I'm Not Like Everybody Else Pt. 2

I earlier wrote a blog stating that I not only would not but could not write my books in order to appeal to readers of a certain genre. I don't think that's a bad thing, but I am, at least initially, prone to being misunderstood. I'm hoping that given time, people will come to know me and accept what it is I write. I fondly remember a dear friend of mine introducing me to someone else in this manner: "This is James, he grows on you." I like that, I like the idea that what you see is not necessarily what you get. Sometimes people put on a front. Me, I like to be a little more reserved, holding back what's best until we've earned each other's trust.

At any rate, my reviews so far have born out my guess that I don't fit readily in any convenient classification. Here are some quotes from readers on my various writings:

"This book is not your typical 'Horror Story'."  From Amazon review of The Amazing Morse

"This is a somewhat different novel of psychological terror and horror." Another Amazon review of The Amazing Morse

 "Odd and Compelling" "I guess the genre for this book is semi-paranormal, but for me, it was an essay on reality and simulacra disguised as a novel." Amazon review of Perchance to Dream

"Different."  Barnes and Noble Review of Ashes on the Water

"Refreshingly original too, a different kind of horror." Smashwords review of The Amputation

"original" Smashwords review of The Amputation

"Chilling and unpredictable." Smashwords review of Brandon Kratz

So there you have it. If you're interested in something that isn't easily classified, something that is more than a carbon copy of something that has already been done, I invite you to check out some of my writing, which can be found by typing my name into a search engine. Or you can just click on one of my book covers located on the right side of the page.

And since I took the name of this post from the title of a Kinks song, I find it fitting to end it with a quote from another Kinks song (Working At The Factory):

Never wanted to be like everybody else
But now there are so many like me sitting on the shelf
They sold us a dream but in reality
It was just another factory

The Association (The Amazing Morse #3)

I have just hit the publish button for Amazon Kindle and am awaiting it to be made available for sale. This is the third book I've published and for some reason I have even more butterflies in my stomach than with the other two. Perhaps it is that the more I publish the more real the idea of pursuing this as a career seems to be. The first novel was a dream come true, and while I had some wild flights of fancy about what I could achieve with it, I really didn't know what to expect. The second book, it's hard for me to remember that far back. It's only been a year, but what a year it's been. Looking back, the fact that I've managed to write a book this year has been quite an achievement. I know people who've written 8 books in a year, so it doesn't seem like my one book is such a big thing, but for me it is. It's been a struggle and a major commitment, but it has also been a bit of an anchor for me, a refuge from the demands of the outside world. It has taken a lot from me, but it has also given back. Writing is a process of discovery. One has to look into the deep recesses of the mind, heart and soul in order to put something you're proud of on the page. I hope that's what I've done; at the moment I'm a little too fried-out to tell. I'll post a link here when it becomes available. In the meantime, here is the cover:

The Association is now available on Kindle. You can find it here: http://www.amazon.com/Association-Amazing-Morse-Book-ebook/dp/B00OL54DRQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1413511033&sr=8-1&keywords=james+rozoff+the+association

A Question Of Balance: The beginning

What follows is the beginning to my newest novel, tentatively titled "A Question Of Balance". I share it in hopes of getting feedback. Sometimes, as an author, I wonder how far into my own little world have I gotten and if it makes sense to others. Maybe I'm crazy. But I think it's more important to be true to yourself than to write what you think others want to read. Let me know what you think:

The grounds of what used to be Chapel Hill Prep School were empty of any activity except for the tan van that seemed to creep up the gravel driveway. The place was open to the public, and there was now a thrift shop in what was once a dormitory. But it was too early in the day for it to be opened, just as it was too early to know if the morning frost would give way to nicer weather.

Arriving early was part of Dave’s plan. He wanted to be alone, or rather, he did not want any observers to the meeting he was hoping to have.

Dave parked near the thrift shop and walked towards the unused church that sat across from it. He didn’t know why, but he felt that it was the most likely place to find Johnny. Well, not Johnny, really. Although he looked and sounded like Johnny, it was merely a memory of him Dave hoped to encounter. Still, Dave hoped there was something to be gained by the meeting.

The door was not locked. Whoever owned the premises either trusted people or else realized stained glass windows could be broken as easily from the outside as from within. Dave entered and stood still for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Attempts were being made to repair the church, to bring it back to life as a place of worship. Its former glory had faded, the attempts at restoration so far resulting in nothing more than making things worse. Tarps covered all save the first two rows of pews.

