Aaron Paul Lazar

2009-11-13T06:24:00.001-05:00

It’s over.

No longer will I hold my arms open and welcome you to my home as “friend,” waiting for your eyes to bore into me and squash me to the ground.

No longer will I seat you in my room of treasures, wondering if you’ll ever notice the soft patina of the cherry wood, or comment on the colors so carefully blended, or the subtle beauty of the cherished Oriental handed down by ancestors long lost while you gloat about your friend’s lovely homes.

No longer will I pour you a glass of my best wine–hoping it bears up under your scrutiny–and gently place it beside you while you vomit your latest accomplishment as I smile and listen and… grovel.

I hate that about myself, but I was raised to be polite. But damn it, you never stop talking.

Nor will I listen to your long list of accomplishments or acquisitions, feeling belittled and betrayed by your absence of empathy. Do you ever detect that flicker of annoyance in my eyes? That glazed-over “help me” expression?

Of course not. You don’t look at me. You hold your wine in those long brown fingers and talk about yourself while your own dark eyes glow in appreciation of your own words.

Do you ever notice how much you talk? How I sit and nod and say the appropriate things to each of your new revelations? How I try to squeeze in a sentence or two and am immediately ground under your wheels in your constant games of one-up-manship?

No longer will I be forced to bear your words responding to my latest decision to try something–anything–instead of wallowing in this land of no-one-wants-me. Never is my new-found passion the "right thing for me," the appropriate interest, the proper fit.

Yet, when I try to force you to listen by gently prodding you, kidding you, making you take notice of my latest interest–you chide me and say you’re surprised I hadn’t learned about this when I lived in Boston 30 years ago, where everyone was doing it. Your knowledge in the field is deep and well renowned. So you say. Once again, I am belittled. Once again, I plunge into an abyss of worthlessness.

When I discover an interest in working with the disabled, you frown and say I haven’t the skills. “Who would hire you? You have no experience.” You toss out your own dalliances in the field as cavalierly as you can, bragging about famous connections. No, you find fault with it all, and tell me with tongue in cheek that maybe I should try… being an author.

Damn, that stings.

I mention my newest book, a saucy expression crosses your face and you say with near distain I liked your first book better, when everyone else disagrees.

Your words seem to matter, cut deeper, than all the praise in the world. Why?

Still, I hand you signed copies of all my novels. You never offer to pay for them, even when you stop by to pick one up to give to a friend. And when I mention the price, your eyebrows shoot to the moon, as if shocked I actually would charge you, my privileged friend. So I back down and donate it, once again.

You frown at me for not being a best-selling author yet, and tell me about your friends who are. You say, “You need national coverage,” as if I haven’t been trying for years to get there, to sell a hundred thousand books in a year. You show me hardcover books with jackets and gold printing and say, “that’s how your books should appear,” as if I WANT my books forever released in trade paperback.

You show up unannounced, and expect me to stop dinner, or playtime with grandkids, or my outdoor projects, to stand and nod my head and say, “Wow,” with every new announcement, for grueling hours at a time.

Yet I call you friend. Yet I know you believe you’re doing me a favor by granting me the privilege of your experience and advice. And yet tonight, I don’t care.

Of course that’s a lie. I hate myself for being your doormat. I hate it worse than the rejection I got yesterday from Home Depot. And I hate it more than being a scientist with years of brilliant discoveries, elegant solutions, with scores of patents lining my walls. Overqualified, undervalued.

That’s me.

I care so much it woke me up tonight and made me walk outside to the barn.

When you stand at my grave, will you bow your head in a knowing fashion and say, “I knew he was fragile?”

Will you have regrets?

Or will you find another patsy to call your friend?

I’ll never send this, because it’s over. And like I said, I was raised better than that.

Sweet relief now rests in my grasp, ready to free me from the failures, but especially from you.

I snap the bristled rope in my hands, testing it to see if it will hold, and glance at the beam overhead.

The swallows make unsettled noises in their nests. They probably wouldn’t hold up to your inspection either.

***

Okay, now let me explain. ;o)

At a recent “career conference” I took a seminar in communication entitled “The Three Deadly Sins: what not to do in a job interview.” It actually didn’t have all that much to do with job hunting, but it was a fascinating session where I bumped into dozens of past colleagues who like me, are still searching for work. It got me thinking about misinterpretations and misunderstandings, and somehow brought me to the idea of letting emotions enlarge to outlandish proportions, and using them to drive a plot.

I worried and wondered about some of the folks I met, especially those who seemed rather fragile. If I–a normally confident guy who had always seen the glass as half full–could be occasionally be reduced to someone who feels worthless during this difficult job hunting time–then what would happen to them? Armed with new intentions to stay in touch and help them along the way, my writer’s mind wandered in not-so-pleasant directions.

I pictured some without family or friends, and how hard it would be to stay upbeat if you were alone. I blended ideas of snippets heard at the conference. One fellow–a scientist–had mentioned being rejected for a job at Home Depot. My heart went out to him, because I’d just applied to Wegmans earlier that week.

Then I read S.W. Vaughn’s letter from her character, Gabriel. While it was tongue-in-cheek and totally delicious, it prompted me to want to write something in that format, especially after getting really ticked off at a guy who calls himself my friend.

I’ve also become enamored in recent times of the use of repetition in writing and played around with it a bit here.

This is what came out. Sometimes it’s fun to let your imagination run a bit rampant.

Will it turn into my next novel? I’m not sure.

(And don’t worry. I’m not holding a rope in my hands.)

***

www.legardemysteries.com
www.mooremysteries.com
www.murderby4.blogspot.com
www.pureoils.blogspot.com
www.aaronlazar.younglivingworld.com
www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com

2009-11-04T15:34:00.001-05:00

Goodbye to Headaches

I've suffered from headaches all of my adult life. They're ranged from daily morning headaches that seemed to come from the sinus area, to sharp, knee-buckling migraines that could only be assuaged by sleep. I remember lying on my pillow in a darkened room while Dale tried to keep the little ones quiet downstairs... the noise of my head rubbing against the pillow fabric was torture.

