Let me share with you how they catch monkeys ~ by Rita Karnopp

I had always wanted to write a book about three Gypsy sisters during the Holocaust.  The story bounced around in my head for over five years.  Finally, I sent my publisher, at BWL Publishing, a proposal for Tango of Death … and she loved it … with one change … she wanted a trilogy. 

Of course, I said, “Sure, I can do that.” (You always tell your publisher ‘yes.’)  But as soon as I sent that email I asked myself, “What have I done?”  Bottom line, it was the best decision ever … each sister got their own story … and even though it took months of extra research for three books, it was well worth it.  They are the stories I’ve always wanted to tell.  My Gypsy sisters come to life in my Tango of Death series; Gypsy Spirit, Partisan Heart, and Jewish Soul.

Book 1–Tango of Death Series - Gypsy Spirit is a story of the driving spirit of a Gypsy girl, who took it upon herself to document the truth. Her strength and determination brings to light a story of altruism, fears, and atrocities such a Gypsy girl might have lived through.

 

Book 2 – Tango of Death Series - Poland 1943-During WW II - Partisan Heart tells the story of a Gypsy girl who follows her beloved into the forests of Poland and the Ukraine.  Their partisan group is willing to risk their lives blowing up train trestles, attacking SS killer squads, and to infiltrate Nazis intelligence to destroy Nazi Germany.  Resistance does exist.  If nothing else, to die with dignity is a form of resistance.

 

Book 3 – Tango of Death Series, JEWISH SOUL. Mayla Sucuri’s world is falling apart . . . no Gypsy is safe in Hitler’s Germany and Mayla refuses to turn down the opportunity to take notes and bear witness to the atrocities happening at the concentration camps. Will it get her killed?

 

Let me share with you how they catch monkeys.  Another thing I learned from Doran Andry's Gateway to Greatness is a story about howt hey catch monkeys.  Imagine a wooden box 12” x 12” and the top opens because it has hinges.  Imagine opening the box and setting a big, red juicy apply in the bottom of the box.  Then imagine closing and locking it.  Then, around to the side is a hole and it is big enough for the monkey to look inside and see the red, juicy apple.  But the hole is small enough so the only way for the monkey to get inside the box is to squeeze his fingers inside the hole.  Now imagine the monkey reaching inside the box and grabbing the red, juicy apple.  Now the apple is in the palm  of the monkey’s hand. 

However, there is a problem.  As the monkey tries to pull his hand out of the box, he finds it doesn’t fit through the hole. The reason is because the apple is in the palm of the monkey’s hand.  Now the monkey won’t let go of that apple for anything.  As a result, the poacher comes in and kills the monkey.  Now realize, all the monkey would have to do is let go of the apple and he’d be free, but he won’t let go.  Soon he’s a dead monkey. 

This is a metaphor for people who just don’t discipline themselves to write.  Usually there is something in your life that you need to let go.  But, as-a-result of not letting it go, it remains a roadblock to your success.  Ultimately it ends up hurting you.

Talk with your writer’s group or a friend and ask, ‘what am I not letting go of?’  Meaning; is it your fear, is it the security of knowing you can’t finish your book, you don’t have to worry about what to do next – once the book is finished or is it because you’re just lazy?  Whatever the challenge is, for most people, they don’t open themselves up to themselves or their writing partners, to learn what is not allowing them to ‘let go of the apple.’  Ultimately, it leads to the death of your writing career.

Growing as a person.  You know people want to be successful to see their income grow and they want to grow, yet they’re not willing to make the sacrifices that it takes to develop new skill-sets, new beliefs, and new habits.  They take the same ‘employee mentality’ and bring it to the environment where they write.  I think we’ll all agree, that someone who is an international best-selling author with over 30 million books in print has a different mind-set than one who hasn’t yet published a book or has one or two books to their credit.  Which is all the more reason why we must grow as people.

 

Under confidence.  If only I was published, then I’d write more and have more confidence.  Well, people…it’s a big myth.  It’s about reaching your personal writing goal and you won’t reach it without giving 100% to the first book, then second book, etc.  Don’t look at someone else’s success to measure your own or lack thereof.

In September we’ll discuss what happens when people do things ‘consistently right.’

Creating Secondary Characters by June Gadsby

Speaking of Secondary Characters

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Secondary characters are essential to make any story work and move on. They are the links between the heroes, heroines and the plot itself. That’s how I always look at them anyway. In fact, my secondary characters are often my favourite creations in any story, whether they be dark and evil or light and humorous. Quite often I find both extremes creeping in and, boy, do I have fun with them.

But where do they come from, these minor actors in the supporting cast, creating havoc or laughter and sometimes both? It can sometimes be difficult or impossible to invent them from imagination alone. The best way, as far as I am concerned, is to take a real person, someone you know well, and weave their idiosyncrasies and anything you find odd or interesting into the character you want to create. Most people do not recognize themselves because their oddities, their habits [which they may not even be aware of] are disguised by the different physical appearance, name or background of the character that ends up in the published book at the end of the day.

My husband has been known to say: “I see you’ve got your mother/grandfather in here again.” I’m not always aware that I’ve done it, but their characters are so fixed in my memory that they seem to infiltrate into the stories all on their own. Of course, the more interesting the character the better, but care has to be taken not to make the ‘secondaries’ appear too unbelievable, even if the real person you take them from is too ‘interesting’ to be true.

I’ve just spent some time with my son-in-law. Now there’s a character and a half. He has plenty to be depressed about in his life at the moment – perhaps always has had – but he laughs it off and claims that he is never depressed. I get depressed just hearing about his life and wonder how my lovely step-daughter copes with it all, but she seems to ignore it and they appear to be very happy together.

