Musings, author interviews, book reviews etc,: a platform for writers to exhange ideas.
|Posted by Pat on May 9, 2021 at 7:00 PM|
Last week was an exercise in working with fear. Any type of surgery brings on a whopper case of the jitters, but this was eye surgery, and the image of metal instruments puncturing my eyeball left me catatonic. As it turned out, the worst part was putting in the IV. My veins seem to know what is happening and line up a whole bunch of evasion tactics: now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t, the magical collapsing vein and a new trick – the curve away from the needle. Almost funny. But not quite.
After that, things got much better. It started with valium and progressed to fenadryl, and by the time I was headed into the OR, I was floating pleasantly and totally unconcerned. Do I remember any of it? Just the part where I realized that my eye had been closed the entire time, though I could hear the doctor doing things and feel his proximity. But how is it possible for him to operate with my eye closed? Awesome, no?
Okay, they must have temporarily blinded me. But by the time I realized that, it was over. So, if anything was learned, it was this: if you are terrified enough, and if you imagine horrific scenarios, and if the sky is surely falling in, all you have to do is relax.
|Posted by Pat on April 14, 2021 at 9:20 PM|
For the first time in a year, I was able to socialize with friends this week: have dinner, sip wine, pet the cat or dog together, giggle and hoot, chat, play board games – all without masks on. Such a joy to once again see the faces of my friends, to take in the curve of their lips as they smile and laugh, to hear their words, clear and unmuffled. Such a long, long time it’s been.
Experiencing the closeness of people I truly care about is just so powerful. Standing side-by-side to cut onions or gaze out the window. It is so very hard to quantify what we have missed in the past year, and how that void has affected us. Speaking for myself, the sense of isolation and the reality of distance created a sense of loneliness and solitude that was only partly eased by phone calls and Zoom. We long for time together, we hurt for each other, we need hugs and smiles and laughter to feel truly alive.
There was a certain awkwardness in the beginning: that ingrained feeling of being too close, the mental alarm warning ‘it’s dangerous, back away.’ It’s a learned reaction, and can be unlearned.
So now we dream: of concerts, jazz clubs, restaurants, the ballet, the symphony, the state fair, parades, theater, coffee shops and bars. Some may already go to these places, but for now, I am content to hang out with my friends again and watch life open like a flower, one petal at a time.
|Posted by Pat on April 11, 2021 at 5:25 PM|
Here in Park City, Utah, the slopes are still open but the weather is way too warm (66 degrees today!), and the gushy snow is melting fast. It's sad, saying goodbye to the thrill of zipping down a mountain to the sound of crunching snow, but it's also a time brimming with new promises: campfires, mountain trails, rock climbing, cooking on the grill, lengthening days of warmth and sunshine. The trick is to make sure no magpies build their nests in our atrium!!
|Posted by Pat on November 1, 2014 at 3:30 PM|
It was bad enough that the flight left at 6 am; I had to set my alarm for 3:45. Turned out that was the easy part.
I shuffled down the aisle to my seat, only to find it was occupied by an adorable little girl about four years old, whose twin two-year-old sisters had the middle and window seats. “Would you mind if they all sat together?” asked a slender brunette across the aisle from them.
“Sure,” I said. She told me the emptied seats were right behind the girls, so I began to wedge my overstuffed briefcase under the seat.
Behind me towered a heavy set man in a sleeveless shirt. “Do you mind if we all sit together?” the Mom asked him.
His response was unenthusiastic, but he agreed then turned to me. “I’m too big to sit in the middle seat,” he said. His voice was flat. He had a large, gray tattoo on his arm with the word “Mother” inscribed in what looked like a tomato surrounded by roses under a cloud-filled sky. At least I think it was clouds.
I quickly saw his point and relocated my briefcase. With luxuriant anticipation of my nap, I folded into my seat and closed my eyes. I’d been looking forward to this moment ever since 3:45 am: the chance for a gentle drift into a lazy nap.
Blam! Blam! Blam! My eyes popped open. The child next to the window slammed her body into her seat, over and over. The entire seat from headrest to floorboard vibrated violently, and the tray table rattled loudly as it bashed into the back of the seat.