As if he knew what he were doing, Dave went to the second pew, genuflected, and knelt down to prayer.

He had learned to pray of late. Where before prayer had consisted of recitations of prayers without any real connection, he now felt some actual communication was taking place, if only between his heart and mind. Something had opened up within him, some barrier had been removed. He was awakened, to whatever spiritual power existed in the universe, Dave was reluctant to use the name God. He was reluctant to put a name to it at all, more concerned with the actual experience. He closed his eyes and opened himself up to a reality in him that was normally quiet enough to be ignored, but never absent. It was like encountering a spring within him, that lightly bubbled, poured forth its waters endlessly. It was the source, the explanation and reason for everything. And it was so inconspicuous one had to silence all else for it to appear.

This was prayer, the realization that such a spring existed. Here was vitality, the life-giving water that poured through his soul, was his soul. It bubbled gladness in him, flowing, always flowing, carrying with it an endless supply of inspiration, eternal, everlasting. Like music that was constantly changing and neverending, it flowed, subtle yet powerful. Dave quieted all else until it bubbled up and poured throughout his body. He felt happy, felt as though he were home, or at least where he was meant to be.

Through shut eyelids, Dave slowly became aware of a blue aura emanating from his right. He slowly opened his eyes, as though slowing the transition from his interior reality to the outside world, smoothing the gap between the two.

Kneeling next to him was the blue aura of the ghost of a man he used to know.

“Johnny,” said Dave.

“No, Dave, simply his ghost. A greeting card written by someone who no longer is.”

First Sentences of Some of My Favorite Novels.

I recently read an article about the importance of the first sentence. All right, I didn’t actually read it, I skimmed over it. There was a picture of some author gazing thoughtfully off into the distance with earth sky and water in the background, and he threw out some ideas about how the first sentence of a novel can determine whether the book is worthy of a prize. Oddly enough, for someone stressing the importance of a first sentence, his initial thought seemed to me to clock in at somewhere over a thousand words.Perhaps it was just me. I tried re-reading a few times and then just gave up altogether. You can read it here, although I don’t recommend it: http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2014/aug/29/how-pick-man-booker-prizewinner I really don’t see how you can judge an entire novel by the very first sentence, any more than you can judge it by the fourth sentence on the 87^th page. Granted, there are some good opening lines, but many great books begin with a simple statement. In fact, I would much rather judge a book by its cover than by a single sentence.

But it did have me go back and check the first sentences of some of my favorite books, just to see if there was anything to it. What follows is a short list of first sentences from books I regard highly. I’ve left off the name of the book and the author’s name in order to play a little game. Can you name any of the books? Just to make it interesting, I’ll offer the first copy of my newest book, The Association, to whomever can name the most books based on the sentences provided below. The book will be released sometime in September. You can e-mail me your answers at jamesrozoff@sbcglobal.net

1)      The one opened the door with a latch-key and went in, followed by a young fellow who awkwardly removed his cap.

2)      She came out of the store just in time to see her young son playing on the sidewalk directly in the path of the gray, gaunt man who strode down the center of the walk like a mechanical derilect.

3)      A squat grey building of only thirty-four stories.

4)      First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys.

5)      On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. Bridge

6)      When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton.

7)      In 1815, M. Charles Francois-Bienvenu Myriel was Bishop of D---.

8)      The urge to embark on a work of creation after a period of sterility is like the desire to make love, very violent, but it can be appeased by failure.

9)      Just after passing Caraher’s saloon, on the County Road that ran south from Bonneville, and that divided the Broderson ranch from that of Los Muertos, Presley was suddenly aware of the faint and prolonged blowing of a steam whistle that he knew must come from the railroad shops near the depot at Bonneville.

10)   “I am inclined to think—“ said I.

11)   There lived in Westphalia, in the castle of my Lord the Baron of Thunder-ten-tronckh, a young man, on whom nature had bestowed the most agreeable manners.

12)   Around quitting time, Tod Hackett heard a great din on the road outside his office.

13)   We are at rest five miles behind the front.

14)   The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

15)   On the 6^th of January 1482, the Parisians were awakened by the noise of all the bells within the triple circuit of the City, the University, and the Town ringing in full peal.

16)   It was a pleasure to burn.

