Today was move-in day at my university. I’m not saying the name of my school because I know some freaks out there might get ideas to visit me (and that’s not an LOL). It was a little exhausting, and even now I’m not done. Still, I love living in my dorm and being on my own. I’m looking forward to classes starting on Wednesday. My goal for this quarter: to get at least a B+ in every class (though if I get a B or B- I won’t complain).
Wish me luck!
When I started this blog, I mentioned that I had previously published a short story entitled Summers with Grandmother Fumika in a tea connoisseur’s magazine. The story involves a young Japanese girl performing a tea ceremony for a kitsune fox spirit. It was my first short story to be published in a print periodical, and to this day it is still one of my best works. Below I am inserting a small excerpt for you to read. If you like what you see, feel free to go online to www.teamag.com and order a copy of the Winter 2011 edition of TEA, A MAGAZINE. It is a fascinating read, including tea trivia and lore, recipes, and much more.
Here is Summers with Grandmother Fumika:
Suddenly out of the corner of my eye I caught movement. I whipped my head around, trying to catch a glimpse of what I couldn’t have seen. Was it really—?
A white foot and tail disappeared around the corner of the house, the tail swishing in the air. I stood up, surprised and confused. Had I just seen—no, it couldn’t have been, it was probably just some animal. The only reason I thought it was that was because I had been thinking about Grandmother Fumika’s stories a few seconds ago.
Nevertheless I tiptoed towards the corner of the house, in case it was either a kitsune or a normal yet very dangerous animal that had wandered onto our property. I peeked around the corner and gasped so loudly that I thought it might hear me. Lying near the koi pond was a kitsune fox spirit, a real kitsune fox spirit! Was I seeing things?
Please leave a comment telling me what you think.
I wish I could say I remember clearly where I was when the Twin Towers are struck. However, I don’t even remember being sent home early from school! All that comes to mind is some news footage they showed us on the TV in the classroom depicting some burning buildings, but I’m not sure if that was during the actual event or afterwards.
Regardless of whether or not I remember what occurred on September 11, 2001, I have learned what has happened since. And ten years since, we are still living out the aftermath. Terrorism has become a permanent part of our vocabulary, and New York is still scarred from the brutality of that one event. Muslims, particularly Arab Muslims, are feared because some deviants allied themselves with the religion of Islam, and we are still fighting wars so as to eradicate an improbable enemy. Still, there are more positive things to note: one of the world’s most dangerous criminals is no longer apart of this world, and the USA is hunting down the rest of his organization; Americans have been united in ways that have not been seen since post-WWII, and, perhaps most importantly, we are still going strong. That’s enough to say the terrorists did not win on that horrific day exactly ten years ago.
May the next ten years see a peaceful resolution to the war on terror and that those who would create fear and destruction to serve their own agendas be stopped and put away where they can harm no one. God bless America.
In an earlier post, I said that “I have no right to write a gangster story (get it?)”. The gangster story, of course, is Reborn City.
Well, that bad pun has more relevance than people may think: I’ve mentioned that I’m Caucasian. Not only that, but I’m Jewish, suburban, and a college student to boot. I’m what’s known as privileged. Just like Kathryn Stockett and her novel The Help, I fear that a lot of criticism that’ll come my way if Reborn City ever makes it into the market is that it’s another white writer trying to write in the voice of minorities, and a similar novel written by a black, Hispanic, or Asian writer wouldn’t get the same reaction (I’m just assuming for the moment that Reborn City is at least as popular as The Help).
Maybe so. But I doubt that when Ms. Stockett wrote The Help, her goal was to step on people’s toes like people keep thinking she has. It’s the same with me: I started writing because J.K. Rowling inspired me enough to make me want to compete with her. I got into horror/sci-fi/fantasy because I wanted to emulate writers like Anne Rice, Stephen King, and Dean Koontz. I wrote Reborn City because it seemed like a totally awesome idea, an adventure story involving gangs and mutant-powers and shady governments. And I kept writing it, planning two sequels and sending off part of Reborn City to an agent because at some point, I realized there was an important theme here, among all the other themes I’ve laced into the story: that in the end, you, and only you, are the only person that can control your destiny.
I’m not trying to be like the great white redeemer or whatever, I’m just trying to help people through an engaging story become self-empowered. Is that so bad? And besides, the one who helps the other characters realize this important lesson is an Arab Muslim, and at least a third of the leaders of the main gang in Reborn City are white. So it’s kind of reversed, isn’t it?