“Oh, no” said Tattoo. His words were slow, and the tone of voice was soft but steely. My antennae went up. “Paula, no,” said the mother. But there was no way she could reach the child in the window seat.
The little girl in the aisle seat decided slamming against the seat must be fine sport, and started banging her seat as well. The two girls set up a cacophony of clatters and shakes that would make a monk grind his teeth.
Tattoo began humming, a tense and escalating sound. The muscles on his forearms contracted, the pitch of the hum grew higher.
“What do you think?” I asked him. “Maybe two years old?”
He would not look at me, his jaw clenched. This was a two hour forty minute flight and we hadn’t taken off yet.
“Chloe,” said the Mother. She was speaking Spanish, but whatever she said worked. Chloe stopped. The engines roared: lift off. I closed my eyes, maybe that nap was still within reach.
Bam! Bam! Bam! The seat to my right jangled and shook. I could not figure out how such a small body could wreck such havoc on a riveted seat. Bam!
“Oh, no,” said Tattoo, his voice deep and grave. I glanced at him. His eyes were narrow and his breathing was shallow. The Mom put the older child across the aisle and sat next to the twins. Things calmed a bit. For a while. Then the banging started again and Tattoo recommenced his eerie humming, going up in pitch as the seat-bashing continued.
“Paula,” said the Mother, over and over and over. The banging restarted, the child was admonished, the banging stopped for no more than a minute, then restarted with the admonishment, the pause and the restart. No, no nap this trip.
Tattoo was tense, too tense.
“She never raises her voice,” I pointed out about the Mother, hoping to introduce a concept.
“Takes a lot of patience,” Tattoo said.
Patience, yes, let’s stay on that note, I thought.
When we finally (ho, and I do mean finally) landed, Tattoo and I high-fived in celebration of our survival. Alas, this was too soon. Just after we settled back into our seats, relishing victory, an announcement came on: “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have just learned there will be a delay in getting our gate assignment. Please stay in your seats with your seatbelts fastened. We do apologize for any inconvenience.”
Blam! Blam! Blam!
A second can go by fast. Unless you are being tortured, or unless you are sitting next to Tattoo with a seat banger in front of him. No airport ever seemed so much like a haven. I just hope Tattoo doesn’t have kids.
|Posted by Pat on November 1, 2014 at 3:30 PM|
JOHNNY WORTHEN grew up in the high desert snows and warm summer winds of the Wasatch Mountains. He graduated with a B.A. in English, minor in Classics and a Master's in American Studies from the University of Utah. After a series of businesses and adventures, including years abroad and running his own bakery, Johnny found himself drawn to the only thing he ever wanted to do -- write. And write he does. Well versed in modern literary criticism and cultural studies, Johnny writes upmarket multi-genre fiction – thriller, horror, young adult, comedy and mystery so far. “I write what I like to read,” he says. “That guarantees me at least one fan and a hectic job for my publicist.”
Please join me in welcoming Johnny to our site!
Your recent work, The Unseen (Eleanor), recently won the Gold Quill Award for Best Young Adult of the Year from the League of Utah Writers. Congratulations! Can you tell us what each of its three volumes is about?
ELEANOR, THE UNSEEN is a young adult paranormal romantic horror character study. How’s that? Genres are slippery and it’s difficult to place books like this one since it is literary and genre, adult and adolescent, strange but familiar.
It is the story of Eleanor Anders a sophomore girl who hides in plain sight at Jamesford High in a small drive-by Wyoming town. With senses far keener than ordinary human’s and the ability to mimic animal cries, Eleanor’s instincts tell her it’s safer to blend in. Only her mother, Tabitha, shares her secret and knows the full extent of her gifts – the true nature of Eleanor’s abilities. But Tabitha is close to death from cancer and Eleanor is petrified of a future alone. When David, Eleanor’s childhood friend returns to Jamesford, Eleanor is drawn to him and her strange talents emerge erratically and threaten to expose her as the inhuman thing she is.