17)   “What’s it going to be then, eh?”

18)   Buck did not read the news, or he would have known there was trouble brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego.

It's a rather tough list, so don't feel bad if you didn't get more than a couple. As I said, not even most great novels begin with a memorable first line.

Jason Becker, ALS, and Humility

While out for a walk tonight, I heard a man screaming from behind a backyard fence. It took me a moment before I realized why it was he was screaming. Like seemingly everyone else on this planet, he was having cold water poured over him in the name of ALS.

I don’t claim to be an expert on Lou Gehrig’s disease, but I have been ahead of the fad this time. My newest novel, The Association, due out in September, involves a character with ALS. While only appearing in the final chapter, it is her disease that drives the action of the entire story. In a desperate attempt to find a cure for her illness, her boyfriend ends up dragging himself and others into a trap with seemingly no exit.

While I’ve always been aware of Lou Gehrig’s disease since seeing The Lou Gehrig Story as a small child, it really hit home for me when I chanced upon the documentary, Jason Becker: Not Dead Yet.

Did you ever feel jealousy towards another human being only to feel horrible about yourself afterwards? Years ago, I was driving home from a job I hated in my beat up old car, only to be passed by a shiny new convertible. I cursed my luck, wondering why I should work so hard and yet this person had more than I. 

And then I spotted it, the wheelchair in the back seat. And then I felt horrible for wishing I had what this other person had rather than being thankful for what was given to me.

It was a similar situation with Jason Becker. When I was in my early twenties, my dad brought home an old guitar he had bought from a garage sale. I took it as a sign that I should learn how to play it. I practiced a good deal at it, but never got very good. A big part of my learning involved picking up copies of Guitar Players Magazine, where they would have the sheet music for a lot of classic rock songs. Being a reader, I read all the articles on all of the guitarists as well.

And that’s how I heard about Jason Becker. He was the wiz kid, younger than me but already being heralded as a major new talent and playing for the likes of David Lee Roth. I hated him, which is to say I was immensely jealous of him. Already older than him, I had no direction in life, had achieved nothing. Here he was already a better guitarist than I could ever hope to be, was making truckloads of money, and assuredly had his pick of women. And hair. Did I mention he had hair? This was the era of hair bands, of outrageously long hair. And I, I was already well on my way to baldness. The eighties was not a good era to lose your hair.

So I harbored a good deal of jealousy towards this rock star I had never met, disliked his music which I had never heard. But like all petty grudges, it faded after time.

Fast forward to 2013. I was flipping through channels on the TV when I came across the name of Jason Becker, and took a closer look. The old jealousy resumed as I wondered whatever came of him. Perhaps he, like Joe Satriani and myself, had lost his hair too. A petty thought for sure, but not the greatest of my sins by a long shot. But then I turned to the channel, and I watched the documentary, and then my smallness hit me full-on. ALS had taken more from him than any human being should have to stand, and yet I cruelly had wished for some kind of cosmic justice to level the playing field between him and me. More humbling still was that Jason Becker still had the courage to continue with his life and his music despite the hand he had been dealt. I am a very small man indeed.

But that’s when ALS truly caught my attention. I’ve been watching videos on YouTube and reading up on it since then. And somehow it wove its way into my story about a group of priests who had been healers centuries ago. And through a story that involves ghosts and faith and murder, a love story is woven about a man who wanted to save his beloved from a horrible disease and prove to her the healing power of faith. It will be available in a couple of weeks, as soon as my beta-readers and my cover artist have done their jobs. In the meantime, you can read my first book for free by clicking on the picture of the cover of The Amazing Morse on your right. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check out videos of people dumping cold water on themselves on Facebook.

Another Walk Around JFK Prep

I've already posted some pictures of JFK Prep but thought photos shot towards sunset might be a little more atmospheric. And although the working title of my book was The Sleep Of Reason, I have changed it to The Association, saving the former title for a more appropriate time. I've also given the site inspired by JFK Prep a different name: it is not my intent to have people confuse my fictional creations with reality and I surely don't want to encourage any thrill seekers poking around the area. The present owners of the property are kind enough to allow people to stroll the grounds and I would hate to do anything to change that.

The story of the area is innocent enough, but it is the kind of story that seems to call for some ghostly elements to be added. It is not just me, rumors and stories of ghosts abound, but they are only rumors and stories. And the area is interesting enough to get the imagination wandering. So with that said, here are a few pictures:

There appear to be Stations of the Cross situated about the grounds, but whatever stood within these stone structures are now gone.