Driving often precipitated a headache, and of course loud television sound tracks were guaranteed to get me going. But most of all, I woke every morning (or in the middle of the night) with throbbing headaches that wouldn't go away.

After suffering for years, and after dealing with my family's more severe health issues that always took the forefront (MS, childhood development issues, teen rebellion issues, etc.) I finally saw a headache specialist.

He prescribed a very strong medicine that had pretty scary side effects. (heart related risks) But I was desperate, so I tried it. I remember him saying it would "get worse before it got better" each time you took it. Driving to work one sunny morning, I took a dose when a headache hit. The head pain grew almost intolerable, then backed off a little. The headache didn't go away completely, and I got very sick to my stomach.

I tried it a few more times, then got so fed up I went to the market and bought and over the counter solution. Advil, blue liquid capsules. I figured if it was over the counter, it couldn't be too bad for you, right? After all, it was just a liquid, too, which should pass through my stomach easily and not cause ulcers or anything. Right? Hmm. Read on.

The Advil helped immediately! Pain was gone and I was thrilled. I started taking it automatically every morning (2 pills) and sometimes two at noon and two at night. I'd take it in the middle of the night to resolve the headaches that woke me up, and it worked. By golly, it worked! It was cheap, and it worked!

Then I saw my doctor for something totally unrelated - a badly strained back. I'd never mentioned the Advil to him, since it was "over the counter" and it was already helping the headaches. Why bother? But this time he recommended an ibuprofen type drug to help the swelling. I told him I'd already increased my Advil to help the pain, but it hadn't helped much. I was taking six Advil a day.

He looked at me with those gentle eyes of his that suddenly grew wary. "How long have you been taking it?"

"Ten years. But not this much. Usually I just take two in the morning and sometimes during the day."

"Every single day?"

"Pretty much."

It was then that reality hit, square between the eyes. He said I was at high risk for developing bleeding ulcers, and that he'd sent many people to the ER who almost died from such because of taking too much aspirin or Advil. He told me I was probably having "rebound" headaches from the Advil, and that my body reacted with headaches when I didn't take it.

Frankly, I didn't believe the rebound bit, but he scared the heck out of me with the stomach ulcer warning. So I stopped. Cold turkey. And I had two weeks of solid head pain.

Eventually, the daily headaches lessened. Some days I didn't have any. But they still showed up and I had to simply tough it out. He was right about the rebound, but the Tylenol he suggested as a solution didn't cut the pain in the least.

So I suffered. Until last spring, when I was waiting to get my hair cut at Lisa Marie's Hair Salon in Livonia, NY. In the middle of reading a newspaper article, I sat straight up in my seat. A scent had wafted over to me from Lisa's station - something so powerful and pleasant and uplifting that I couldn't stay put. I wandered over to her (how bold was that?!?) and asked her what it was. On her table she had a collection of little brown bottles with colorful labels on them. She lifted one to me and let me sniff. Then she put a little on my hand and rubbed it in. I think it was the Thieves blend of essential oils (cloves, cinammon, lemon, rosemary, eucalyptus radiata), or maybe the Christmas Spirit blend (cloves, orange, spruce). I can't remember now. All I remember is that I was attracted to this stuff like a character in a cartoon. It was as if I lifted off the ground and floated toward it, then inhaled it like an aphrodisiac or a drug! While she cut my hair she told me about her personal experiences with the oils, how the Peace and Calming blend had helped her little son focus better in the classroom (verified by his teacher, who didn't know what Lisa had tried), and about her brother who'd been in a horrible accident, and how the oils had helped relieve his pain where no other meds could. And so much more.

I was both intrigued and skeptical. I wanted to learn more, to be sure it wasn't some kind of scam product. I soon learned that these little bottles of oil were supremely legit - used by the Beth Israel hospital to treat patients and by many other fine physicians around the world. They are purely organic and from the earth. Nature's bounty, carefully processed with the highest quality standards and organically produced. I fell in love with the oils, bought a starter kit with nine bottles (Peppermint, Lavender, Lemon, Frankincense, Purification, Thieves, Valor, Panaway, and Peace and Calming) and started to experiment to see what they'd do for me and my family.

That's when Peppermint Oil became a major part of my life. I learned that in addition to its many other properties (see list below), it was known to relieve headache pain. I applied a couple of drops to the nape of my neck, to my temples, and across my forehead - but not too close to my eyes, as this stuff is VERY concentrated and can make your eyes water. One drop of peppermint oil is a s strong as TWENTY cups of peppermint tea.

In less than ten minutes, my headache simply vanished. The relief lasted a few hours. I reapplied, and the same thing happened. I started to get all nervous because I was afraid to get too excited about something that affected such a huge problem. How could this work? Why would it work? I researched like mad, and found the whole essential oils story to be steeped in history - from ancient Egyptian practices to those mentioned in the Bible. Eastern cultures have used them for years, taking the goodness from plants, trees, and shrubs and using them to treat all sorts of conditions. I wore my peppermint into a Thai restaurant, and one of the servers, of Chinese heritage, said it smelled just like the "Chinese medicine" (oil) her family uses to rub on the forehead for headaches!

So it wasn't new. It just wasn't widely embraced *yet* but our Western world.

I don't go anywhere without my peppermint anymore. I just ordered two more 15ml bottles to be sure I don't run out. I keep it by my bedside, in the kitchen, in my car, and in my pocket. One bottle does last a long time, but now that I've found such a super solution I want it available all the time.

I've tried it on my cousin - her headache went away. My mom wanted to try it on her sciatica. I was skeptical that it would help, but now she sleeps every night pain free. She figured that one out on her own and just bought another bottle of it! She also says a dab of it on her forehead keeps the gnats away when she's gardening. She lives near a swamp and has TONS of those pesky things. I've met other oil lovers now (at expos and conventions) who have similar stories, accounts of peppermint (and the other oils) working wonders in their lives. My life has changed dramatically now, and everywhere I go, I suggest a different oil or combination to my friends. I guess you could say I'm newly obsessed, but in a good way.

And yes. I'm going to write a book about it!

