Joseph Carrabis, Author Blog – Page 211 – Quite the Life (and all in Times New Roman 10pt!)

What if Today is The Day You Make Oceans?

Make oceans form.

A favorite anecdote of mine is this:

A friend’s daughter is a concert oboist. No one else in the family ever demonstrated any penchant for music. One day he asked her what caused her to pursue music with such determination.
She said that when she was a child – she thought maybe three or four years old – the family went on a trip and met a friend of her father’s in a restaurant. She remembers that she was fidgeting because her mother kept telling her to sit still while her father and his friend talked.
This friend asked the waitress for an extra straw. He took out a pocketknife and made a few cuts in it, then put it to his lips and started playing music with it like it was a flute.
Real music. Tunes you could recognize.
He then gave her the straw and said, “Here you go. Play me some music so I can go to sleep when I get back to my hotel.”
She said she didn’t remember who the friend was but did remember that his ability to take a common soda straw and turn it into a musical instrument was magic to her. True magic and she never forgot it.
It’s also what caused her to pursue music the way she did, because she wanted to give others that kind of magic.
That friend was me. I’d been making musical instruments out of straws since I was a bored kid in a restaurant and had to ask my dad to borrow his pocketknife.
But what her story taught me is that we can never know how much the slightest act of kindness – or cruelty – will affect another’s life.

Continue reading “What if Today is The Day You Make Oceans?”

One Hen, Two Chucks

It’s tough being an ignored Young Turk(ey)

Okay, so they’re names are really Bert and Larry.

Remember Gladys? Remember my she was an advance scout? Or maybe she just got tired of all the gobbling?

Not quite accurate.

She got tired of all the testosterone.

There was Gladys, merrily prancing through our yard, munching and mensching with the other Old Ones, then voobah, Bert and Larry show up.

She ignores them.

You should see the look on their faces when she does. There they are, strutting their stuff for all to see, and she’s all “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

I’m so glad I’ve found the love of my life. No more courting. No more prancing. No more fluffing, strutting, whatever.

As a joke, I strutted for a neighbor, Debbie. We sometimes walk our dogs together in the morning. She mentioned seeing two Toms in our backyard and I did a good 100ft riff on Turkey machismo. Debbie laughed so hard she almost dropped the leash.

So much for me strutting, huh?

Say hello to Bert and Larry, folks.

Backcover Copy

Positioning, Priming, and the Importance of Backcover Copy

A recent Goodreads discussion asked “How do you like your scifi / fantasy?”

I responded “Well written.” A friend responded “Artesian or wishing?” I responded “Ah, to have a thirst for the magical.” Someone else responded, “Either way…DEEP.”

I followed that up with another response. It’s gone. Not sure why it got removed. I launched off the concept of “DEEP” because I’m told my writing is “deep” and “definitely not fluff.” Some readers wonder if I’m capable of writing “fluff.” “Even your short stories are deep.”

Gable Smiled – the first 10 pages, anyway – are being read by a professional actor at Concord’s Hatbox Theater at the end of this month (read the version being read here). Part of that process involves having the material evaluated by the producer.

The producer and I talked on the phone, and I received a DOC file with comments; this character wasn’t described, the environment wasn’t described, the background wasn’t described, … These comments confused me. The main characters are described. So is the environment, the background situation, the this, the that. I’ve had many first readers tell me the story’s great, when can they get more, so on and so forth. I’ve also had people tell me they don’t get it, the story makes no sense to them.

And then the producer said “There’s a lack of a reader entry points into the story.”

When in Doubt, Examine the Audience
I had no middle-of-the-road responses. Strange, that.

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The Lonely Oak (a Tale of the Woods)

You understand, don’t you? It’s magic, after all.

Once upon a time, in a land almost too far away, there lived a tall, glorious oak. It wasn’t odd at all that a tall, glorious oak should live in this land for this land was a Woods. But this Woods wasn’t like any woods or forests you’ve ever seen before. Here the animals talked and flowers flew and trees moved wherever they needed. This was a magical Woods, unlike most others.

You understand, don’t you? It’s magic, after all.

This tall oak watched all around her. She wasn’t old as oaks go in years, but she was a wise oak just the same. She had been an oak all her life. And all her life she had seen things in the Woods. Good things and bad things, sad things and glad things. And everything she saw she held deep inside, deep where the blood of trees flows from the roots in the ground to the high crown of leaves that brace the sky.

One of the things she’d seen often was the love of others for the trees around her. This made her glad. “Someday,” she thought, “someone will come and love me.”

She waited for some time, through many seasons in fact. But no one came. Many came through the Woods where she lived and spread her leaves, but all that came seemed to prefer the shade of other trees. The tall oak watched this and wondered, “Is there something wrong with my leaves? Or my bark? Perhaps I don’t shade the world as I might?”

None of this was true of course. The oak’s leaves were among the most beautiful in the Woods. Her bark was clean and smooth and ran straighter than many other trees. Her shade was a peaceful relief to the small creatures that sought shelter under her.

It’s magic, after all.

But all this wonderful oak saw was the scores of others resting under other trees. “Perhaps I’m too tall a tree?”

And so, despite the fact that she was a beautiful oak, she let her boughs drop to her sides and twisted her trunk slightly, trying to make herself smaller in the Woods.

One Turkey, Two Turkeys, Three Turkeys, Four

Advance…Turkey…I guess

Okay, so far just one; Gladys.

Gladys has been coming around the past few days. Every year, as Spring approaches, we’ll have a single Turkey come by.

We think the single turkey – this year it’s Gladys – is an advance scout. Maybe an advance guard.

But then again, Turkeys. She could’ve simply tired of all the other hen’s gobbling – it’s turkey gossip, you know, all that gobbling. And the things they say! – and needed some time by herself.

Whatever, Gladys has been stopping by, inspecting our yard, making sure the proper amount of seed is available, making sure all the other Old Ones are playing nice, keeping things sorted. One year Agnes aka The Aginator aka The Turkinator literally patrolled the yard. Whenever there was a wildlife skirmish, she was right in there keeping the peace.

And Turkey forbid someone should near her private pile of seed. Chippie War Dance time, that.

We’re making sure Gladys gives our yard her claw of approval.

One can never have too many Turkeys, you know.

Say hello to Gladys, folks.