ELEANOR is a stand-alone book. It’s complete and rewarding. A great read. However, Eleanor’s story continues through two more volumes if the reader cares to carry on. THE UNSEEN BOOK 2 is called CELESTE and that’ll be out next June. After that comes DAVID, THE UNSEEN BOOK 3, probably half a year later. I don’t want to spoil them but it’s safe to say that after the end of BOOK 1, Eleanor’s troubles might just be beginning.
How do you think your writing has evolved from your earlier works, The Brand Demand, for example? What is the most important thing you have learned?
THE BRAND DEMAND, a mystery coming from Cherokee McGhee publishers next April, is actually one of the first books I wrote, but it was my sixth sold. That’s kind of how it is. The later books came out easier since my craft is better. Less second guessing. More confidence. THE BRAND DEMAND needed more tinkering to get where it needed to be but I was patient and kept at it until now it’s ready to mark my debut into yet another genre. That it is so tight now is a testimony of all the work I’ve done. That’s the thing I learned – do the work. A writer writes. My mantra is “write another book.” Every word I write is better than the one before, so I keep writing.
Why do you think the ELEANOR, THE UNSEEN stood out to the judges? What do you think they liked about it the most?
It’s a moving story. It’s literary and full of layers. A Trojan horse dealing honestly with mature human issues. Though it’s been called a romance, a paranormal and a horror, it’s a deeply personal emotional story about a flawed character struggling with loss and survival. It gets you in the feels. The fantastical elements are metaphor and not the central problem. It’s a human tale about the pains of change. Everyone can relate.
If you were walking down the street in Jamesford and ran into Eleanor, what do you think she would say to you, her creator? What would you reply?
She’d not speak to me. She’d fear me. I know her secrets and she’d be afraid for that. But if perchance I managed to catch her eye and she was particularly strong that day, and we were alone, I might say, “You are lovely Eleanor.”
She would answer, “Why did you make me this way? I don’t want this.”
“Then make yourself as you would have you.”
“Why so much trouble and sorrow?”
“The dark against the glorious light, Eleanor. The cold so that you may love the warmth the more.”
“What am I?”
She’d get frustrated with the riddles, all creators have to talk like that, but she’d mull on it and eventually, with the help of Tabitha and David, she’d come to understand.
You were also selected as Utah Writer of the Year. What have you learned about writing and yourself from receiving this prestigious award?
It’s all about giving back. I believe that the only way to achieve a dream is to help other people achieve theirs. I am as active as I can be in the writing community. I love the craft and come alive with people who love it like I do. I’m lucky that way. I’m an extrovert. It’s important to reach out to peers and friends. Writing is personal and private. Isolating. Connecting with other writers keeps you sane.
As for me, having come a little ways in this strange self-defeating, masochistic career, I have a little insight I can share in how it’s been. I like the idea that others can learn from my failures and experience. Writing is not a zero-sum game. We can all succeed. The Writer of the Year award was more for my efforts at sharing and putting myself out there than for my books. Don’t get me wrong, my books are awesome, but they’re just part of what it means to be the author I want to be.
Johnny is known not only for his heavy-weight contributions to the writing community, but also for his ubiquitous, vivid tie dye shirts. So I had to ask …
Johnny, your signature is a tie dye shirt. It’s important and we’d like to know: what is the deeper meaning of tie dye?
Tie dye is art. I don’t wear mass-produced shirts. All my shirts are hand-made by talented artists. They’re beautiful. Keep in mind that when I wear tie dyed shirts, I don’t see them. I’m looking out over them. Other people see them on me. You wear tie dye not for yourself, but for your friends. It goes back to the Grateful Dead shows I went to. Vibrant color is alive. I also use it as a symbol of my writing to signify that I am not a single thing. I write many genres: YA, horror, mystery, comedy, political satire, religious, romance…. I am complicated and beautiful like the shirts I wear.
Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with us!
Since you’ll want to know more about Johnny and his writing, you’ll need his website address:
www.johnnyworthen.com. Go There.
By the way, I’m reading The Unseen Book 1 now and the beginning is fabulous, just fabulous. Stay tuned for the review!