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.
So, for all of you who are reading this, I am Rami Ungar. And my blog is “Rami Ungar the Writer”, because there’s a Rami Ungar in Israel who is a big shipping magnate, and I don’t want to be confused for him. So a little background about my exploits in writing.
First, I’ve wanted to be a writer since I first read the Harry Potter books. This dream evolved once I started to read Anne Rice and Stephen King, and then I wanted to writer horror/sci-fi/fantasy books, which is what I’ve been attempting to do for some time now.
As of now, I have two short stories and one epic poem on the website TeenInk under the pen name Anubis, a few short articles and quotes in the Ohio Jewish Chronicle, a quote in the Columbus Dispatch, a letter to the editor in People magazine, and a short story in the Winter 2011 edition of TEA, A Magazine.
Currently, I am working on several short stories and am in the middle of the editing process of a novel I wrote called Reborn City. I hope that someday all these will be published so that you, dear reader, can read them.
That’s all for now. I’ll update when I have something significant to put down.