***

I'm not a doctor. I don't claim that peppermint will work for everyone's headaches. But it's worth a try. If you're interested in getting a kit or a single bottle, here's my website:

http://aaronlazar.younglivingworld.com

(note: there's no "www" in the address!)

P.S. If you're interested, I recommend you sign up as a "distributor." I did. There's no pressure or obligation, you just get your future oil purchases at 24% off retail if you do. And then, if you fall for them like I did, you can share them with your friends at the same discount. (you also make a little money yourself for selling them, it's a legitimate business that many people actually make a very good living on!) Sort of like Avon products, but for your health and home. :o)

***

Here's a list of ways folks have used peppermint in the past:

o PEPPERMINT - (Mentha piperita) is one of the oldest and most highly regarded herbs for soothing digestion. Jean Valnet, M.D., studied peppermint's effect on the liver and respiratory systems. Dr. William N. Dember of the University of Cincinnati studied peppermint's ability to improve concentration and mental accuracy. Alan Hirsch, M.D., studied peppermint's ability to directly affect the brain's satiety center, which triggers a sense of fullness after meals. Peppermint is grown and distilled at the Young Living Farms.

· Put a drop of Peppermint on your tongue and/or one under your nose to increase alertness and concentration-very helpful if you're starting to feel tired when driving!

· Rub 4-6 drops over your stomach and around your navel to relieve indigestion.

· Add a drop of Peppermint oil to water or herbal tea to relieve heartburn or nausea.

· Massage several drops of Peppermint oil on an area of joint or muscle injury to reduce inflammation (around, but not directly on, an open wound).

· Rub several drops of Peppermint oil on the bottoms of your feet to reduce fever.

· Apply a drop of Peppermint oil topically on unbroken skin to stop itching.

· Inhale Peppermint oil before and during a workout to boost your mood and reduce fatigue.

· To relieve a headache rub a drop of Peppermint oil on your temples, forehead, over the sinuses (stay away from the eyes) and/or on the back of your neck.

· Diffuse Peppermint oil in the room while studying to improve concentration and accuracy; then inhale Peppermint oil while taking a test to improve recall.

· Place a drop of Peppermint oil on your tongue, or put a drop in your palm or on a tissue and simply inhale the aroma to relieve congestion from a cold or sinus problem.

· Add Peppermint oil to food as a flavoring and a preservative.

· To deter rats, mice, ants or cockroaches, smear a few drops of Peppermint oil along their path or point of entry to deter them.

· To kill aphids add 4-5 drops of Peppermint oil to 4 ounces of water and spray the plants.

· Drink a drop of Peppermint oil mixed in a glass of cold water to cool off on a hot day.

· Place a drop of Peppermint oil on the tongue to stop bad breath.

· Inhale the fragrance of Peppermint oil to curb the appetite and lessen the impulse to overeat.

2009-09-30T20:09:00.003-04:00

Review for Struck, by Keith Pyeatt, reviewed by Aaron Paul Lazar

Title: Struck

Author: Keith Pyeatt

Publisher: Quest Books

Publisher Addresses:

ISBN number: 978-1935053-17-0

Price: $19.95

Publisher website: http://http://www.regalcrest.biz

The books I count among my favorites are those whose well-drawn characters linger with me for days, or even weeks. They are the stories that rise above the norm, whose scenes are painted with such skill that I feel a deep sense of place, and suffer a bit of separation anxiety when I approach the last page and realize it’s almost over. Struck, Keith Pyeatt’s debut paranormal thriller, was such a book.

It’s been two weeks since I finished the book, and Barry Andrews, Pyeatt’s protagonist, still haunts me. Barry’s life was preordained the minute his mother was struck by lightning when he lay curled in her womb. And when lightning finds him again at Albuquerque’s Petroglyph National Monument, a series of predestined events are put into motion. The energy now stored within this likeable young man stir powers unimagined.

Against a backdrop of ancient pueblo ruins, slumbering volcanoes that unpredictably awaken, and bizarre disturbances in Chaco Canyon, Pyeatt introduces characters with great depth and a subtle touch of humor. After being struck, Barry begins to notice bizarre effects. His palm, now marked by a symbol that pulses electric blue on occasion, helps him connect to other souls and carries messages to him about their sadness or fate. He knows when someone is about to die, and can help them peel the layers of pain away so they’re free to move on to the next world. Sleep eludes him, and while he stumbles through his job in a daze, strange sensations continue to build within him.

Inexplicably drawn to Native American tribal elder Walter, Barry is invited into his mystical world, from the village of Amitolita where Walter and his wife live, to kivas in the Amitole Pueblo, to ceremonies in a sweat lodge where sage is strewn across the floor and piñon-infused water is boiled to scatter on hot stones to create cleansing steam. Pyeatt’s writing style is easy to swallow, yet innovative with strong poetic influences.

“It only took a moment until he got the sensation of being folded into a deep mixture of past and present that carried him far away from the kiva, far away from his body. He was cocooned somewhere, safe and warm and dark, yet all around him dozens of individual battles raged. Barry only sensed them, but it was enough to recognize their struggles. Life fought death, winter resisted spring, and chaos tugged at order.”

The story plunges ahead, and we discover tribal elder Walter spent time training and working with Thomas Maguire, a browbeaten young man raised by a forceful, cruel grandfather. The tribal elder was driven to “prepare” this young man for a yet unnamed climatic event seen only in his spirit-visions, yet doubts have been mounting about the validity of Thomas as the earth’s savior. The future holds something monstrous and potent, and Walter realizes he plays an integral role in its outcome.

When a bizarre power transfer ceremony based on Anasazi’s ancient history drives supernatural powers into Thomas’s being, he gradually turns from a man with a tumultuous and fragile psyche who simply needs to be loved, into a monster. Walter reluctantly recognizes this, and transfers his focus to Barry, the true warrior he’s been waiting for all his life. Jealousy pushes Thomas further from his true nature, building inside him with an uncontrollable black force. Destiny calls for a showdown between Barry and Thomas, and the book rockets toward a surprising culmination.

