or the urge to quit something, rather than chance failing at it. Therefore, we too, can sympathize with her desire. If we come from a terrible, abusive childhoods or have other monstrous things in our pasts, we may even, like her, want to be rid of that past at any cost, even an amnesia so complete that what is good in the old Self is sacrificed to the birth of the new Self, in which case the reader is more likely to empathize with Eva, than to sympathize with her and may wish that he or she could be so lucky as to have such an amnesia.

And yet, is it possible not to carry the baggage of the past with you into a new future? Here is the first question MKC asks and explores in Eva. Isn't the past still alive in the unconscious, still able to reach out and affect us in the present without our consent, sometimes without our knowledge that it is doing so? Jung believed so and haven't we all what we call "buttons", emotional areas where another person may blunder and set off a nuclear reaction of rage or grief or even love. Affects (emotions), Jung said, cannot be resisted because they are not under the control of the conscious mind. They arise, like the archetypes do, and may, in fact, as MKC thinks, be archetypes, themselves, from the unconscious mind. The unconscious cannot be resisted, it will be heard, if only in dreams, and it will be taken into account by the conscious mind whether or not the conscious mind wants to do so or not. Tell a person not to think of a white elephant dancing with a pink alligator and for a moment, at least, that is all the person will think about; tell the unconscious to go away, shut up, drop dead, and we only spur it to produce a more dangerous manifestation of itself in a neurosis, schizophrenia, psychosis or even, sometimes, a divine madness^..1

Wogan, the second most important of the main characters, being a writer, believes, as MKC does, that the authenticity of the individual is more important than the mere goals one attempts to attain or habits one wishes to break (or cultivate), and is, at first, in sympathy with Eva's viewpoint. At first he believes that her desire to be a wholly new person without the baggage of her past will produce a person perhaps more authentic than anyone who has to deal with the past Self while attempting to become a new Self can hope to become and he encourages her in her attempts not to remember, helping her to find ways around the doctor (as long as she can keep Dr. Woodward from finding out that her amnesia has become a willed amnesia, she can avoid being "cured" of it) who sees in her only the crowning achievement of his career when he cures her of this very rare, almost unique, case of total personal amnesia.

*************************************

See? Pretend you??™re this incredibly pompous college professor writing a critical study of you and see what comes out. Sounds easy, isn??™t all that easy. But it??™s amazing the things that you begin to see in your own writing when you examine it with as objective eye as you can, when you comb through it like a CSI investigator combing through the victim??™s hair for insect eggs and all that good stuff.

You??™re going to find insect eggs - we??™ve all got them. But you also might find gold. Real gold, you can use to transform yourself into a better writer with a better understanding of what it is you want to say and why and how you want to say it.

c 2004

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INFO RE : Articles & Columns

Every month we??™ll have articles pertaining to writing, the writing life, marketing your work and dealing with the frustrations of marketing and rejections. Some of these will be written by myself, some by guest writers, some perhaps by you! This is not a paying gig, I??™m afraid, but if you??™ve got an article you want published, pay or not, this is the place to send it. ALL RIGHTS ON ARTICLES ARE ONE TIME USE ONLY - after they have appeared in the newsletter, all rights revert to you, the author.

Contact me at : nomadagain2000@yahoo.com if you??™ve an article you??™d like to submit for publication.

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CLASSES & SERVICES

All classes at the present time are offered through and in partnership with Rob Parnell of The Easy Way To Write website (www.easywaytowrite.com). The class in progress now is The Easy Way To Write - Introduction to Writing The Mystery, an 8 week interactive course on writing mystery novels. This is a class for serious writers only. You can still enroll simply by clicking on this link : . http://clickbank.net/sell.cgi?navin2/07/mystery_novel_ecourse

Other services available :

Editing of your manuscript

Proofreading of your manuscript (we use the Chicago Manual)

Ghost Writing

Reviews of products or books

Personal Mentoring

A price list is available on request - just email me at nomadagain2000@yahoo.com - but I guarantee prices are the lowest, or equal to the lowest, on the web!

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Again - email me at nomadagain2000@yahoo.com to order either of these paid advertising spots or if you have any questions concerning them.

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The Legal Stuff :

You are receiving this newsletter because you subscribed - it is never sent unsolicited. I WILL NEVER - UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES - give-away, sell or divulge your details. All portions of this newsletter are copyrighted, but should you wish to reproduce any article/s, please contact the appropriate authors through M. Kenyon Charboneaux at nomadagain2000@yahoo.com.

About Me :

Contact details: The owner/publisher of this newsletter is M. Kenyon Charboneaux, fiction writer and teacher of online classes in writing through The Easy Way To Write website. If you are interested in finding out about these classes you may contact Rob Parnell, owner of EWTW, at rob@easywaytowrite.com

Kenyon??™s books - 8 City Tales : Darkness Visible (short stories of mystery, horror and mainstream genres), Cri du Coeur (mystery/suspense) and Blood Kiss (horror/vampires) - are for sale as PDF ebooks which you can purchase be sending an email to nomadagain2000@yahoo.com. Her mystery novel, Cri du Coeur, is also available from Amazon.com as an unbelievably price-me-right-out-of-the-market-thank-you-very-much, trade paperback that you would have to be Bill Gates to want to buy at that price! All ebooks are a mere $4.95USD.

PLEASE NOTE : All of Kenyon??™s current books were pirated in July of last year - there are no legal, non-pirate Internet outlets for her work other than (for Cri only - Amazon.com), DigitalbooksEtc.com & Payloadz.com. If you buy them from anyone else, you??™re putting money in the pockets of pirates, not in the pocket of the writer.

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