And for the record, all writers write their stories becasue they love what they write and want to share it with people just for the story’s sake. Their’s no other ulterior motive behind it. I’ll keep that in mind while I attempt to find a night to go see The Help at the local theater (I’d read the book, but I cringe to think how long the reserve list is at my library!).
Over the weekend I went boating with my family and some friends in Tennessee. While on a boat my mom prompted me to come up with a murder story on a lake involving a cut-up and exanguinated body (my mother is where I originally got my passion for scary stuff; she introduced me to Stephen King and Anne Rice). Thanks Mom for the idea, but I’m going to need a little more time before I can put this on my “Ideas for Novels” list. But when it goes on, I’ll let you know.
People love unique things, something that doesn’t feel like the same old crap but something brand-spanking new and never been done before (those that make books and movies love that as well, especially with books). So that’s why I love the Kieli series by Yukako Kabei. A series of short novels from Japan, it’s the story of a young girl who can see ghosts becoming the traveling companion of an immortal soldier. Add in the setting on another planet, steampunk elements, and some really complex characters and interesting episodes, and it’s a very compelling story. The first four volumes are available here in the United States and the fifth will be out next month.
(As I’m writing this I’m in the midst of the fourth book and I want to read more even though I know I have to be somewhere soon. Agh! What’ll I do!)
I just sent a query letter to a literary agency today. For all you non-writers, a query letter is a letter where you ask an agent or publisher to look at and possibly take on your manuscript. It was very frightening to write–a query letter is a big step in the process of trying to get published–but hopefully I’ll find a literary agency willing to take on Reborn City. The key is not to get discouraged by rejection; I forget her name, but there was this one writer whose first novel was rejected by 45 different agencies before it was accepted.
Wish me luck, I hope that I find my dream agent soon!
The first comment I ever got on this blog–left by a good friend of mine, actually–said that the language used in the exerpt from Reborn City made the story sound authentic. I was flattered by this, but it also reminded me of something from years ago:
When I went to a Jewish summer camp in the mountains of New York, it was a hobby among the boys in the older years to swear. I could understand a little swearing here and there, boys will be boys, and even I swear occasionally (I’m from the Midwest, so what do you expect?). However, these boys were using words like a derogative term for gays and the N-word. They were actually calling each other these terms, as if they were nicknames! And these were all white (and at least at the time I assumed) straight young Jewish males. Of course, I, who had been bullied in the past and was sensitive to prejudice, wanted my friends to stop, and several times asked them and the adults to make the swearing stop. No matter what happened though, they said these awful terms, ignoring the fact that if a black man or a gay-rights group heard them using these terms, they’d be in a lot of trouble.
However in Reborn City, I use plenty of bad words, and even a few racial ones in one chapter. These boys would call me a hypocrite if they read my novel. So what do I say in my defense? I use the same argument that they use for The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn: those words were used not in a mean way, but in an artistic way, to reflect the culture of a certain place and age. So too, do I use swear words and even racist terms to reflect the culture of Reborn City (though the latter I only use once; I had to read a passage from Huck Finn out loud once and choked on the N-word. Imagine what it was like having to write it).
And to all those people who use those words recreationally, not to be mean but to be funny or cool, I suggest you stop: you’re only hurting yourself and all progress to eliminate racism and prejudice.
Tell me what you guys think about this.
I mentioned earlier that I was in the middle of an editing process of a novel called Reborn City. Well, today I got back from something going on at my university, and I started editing. Just a few minutes ago, I finished editing the last chapter, concluding draft two of Reborn City!
I am really proud of my work on this novel. It took me two years to write, but barely two months to edit. Well, I guess only having to change parts I’m not satisfied with and there wasn’t a five-week break to go out of the country can help. Anyway, I’m very excited. I’m not sure yet if I want to put it through another round of edits–possibly with the help of a friend or family member–or send it write off to an agent. I’ll think about it and do some writing and editing of short stories in the meantime.
BUT…as a special treat to you all, I’m going to give you a little preview of Reborn City. To summarize, it’s the story of gangsters with supernatural powers.
And I’m not talking about Mafia gangsters, I’m talking about the types in rap music. I know I have no right as a white guy to write about this sort of topic (get the pun in there?), but I’ve done a lot of research, and I think I’ve captured gang life well enough to satisfy at least a few naysayers.