Several of Pyeatt’s characters are gay, and the author paints them with professional, loving brush strokes. Barry’s sidekick Martin, an overweight waiter at Los Cuates Mexican restaurant, is diagnosed with a life threatening heart condition that leads to a torturous diet. Loveable and real, Martin becomes a clear favorite from the start and plays an important supporting role.

The story and characters are mesmerizing, but it was actually the writing that made me sit up and take notice:

“Pain pierced his lungs, as if the air he breathed had alchemized into something powdery and rough, toxic and thirsty. The agony spread. He couldn’t stop it. Every cell in his body pulled at the poison, needing it, expecting it to provide oxygen as before.”

See what I mean? Keith Pyeatt’s books are available through all bookstores, including Amazon.com, or purchase autographed copies via his website.

***

Aaron Paul Lazar writes to soothe his soul. The author of LeGarde Mysteries and Moore Mysteries savors the countryside in the Genesee Valley in upstate New York, where his characters embrace life, play with their dogs and grandkids, grow sumptuous gardens, and chase bad guys. Visit his websites at www.legardemysteries.com and www.mooremysteries.com and watch for Healey’s Cave, the debut book in the new paranormal Moore Mysteries series, coming in April 2010 from Twilight Times Books.

Double Forté is the founding book of the LeGarde Mystery series and was released in November, 2004. Upstaged followed in October, 2005. Lazar’s third, Tremolo: cry of the loon, was released via Twilight Times Books in November 2007. Mr. Lazar is currently working on his fourteenth book, Don’t Let the Wind Catch You. The fifth book in the LeGarde Mystery series, Firesong: an unholy grave, is scheduled for 2010 release. He is a regular columnist for FMAM (Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine), Mysteryfiction.net and has been published in Great Mystery and Suspense magazine and the Absolute Write Newsletter. Contact him at: aaron.lazar@yahoo.com, visit his Writer’s Digest Best 101 websites blog at murderby4.blogspot.com, aaronlazar.blogspot.com, aplazar.gather.com, or stop by his websites at www.legardemysteries.com and www.mooremysteries.com.

2009-09-21T18:56:00.004-04:00

Wyoming Writes - Face to Face with Writers

You recognize this picture, right? Or at least the guy in it? That's because I'm all over the web, and co-owner of this blog. So I probably look a bit familiar.

But how many of us have met in person? Face to face? Breathing the same air?

My writerly life is full of people I adore, but most of them are a voice on the computer (or phone) and an image on my screen. I feel as if I know them intimately - at least my closest friends - and would be able to pick up a conversation in a snap if and when we meet in real life. I have had the distinct pleasure of meeting S.W. Vaughn at a book signing in Syracuse. We clicked immediately and I knew we would.

Of course these online friends are "real". And the fact that I don't get to physically meet with them is okay. But last night, for the first time in my writing life, I joined a Writers Group and went face to face with other writers.

I was very hesitant. I had no knowledge of their writing skills. Would they all be amateurs and ask me to critique their books? Not that there's ANYTHING wrong with amateurs. Heck, we all were amateurs at one point in our lives. And I do help fledgling writers all the time. But I knew in advance that I wouldn't be able to take on that kind of a work load. Hell, I have to turn down my online writer friends all the time. Would they ask me to read and review their books? As many of you know, I fit in just a few mysteries per year and struggle to get those reviews written up within 3-6 months. I wish I could do them all, but then I wouldn't be a writer, I'd be a reviewer. ;o)

On the other hand, this stupid brain of mine worried I that maybe they'd be all highbrow super academics who would look down on my mystery series. I'd read them a chapter from my WIP and they'd exchange looks of amused tolerance. Or worse. Tell me all the things they thought are horribly wrong with it. I'm open to critiques, but I was afraid of being ripped to shreds. Yeah, even after publishing four books, writing fourteen, and getting lots of great praise and reviews. I was still nervous. I don't think I'll ever outgrow the fear of being "exposed" as a horrible writer in front of academics. LOL.

Wayne, one of my old friends from Kodak showed up the other day. I hadn't seen him in ten years, and there he was on my doorstep. I was thrilled, as I'd been missing my old pals at Kodak more and more. Wayne's now a journalist for a local paper, and he urged me to attend the Wyoming Writes group as well as do an interview for his paper. He'd been wanting to check out the group himself, and thought he'd write an article about it for his paper.

So, with trepidation rolling around in my brain, I dressed up nice casual clothes and took off for Perry, New York. The bookstore where the group meets is called Burlingham Books. It's a beautiful little shop on what I call Main Street USA - a lovely historic village not far from Letchworth State Park. Wayne and I got there early, did the interview, and waited as folks started to arrive.

All my fears were completely ungrounded. The people - Tanya, Deb M, Deb S, Cindy, the Scribbler, Mr. Newton, and Wayne, were welcoming and supportive. They were mature writers who had stories and work to share. We listened to a chapter about a small country church, quirky poems, poems that painted luscious imagery, and a frank and hilarious opening to a book of memoirs. All were well done and simply delightful. I read the first chapter to Don't Let the Wind Catch You, and to my joy, the folks enjoyed it and wanted to know what happens next. :o) Always a nice sign!

After an hour of reading and sharing, we took a "field trip" to a local art gallery where a delightful assortment of paintings and watercolors were on display. We each chose a piece that "spoke" to us, and had fifteen minutes to write. On other writers' sites I've joined we called this flash fiction. You might call it postcard fiction. But whatever, it was a ball. When we were done, each writer shared his creation as we stood in front of the painting and listened. I've gotta tell you, these works were amazing.

My choice was a gorgeous watercolor. A blue vase with red/pink poppies and iris, by Sandra Tyler. This camera shot doesn't do it justice by any means, but it is truly vibrant and lustrous.

Here's what I wrote in my fifteen minutes. Now don't laugh, it's not polished or anything. And in spite of the beauty of the painting, my mind turned to mystery.

What else?

Blue with Flowers by Sandra Tyler

Celeste placed the vase on the table and dropped into the chair beside it. She’d picked her mother’s poppies before, but today was different. Today her mother lay – not in the cot beside her – but beneath the ground.