The tomb of the founder of The Association and the town of St. Nazianz, Father Ambrose Oschwald. He was known as a great healer.

From inside a little chapel located upon a hill looking down upon the cemetery.

Father Ambrose Oschwald, who led his entire congregation from Germany to Wisconsin in 1984.

Looking down from the hill of the chapel

A path leads along the property to a small lake or pond, which is more like a bog at this point.

I'm not sure what the intention of this little monument was:

Pictures of the grounds from across the waters.

A creature we encountered on our walk. The look in its eyes suggests possession or perhaps a were-bunny.

I like the idea of one tombstone being out of step with all the others. Again, just letting my imagination run free (as with the bunny).

The mind invests meaning to what it encounters, that's what it does. I allowed my mind to work its own ideas upon what it witnessed at JFK Prep, and the result is my novel The Association, which shall be available sometime in September. If the waiting gets to be too much for you, feel free to check out my first two books in the series while you wait. The first one's on me.

Moments Of Profound Understanding In Movies

On a forum long ago and far away, I once posted what to me were some of the greatest moments in cinematic history. It was only after posting these four clips in succession that I found a common link to them and felt the need to write about it. Let me know what you think:

After all, what possible connection could there be between The Karate Kid and a romantic comedy by Charlie Chaplin, what would link Victor Hugo’s 19^th century work with a film about aliens secretly infiltrating and controlling our society? Had I not included a comment someone made on YouTube regarding They Live, I would not now try to convince anyone that any connection exists. After all, the clip I included is a fight scene, the one that inspired the “cripple fight” from South Park. The movie stars Rowdy Roddy Piper, the professional wrestler. It includes lines like: “I’m here to kick ass and chew bubble gum…and I’m all out of bubble gum.” Nothing very profound here, right? But the reference to Plato’s Republic got me thinking.

Plato stated that most people’s perception of reality is akin to “cave dwellers” who merely see the reflections of the real, shadows cast upon the cave walls. If one of them were to leave the cave and see things in the light of the sun, he would initially be blinded and confused. Furthermore, if that person were to return to the cave and tell others what he saw in the daylight, they would consider his vision madness. This is the story related in They Live, where special glasses reveal the subliminal messages that are to be found everywhere: “Watch T.V.”, “Do Not Question Authority”, “Consume”. In the clip I included, Piper’s character has returned to the cave to tell others of his revelation, while Keith David’s character thinks him crazy. And like anyone else comfortable in his misconceptions, he is willing to fight for them.

In the Karate Kid, Daniel’s patience, trust, and desire are tested. Acting on faith and need, he puts up with the endless tasks Mr. Miyagi assigns him until he is fed up. He does not see Mr. Miyagi’s ultimate aim, and so he feels he is being used. Even when the meaning of his work has been revealed, it will take some time for the reality of it to sink in.

The flower girl from Chaplin’s City Lights also perceives reality as something other than what it is. She awaits her prince charming, the rich man that Chaplain’s Tramp has pretended to be. Since undergoing an operation that has restored her sight, she is on the lookout for the dapper millionaire who paid for the operation. When she sees the Tramp, she looks upon him with condescending pity, neither aware that it is he who gave her the money, nor the personal cost of his generosity.

Jean Valjean is an ex-convict who has been taught throughout his life that power and law are the only truths. When the bishop opens his house to him and shows him compassion, he cannot begin to understand where this generosity is coming from. It has no place in the world he has known, and so he falls back into the only way of behaving that he knows: that of selfishness and violence. But when the bishop exemplifies for him the teachings of Christ (“When someone slaps you on one cheek, turn and give him the other; when someone takes your coat, let him have your shirt as well”), Valjean can never again see the world in the same way again. Before, he was an animal without free will. Now he is confronted with the choice between the bishop’s example and the world he has always known.

In each of these scenes, a person’s shallow misperceptions are shattered by an almost spiritual (or very spiritual) revelation. Arrogance and ignorance give way to humility and the beginning of wisdom. We are in an age where filmmakers can create an entire world (Avatar), or destroy one (2012). But nothing in cinema will ever impress me as much as the look in a character’s eyes as a world more profound and beautiful than any they had ever known begins to take shape before them.