So without further ado, Reborn City:
Walkin’ down the street Rip whistled tunelessly to himself. The night was warm and the lamps were lit. Night had come early today. He could’ve sworn that it wasn’t supposed to get dark for another few hours. Then again, what the fuck did he care? For Rip, nighttime was his favorite time of day. The night was full of mystery and joys that you only had to go lookin’ for. During the day all a gangsta had to look forward to was death, the daily grind, and in Rip’s case, the constant, longing ache. The higher the sun, the greater the ache. Now that it was night, the ache was less. And for Rip that was just fuckin’ nice. If some white newsboy had told him that the world would get night forever and day would no longer come, Rip would’ve been the first to holla with joy.
Well, maybe not holla; that wasn’t exactly Rip’s style.
Suddenly, from around the corner, Rip heard someone scream, “Somebody help me!” Rip frowned and looked around the corner. They were far away, but Rip could make out three figures. Two of them he recognized from their green clothes as Diablos. The third was a girl, her fly open. From the way the knife was against her throat and one of the Diablos was holding her arms Rip guessed that they were gonna fuck her for some reason.
Rip debated whether or not to get involved, then started walking towards them. What the hell, hadn’t he just been thinking about looking for some fun? Maybe this was just what the doctor had ordered. As he stepped into the lamplight he said softly, “What you mothas doing?”
Both of the Diablos looked up from what they were doing and stared at Rip. The one with the knife, a fat ass with a pig face, stood up and pointed the knife at him. The girl they’d been planning to fuck fainted as soon as the knife was gone from her neck. The one holding her saw she’d fainted and threw her to the ground without a second thought.
Though Rip didn’t know for sure if either of these fools were capable of having second thoughts. He knew these two, if not by name; idiots that acted tough when they knew they could get away with their dicks still on but fled when they knew they were gonna get their asses handed to ‘em on a plate.
“What you want, Hydra?” said the fat one, looking scared for all his tough talk.
“Bored.” Rip replied simply. Pussy-face, what does it look like? “Looking for somethin’ to do.”
“Yeah?” said the skinny one, his voice cracking. Clearing his throat he said, “Well, you got somethin’. You packin’?”
Rip gave a short little nod. The whole time his expression never changed from unfazed boredom.
And maybe that made these two fuckers mad, because the next moment they were rushing at him, the fat one’s knife pointed straight ahead at Rip, the skinny one pulling a piece from his jacket. “You bastard!” yelled the fat one. “You ain’t got no heat!”
Rip let them come, waiting for the perfect moment to move. When the fat one with the knife was close enough, Rip raised his arms and swung his fists. Out of his knuckles sprung eight long, neon blades, one to each knuckle. The blades on his right hand slashed the fat Diablos’ face and jugular. Rip watched lazily as the man fell over with a sickly death rattle and landed with a loud thud. Blood poured lazily out of his neck and into the gutter.
The skinny Diablos with the gun pulled up and stared at his friend, then at Rip. The gun trembled in his hands, pointed somewhere to Rip’s left. “S-So the rumors were true…” whispered the skinny one. He shook his head suddenly and looked at Rip with pure loathing. “Die, motherfucker!” he yelled, pulling the trigger; the bullet zoomed passed Rip without so much as ruffling his hair.
Rip strolled casually up to the skinny one. The guy was frozen stiff, the gun pointed at where Rip had been before. Rip brought up all eight of his claws and slashed through the barrel of the gun; the fragments fell to the floor with a loud clatter. The skinny man dropped what was left of his gun and stared at Rip, his whole body trembling. Rip noticed with some amusement that there was a dark stain spreading from the man’s crotch.
Wolverine ain’t got shit on me. Rip thought with a devilish grin.
Leaning in close to the bastard’s face, Rip whispered, “Run now ya pussy. ‘Fore I send ya to my master.”
As if a switch had been thrown, the skinny one turned and ran, gibbering loudly as he did. Rip gave a small laugh. I did say I was packin’. he thought as his claws disappeared from the bases to the tips in a burst of sparks. ‘Just not the type they were expectin’.
Feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you think. I’d love to hear some feedback!
I look at the sources of my inspirations as helping me become a writer. So when I heard of these petitions, I wanted to help too and show my appreciation. Please follow the links below if you don’t mind helping me help my sources of inspiration:
http://www.thepetitionsite.com/1/get-viz-media-to-print-the-latest-volumes-of-kurohime/
http://www.thepetitionsite.com/1/get-ghost-adventures-to-the-white-house/
http://www.thepetitionsite.com/4/get-ghost-adventures-in-to-kings-park-state-hospital/
If you are unable to follow the links, sorry about that. Just copy and paste in a new tab, and you should be fine though.
Rami Ungar The Writer 