The salmon poppies were the color of her mother’s favorite sweater, a fuzzy number that
Celeste now wore, wrapped tight around her thin chest. She touched the fragile petals, and couldn’t help compare it with the feel of her mother’s soft cheeks. Cheeks that had sunk deeper and deeper against her bones in the past months. Cheeks that became concave, but which still cradled a smile when her mother’s thin lips curved into a ribbon of delight. Cheeks that Celeste now saw in the mirror, reflected back at her.

She’d inherited more than just her looks from her mother. Her stubborn nature, her love of cupcakes, and her passion for all things pink had clearly sprung from the genetic well that was Mom. Dad had given her the bright red hair. But not much else.

She wished he’d come to the funeral today. At least to make things look normal. Where was he? Off with on a dalliance with a rich bimbo? At the casino? Searching for more unwitting victims?
Celeste knew what had happened. She watched her mother eat the oatmeal every morning. The oatmeal her father had prepared. And she knew. She just knew there had been something in it. Something not right.

Being ten was hard. Especially when your father murdered your mother.

***
LOL. Okay, so there it is. But the point is, if you haven't joined an in person writers group, give it a try. I'm hooked and will be attending every month.

And always remember, if you love to write, write like the wind!

***

Mazurka, the fourth book in the LeGarde Mystery series is now available through the author, in special pre-release copies. Email him at aaron.lazar@yahoo.com for details.

Visit Twilight Times Books for special deals Oct 1 - Nov 15th.

This year is the 10th anniversary of the founding of Twilight Times Books (1999) and the 5th year since we went to print (2004). Those are significant milestones. In celebration, Twilight Times Books will have a print book sale from Oct. 1st to Nov. 15th. Most titles will be offered to the general public at a 10 - 30% discount.

http://twilighttimesbooks.com/print_books101509sale.html For a limited time, and while quantities last, we are offering a 30% - 50% discount on selected titles.

http://twilighttimesbooks.com/print_books101509special.html

(one of the deals is: Buy Mazurka for $15.15 and get Tremolo for $10.15 (a 40% discount))

2009-09-06T19:27:00.004-04:00

Paradise, Part 3

copyright aaron paul lazar, 2009

As I’ve mentioned in the first two pieces on “Paradise,” my goal is to catalog the extraordinary experiences I’ve had since losing my job of twenty-eight years. Exploring that lustrous silver lining that comes with life traumas helps me stop feeling sorry for myself, so I’m doing my best to document things that never would have happened if I’d still been working at Kodak.

My engineering career was long and satisfying. Sadly, this week Kodak’s laying off another 20% of the few folks who are left in my old group. When my boss told me I was laid off last January, he said, “It’s the beginning of the end, Aaron.” I guess he was right. There are now less than 7,000 Kodak employees in Rochester, compared to the 60,000 that were there when I was hired in 1981. I’m struggling not to relive the unsettling feelings I experienced when it was my turn to be rejected. Er. I mean laid off. Of course, the actual term is “involuntary separation,” or “forced early retirement.” Except the powers to be messed with our retirement money when they sold us and bought us back from Heidelberg, so there’s no hope of actually retiring yet. God, I wish there were, with every fiber of my being. But such is life.

I hope to help my former colleagues as best I can in the weeks to come. Although I expected to have a great job by now, and to be able to bring in some of my former coworkers into the fold of a wonderful new company when they got the axe… Um… that hasn’t happened yet. But it will. So everyone tells me.

Frankly, I’m starting to wonder if anyone who’s 56 years old gets a good job. Sure doesn’t seem like it. And get this - I have more energy than both of my 24-year-old daughters put together, and dozens of productive years ahead of me. (Ahem. Any prospective employers listening?)

Okay, enough of this raving. The feelings are real, but it’s not very helpful to wallow.

If you remember, I introduced you to “Frank,” in Paradise Part 1, and “Bella” in Part 2. Today, in Part 3, I’m discussing a group of people who stole my heart. I plan to return to this magical place, frequently, when I retire for real.

(This photo was taken from an online collection. The expression on this man’s face is priceless!)

When I worked at Kodak I never had enough vacation. Much of it was spent taking family to doctors and trying to keep up with my gardens and chair caning business. Even five weeks a year didn’t cut it, so I never had time to take out to volunteer, though I’d always wanted to do it.

About a month ago my daughter invited me to volunteer at her summer job, a fine “day care” facility in Rochester, NY. I’m going to change the names of everyone – from the institution to the individuals – because I respect their privacy. I was honored to help out at this fine establishment that cares for and nurtures the artistic talents of disabled individuals.

Each year, this wonderful facility celebrates its clients by orchestrating a special “summer fest.” The theme this year was “Hollywood,” and each of the individuals was encouraged to dress up in costumes from Batman Costumes suits to Cinderella gowns. My job was to play “paparazzi” and take photos of them as they arrived via limo and walked down the red carpet we lovingly laid for them.

My heart leapt every time a new carload of people was delivered at the entrance. Whether they suffered from Down Syndrome, blindness, autism, muscular dystrophy, or a multitude of other conditions, they arrived dressed to the nines. Boas were flipped over saucy shoulders, bowties were straightened with pride, and hats were tilted in jaunty angles. The gals showed off prom gowns with sparkling tiaras, twirling around for the photos with such excitement that I couldn’t help cheer them on. The pride in their beautiful faces shone brighter than the sun that didn’t show up that morning.

Melanie introduced me to dozens of her “favorites,” and I fell for all of them. They displayed such innocence, pride, camaraderie, love of music/dance/art… they inspired the hell out of me and I honestly felt as if I’d made 50 new friends that day.

After a morning of helping out in the art, dance, and music rooms, we served lunch and helped carry trays for those who couldn’t manage. When everyone had feasted, we gathered for an assembly where awards were given out for most improved skills, and then various groups (blues band, musical theater, dance troupe, etc.) performed for their parents and the rest of us. Although I’ve witnessed many a performance in my day (thanks to Melanie’s love of theater and music), I must say I’ve never seen performers glow with such unparalleled pride.