But here it is. I would love to create a secondary character that has his problems that are both sad, ridiculous and hilarious at the same time. For one thing, he has a serious phobia. Peas. He can’t look at them, eat them, see other people eating them. He says his three older sisters used to taunt him by lining peas up outside his bedroom door so that he couldn’t come out. The sisters all have their own idiosyncrasies, as does the father of the family. He lives with my son-in-law, who is his full-time carer. I won’t go there, even though he’s doubly interesting – it’s all far too complicated. As is the fact that my son-in-law [and I’m oddly very fond of him, despite all his idiosyncrasies] must telephone one of his sisters every evening and they talk for at least an hour – about what Heaven only knows.

So, a secondary character in the making and I can’t wait to ‘create’ him in one of my books. He claims he hasn’t read any of the twenty-plus books I’ve written, but this week I allowed him to read the first rough draft of FORBIDDEN, which I’m at present working on. I’ve never done this before, so I held my breath and kept everything crossed, because he’s pretty outspoken at times. He said he enjoyed it and was fascinated to know what ‘Lizzie’s secret’ was. Lizzie is one of my secondary characters and not terribly interesting - yet. He was most frustrated when I wouldn’t tell him and spent the next hour or two trying to trick me into revealing Lizzie’s secret. I told him he would find out when he read the published book. And, of course, the clue is in the title – for all the characters’ ‘secrets’.

Yes, it was a fascinating and inspiring few days. 

Now, I’m ready to start Chapter Three of FORBIDDEN, when I may or may not reveal Lizzie’s secret – but not to the son-in-law!

Gravedigging 101 from the back of the Steakhouse by G.L. Rockey

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Spending my summer vacation in Cleveland, my sperm-father, Jim Marsico, had the chutzpah to come to Jim’s Steak House.

Let me explain.

Shortly after I had turned eleven, school out for summer break, my non-sperm-father, Ray Rockey–five six, medium build, receding black hair slicked back and parted on the left–the owner of Cleveland’s then  popular restaurant, Jim’s Steak House, had me, on a bright summer  morning, outside washing the canopy over his restaurant’s front entrance. I'm up on a seven-foot stepladder with  brush and bucket of water scrubbing away when I notice a green car pull into Jim’s Steak House parking lot and stop. After a few seconds, out of the car steps a man dressed in casual military uniform––long sleeve tan shirt, tan pants, black shoes–walking toward me.

The man getting closer, I recognize him from–when I was a few years younger, a couple meetings, photos in a scrapbook, all that–it's my sperm father, Jim Marsico.

Smiling, he waves, steps closer, says, “Hello, hi, how are ya” something like that.

I  climb down from the ladder, we shake hands, blah blah blah for a few minutes and out of the Steak House front door appears Jim Marsico’s ex (now married to my step father, Ray Rockey) my mother, Evelyn Rose–slim, forty-four, brunet, former waitress. Smiling, she and my sperm father exchange airport-screener type greetings.

Greetings over, we three go inside the restaurant and sit at a four top (that’s a table that seats four) window table.

Yak yak and shortly thereafter, my non-sperm father, Ray, shows up.

Introduction, more airport screener greetings, Ray sits with us, five or so minutes of yak yak pass and a girl (Jim’s Steak House called the all female food servers, “girls.”) comes to the table, smiles demurely, leans over and whispers something in my mother’s ear.

Anxious look from my mother, she excuses herself, and leaves.

My mother gone, we three “boys” yak some more (mostly Jim Marsico and Ray) and in around a few minutes later my mother, pale as a virgin ghost, comes back to the four-top table, sits where she had sat before, and, exchanging irritable-bile-syndrom glances, she says to my sperm father, “Aunt Hilda is upstairs having a cow. You gotta get out-a here, now.” She didn't really say that, she said, nice as can be, “Aunt Hilda is very upset, you’ll have to leave.”

So you’ll know, Aunt Hilda, eyes and ears everywhere, is my step father, Ray Rockey’s aunt, owns Jim’s Steak House.

So you’ll also know, after Ray’s mother (Hilda’s sister) died when Ray was just a tike, Aunt Hilda gained custody from Ray’s father, became his guardian, made him manager of Jim’s Steak House when he was twenty something.

As to Aunt Hilda upstairs having a cow; she lives in an apartment above the Steak House. Her first husband, James Kerkles, who founded the restaurant umpteen years ago, died when he was fifty something. Shortly thereafter, Aunt Hilda sole owner of Jim’s Steak House, married the head of a local construction company, Frank Paul Mercurio who, among other things, dug holes all around Cleveland.

Anyway, back to Aunt Hilda having a cow.  

Didn’t take a jackeroffer to figure it out–my sperm father was in her restaurant, sitting at one of her restaurant tables, drinking coffee out of one of her cups, chatting with her daughter-in-law, his ex-wife, my mother, Evelyn Rose, and me. Not to mention, my step father, Ray, joining in.

Anyway, after an awkward whew moment, my sperm father's gone, I went back outside to my ladder and bucket; Ray went back to doing whatever he was doing in the back-of-the-house (that’s restaurant talk for the kitchen area), and Evelyn Rose went upstairs to calm Aunt Hilda.

###

What you just read is autobiographical, a kind of prelude to my non- fiction book FROM THE BACK OF THE HOUSE-MEMORIES OF A STEAK HOUSE CLAN. A revised updated second edition GRAVE DIGGING 101 is to be released by BWL in the not to distant future.

G.L. Rockey

www.glrockey.com