I’ll tell you, after feeling a little sorry for myself because I haven’t found a job yet, the whole experience was humbling. Here were folks with what the rest of the world called “disabilities,” yet in their worlds, they hardly noticed. They had circles of friends, special sweethearts, and favorite teachers – just like in a “normal” school. And who the hell knows what normal is, anyway? Right?

I was privileged to meet Mona, a blind wheelchair-bound woman with speech difficulties. Yet this big hearted woman loves to sing, and asked Melanie every single day if she’d brought her guitar so they could go through their special playlist together. She held my hand when she sang her heart out, and her love of my dear daughter just about brought me to tears.

Then there was joyful Jordan, a young man crippled physically, but with a smile that warmed the room every time he entered, couldn’t wait to tell me how he played the drums. He was so proud of his skills that he practically burst.

Five or six teenaged girls with Down Syndrome all danced with their princess gowns, twirling around the dance hall with such abandon that I was reminded of prom night. There was no less joy, and certainly a lot less angst.

Tami wrote beautiful, sensitive poetry that broke my heart. We talked about writing, and I gave her some of my bookmarks. Thrilled to death, she asked about my books. I brought her a copy of one of my LeGarde Mysteries last week, and received one of the most enthusiastic hugs that I’ve had in a very long time.

Nahum wove lovely needlepoint on his quilting patches. I stared in amazement and complimented him on his skills. He received a special award for his hard work, and although he had to wheel up to the podium, he received thunderous applause from his peers.

Tony drew pictures so beautiful they sold for good money in local art venues. He loves to draw vertical strokes of mixed colors. I stood and stared at his work for a very long time. The subtle blends of hues were mesmerizing.

And Reggie, who never spoke before Melanie worked with him, insisted on saying “Hi,” and “Bye” when we left, tugging at her sleeve for attention. The enormity of the work she does with these people stunned and humbled me. Music therapy works, in ways I had never imagined.

This whole experience made me wish I could start all over, get a degree in therapy or social work, and devote my life to a cause much more meaningful than designing and testing high speed digital printers. If it weren’t for annoying things like paying for prescriptions and mortgages, I would do it in a heartbeat.

Maybe in my next life?

***

Preorder Aaron’s latest book, Mazurka, at Barnes and Noble for a significant discount!

Aaron Paul Lazar wasn’t always a mystery writer. It wasn’t until eight members of his family and friends died within five years that the urge to write became overwhelming. “When my father died, I lost it. I needed an outlet, and writing provided the kind of solace I couldn’t find elsewhere.”

Lazar created the Gus LeGarde mystery series, with the founding novel, DOUBLE FORTÉ (2004), a chilling winter mystery set in the Genesee Valley of upstate New York. Like Lazar’s father, protagonist Gus LeGarde is a classical music professor. Gus, a grandfather, gardener, chef, and nature lover, plays Chopin etudes to feed his soul and thinks of himself as a “Renaissance man caught in the 21st century.”

The creation of the series lent Lazar the comfort he sought, yet in the process, a new passion was unleashed. Obsessed with his parallel universe, he now lives, breathes, and dreams about his characters, and has written nine LeGarde mysteries in seven years. (UPSTAGED – 2005; TREMOLO:CRY OF THE LOON – 2007 Twilight Times Books; MAZURKA – 2009 Twilight Times Books, with more to come.)

One day while rototilling his gardens, Lazar unearthed a green cat’s eye marble, which prompted the new paranormal mystery series featuring Sam Moore, retired country doctor and zealous gardener. The green marble, a powerful talisman, connects all three of the books in the series, whisking Sam back in time to uncover his brother’s dreadful fate fifty years earlier. (HEALEY’S CAVE: A GREEN MARBLE MYSTERY, 2009; ONE POTATO, BLUE POTATO, 2010; FOR KEEPS, 2011) Lazar intends to continue both series.

Lazar’s books feature breathless chase scenes, nasty villains, and taut suspense, but are also intensely human stories, replete with kids, dogs, horses, food, romance, and humor. The author calls them, “country mysteries,” although reviewers have dubbed them “literary mysteries.”

“It seems as though every image ever impressed upon my brain finds its way into my work. Whether it’s the light dancing through stained-glass windows in a Parisian chapel, curly slate-green lichen covering a boulder at the edge of a pond in Maine, or hoarfrost dangling from a cherry tree branch in mid-winter, these images burrow into my memory cells. In time they bubble back, persistently itching, until they are poured out on the page.”

The author lives on a ridge overlooking the Genesee Valley in upstate New York with his wife, mother-in-law, and Cavipoo, Balto. Recent empty nesters, he and his wife are fixing up their 1811 antique home after twenty-five years of kid and puppy wear. He worked as an electrophotographic engineer at the Eastman Kodak Company, in Rochester, New York for 28 years, and plans to eventually retire to write full time.

Lazar maintains several websites and blogs, is the Gather Saturday Writing Essential host, writes his monthly “Seedlings” columns for the Voice in the Dark literary journal and the Future Mystery Anthology Magazine. He has been published in Absolute Write as well as The Great Mystery and Suspense Magazine. See excerpts and reviews here:

www.legardemysteries.com
www.mooremysteries.com
www.murderby4.blogspot.com
www.aplazar.gather.com
www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com

Contact him at aaron.lazar@yahoo.com.

2009-09-01T21:33:00.009-04:00

Paradise, Part 2

copyright Aaron Paul Lazar, 2009

Last week I told you that I was "born to be home, tending grandkids, working the land, cooking meals from the garden, and writing 'til my heart squeezes the last words onto the page." I said that this life without a day job is the dream-come-true, the life I've yearned for every single day for the past few decades. It's my heaven on earth, my own private nirvana, my paradise.

I also mentioned that I was starting to get nervous. After applying for 35 jobs, I've had one interview (just heard the job isn't mine) and one rejection (never got an interview). No calls, no emails. No nothing! If I'm not careful, I'll start to think I must've deluded Kodak for 27 years because they consistently gave me nice promotions and always said they loved my work. I have to stop myself mid-thought, because that's a shaky place to tread for the sometimes frail ego of a mid-fifties white male in a time of few jobs and gazillions of overqualified applicants.

So, in order to squelch the nerves that are trying to break through and mess up my happy place, I've decided to write about all the wonderful things that happened because Kodak got rid of me.

Last time we discussed my new friend, Frank. G. In Part 2, I'd like to share the joy of having more time to spend with my granddaughter, Isabella.

There she is. The little angel with the curl in the middle of her forehead. This thirteen-month-old-child is too good to be true. But maybe that's because she had such a tough entrance into the world, fraught with an emergency C section, almost not making it, and spending a week in the NICU. This baby sleeps 12-13 hours straight every night, takes a two hour morning nap and a two hour afternoon nap. She wakes with sweet smiles and a rosy blush on her peaches and cream skin. Okay, so maybe there's a stinky diaper thrown in there occasionally. But although my daughters ranged from what I thought were "easy" to "difficult" babies, I never knew what easy was. This child makes caring for her a breeze. Which is a good thing, since I often have her for days at a time and while I'm pretty damned energetic, I don't have the unlimited reserves I had in my twenties and thirties.

Bella is so easy to please! Bella loves cow or soy milk, and will happily drink water or juice. She eats all the garden produce I put in front of her with gusto: green beans, fresh tomatoes, watermelon, kale, beets, potatoes, blueberries...you name it, she'll eat them with unabashed enthusiasm. When she's done, she lifts her arms high above her head and somehow communicates that it's over. It's not a whine, or a screech. Just two syllable baby words that sound like "all done." She chatters like a magpie, in her own language, but on occasion we've been certain she said, "Trot, trot!" (a game we play bouncing her on knees), "dog," (we have two who love her and her mom has three), "Hi," and "Peekaboo." She hasn't said them a lot, but it was a treat to hear them for the first time and not have to get a call at work to tell me about it. Being there first hand certainly has its advantages.

Isabella started walking a few months ago, and now runs from person to person and place to place. And man, is she smart. I'm not just saying that because I'm her grandpa, but darn it, this girl is bright! We have a toy camera that makes clicking sounds like a real shutter. It lights up and says, "Smile!" But it takes a lot of pressure to push in the button, and her teensy little fingers aren't strong enough. She quickly learned to take MY hand, grab one of my fingers, and push my finger on the button whenever she wanted the toy to do its thing! Now she does this all the time, and even holds her own little wrist to help give herself strength on the tougher jobs. It cracks me up. But then again, I'm easily amused. She's got me enchanted. ;o)

Bella had her very own first "garden tour" with Papa a few weeks back. We sampled blueberries, red and black raspberries, gooseberries, jostaberries, and cherry tomatoes. She lowered her little mouth to my outstretched hand and ate berries off it as if she were a pony taking a sugar cube from my hand. And she carried a cucumber around with her for hour after that, gnawing on it. It probably felt good to her little gums where more teeth are pushing through.

We had our very first cooking session together, something her big brothers Julian and Gordie love to do. We picked lots of veggies, then she sat on my lap while I chopped and cooked. Of course I was super careful with the knife and put her in her high chair when I needed to get near the stove. She wasn't much interested in those things, anyway, since I kept her hands full of goodies. She loved the orange pepper, but her favorite was the cucumber. And believe it or not, this little girl loves eating fresh lemons! (just like me) There wasn't a grimace or a squinch of her eyes. She sucked those babies dry.

The most exciting discovery I've made about Bella is her passion for music, which thrills me, since my father was a music professor, my grandfather was a piano teacher, my daughter is a singer and music therapist, and my main character in the LeGarde Mysteries is a music professor as well.

As soon as she arrives for a visit, Bella runs for the piano, and starts pressing keys. Her great grandmother (my MIL) holds her on her lap and plays the Hungarian Rhapsody for her. I do the same, and Bella holds my two index fingers while we play chopsticks together. Okay, so I'm a little rusty on my Chopin waltzes... She has a peculiar way of asking for me to repeat the song, a sort of little jiggle and bounce with big eyes turned up at me. There's no doubt that it means, "Do it again!"

When daughter Melanie plays her guitar, Bella is fascinated. Unlike Bella's older brothers, who we helped raise, and who would have grabbed and broken the guitar strings in a boyish macho fit of excitement, she delicately strums the strings. It's similar to the way she gently taps the wind chimes on the porch and seems to delight in their sounds. When I used to lift Gordie up, he'd smash them with a fist and laugh at how they flip flopped all over. He didn't mean it to be an act of violence. He's just a boy. ;o

So, once again, thank you God (and Kodak) for freeing me up this summer. Thank you for the time I've had with my darling granddaughter, for the weeks of play and tenderness, for the first time I took her swimming in the pool and her little feet paddled so strong, for the strolls in the garden with Bella holding my finger toddling beside me, and for the time I've enjoyed when she got sleepy and lay her little head on my chest. I've grown so close to her, it hurts when she leaves.

***
So what's this got to do with writing?

Everything. It's life. And that's where stories come from. I'll end up using many of these observations as traits for Gus LeGarde's twin granddaughters (Celeste and Marion) and even for Sam Moore's grandson, Timmy. Almost every scene I've ever used with these children has been based on my real life: daughters, grandsons, and now Bella.

The next time you get stuck on a story, or feel that dreaded block coming on, just stop, get up, and live life for a while. Not only will you have participated in your own life (a very good thing!) but soon the words will pour out of you, I promise.

***

Watch for Part 3 in a few weeks. I'll be delivering my daughter back to grad school in Boston next week and visiting my family, so probably won't get to post next weekend. Have a wonderful few weeks!

***
Aaron Paul Lazar writes to soothe his soul. The author of LeGarde Mysteries and Moore Mysteries enjoys the Genesee Valley countryside in upstate New York, where his characters embrace life, play with their dogs and grandkids, grow sumptuous gardens, and chase bad guys. Visit his websites at www.legardemysteries.com and www.mooremysteries.com and watch for his upcoming release, MAZURKA, coming in 2009.

2009-09-01T21:29:00.002-04:00

Hello friends,

I had hoped to write a new episode in my "Paradise" series this week. But the vagaries of life often intervene, and it was no different this time.

When my Dell laptop crashed, I ordered a new MacBook Pro just in time to have it delivered before my trip to Boston to bring my daughter, Melanie, back to grad school and visit family in the area.

Uh huh. You guessed it. The poor little laptop missed its Fed Ex connection in CHINA, and didn't make it. Actually, it arrived two hours after we left for our trip. So I've been without a laptop for about three weeks now.

The old Dell, which I had just spend many hundreds on to upgrade with a new hard drive and extra memory- decided not to take a charge anymore. I after being told by two local repair shops that it was too old (six years), I looked up advice online, tried to open it up to find the supposed bad solder joint, and failed miserably. Sigh. So I made the psychological switch to Mac (after salivating over my daughter's Macbook and getting a few lessons on it) and waited with bated breath. I haven't written anything in two weeks. It's killing me, the itch to write has been so pervasive I almost sent my beloved grandsons home early to free up the old Muse.

Instead, in between making meals, doing dishes, keeping them in relatively clean clothes, and playing with them, I methodically transferred all my backed up files (from the old PC, which thank God keeps on kickin') to the new Mac, got my email working through their mail client, and just now finished transferring my 60 Gig plus photos and music onto the MacBook. There are a few glitches yet to work out, but I am a PC-to-Mac switcher, so I need to research it, or call the Mac center. I've been told they are wonderful for support, and we'll find out soon.

I hope you're all well and thriving. I'm still looking for a new "day job," and am really hoping the Man Upstairs has something marvelous planned for me. Soon. Summer's almost over, and it's time to get back to work.

***

If you love to write, remember to WRITE LIKE THE WIND!

Aaron

www.legardemysteries.com

www.mooremysteries.com

www.murderby4.blogspot.com

www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com

Preorder Mazurka at Barnes and Noble for a huge discount!

2009-08-08T18:00:00.004-04:00

Paradise, Part 1

copyright Aaron Paul Lazar, 2009

Summer is already half gone, but I've tried to ignore the fact and have jumped into each day with unparalleled enthusiasm and joy.

I was born to be home, tending grandkids, working the land, cooking meals from the garden, and writing 'til my heart squeezes the last words onto the page. This is the dream-come-true, the life I've yearned for every single day for the past few decades. It's my heaven on earth, my own private nirvana, my paradise.

But since August 1st slipped past so silently, little stabs of dread are starting to attack my stomach. It's almost over. Soon I'll have to stop the "let's pretend this is my life" game and spend all day, every day searching for a job again. Wait a minute. Let's focus on the positive. (see how good I am at avoidance?) Instead of giving in to the dread of uncertainty, I've decided to chronicle the wonderful and surprising things that have happened to me because Kodak laid me off this past spring. They have been numerous and delightful.

Here's Part 1.

***

"My name's Frank and I'm eighty-one years old."

That's the first thing Frank G. will tell you when he pumps your hand up and down with good humor and a face wreathed in smiles. This elderly neighbor and I met when he passed my property during his daily constitutionals. These mile-long walks, ordered by a heart doctor, serve to keep him healthy. But they also provide a break in his day. And they're much more interesting than sitting in front of the old cow shed on an aluminum lawn chair watching the cars and tractors go by.

When my outdoor projects take me closer to the road - trimming a monster forsythia bush, manning the roaring burn pile, nearly hidden by four-foot weeds, or mulching the twenty yards of wet black stuff I spread onto my gardens - Frank stops to chat.

On our first meeting, he swiped off his baseball cap and bent down to show me his bald scalp with a gruesome injury and blood soaked bandage. "Got this one last week. Had to go to the hospital and everything. See? Five staples?" I was shown the progress every day after that, watching it heal. And I heard all about the return visit to the hospital to take out the staples.

Supremely friendly, he smiles his toothless grin, marred with bits of tobacco, and tells me he's been chewing the stuff since he was nine years old.

"Haven't had teeth for thirty years. Don't need 'em. Don't want 'em, by George." With a sly smile, he often adds, "And I don't have to pay that durned dentist ten dollars every six months to clean them!"

Ten dollars. Wow. I think it's now up to $75.00.

Frank's been coming by daily for six weeks now. I've grown to enjoy his company. This quirky, friendly fellow who has no hair, no teeth, poor hearing, is twenty-five years my senior and who at first glance seems almost a little pesky, has become a friend. I've grown fond of him and miss him on the days I'm not working the land. He comes into the yard now, circles the house, and looks for me. Most days after we sit beneath the two-hundred year old maple tree beside my garden to talk, I load him down with zucchini, garlic, green beans, and onions.

He can use the food. He lives with his disabled daughter and her farm worker husband in the back of a barn, beside a bunch of cows. The water isn't potable, and the place smells downright rank. They want to get out of there because of the rotten conditions, but they need to find another cheap place and those aren't always available.
I quickly realized that this is one more example of why the severence from Kodak was actually a good thing. Instead of bringing in armloads of veggies to my relatively well-off former coworkers, I'm getting it to someone who truly needs it. I think it was meant to be.

Frank receives about seven hundred bucks a month on disability, but gives most of it to his daughter to help with the expenses. I asked him if it's enough. He smiled, slapped his hat on his thigh. "By George, it's just plenty. Me and my daughter do just fine."

I gave his family our rather worn-out 2001 Sienna van last month, since I would probably only get a few hundred dollars in tax relief from the donation anyway. It felt a lot better to give it to someone I know is in need, instead of to Good Will, where the benefit is real, but invisible. Frank and his son-in-law are handy with all things mechanical, and in no time they had it fixed up and on the road. My heart swells every time I see them drive past the house.
Because he has numerous tatoos emblazoning his arms, I'd assumed Frank was in the service. I discovered, however, that he was turned down because of his heart and had these tatoos put on when he was a young lad of nineteen. That confession quickly followed a complete unveiling of his chest and the scars that proved he'd had open heart surgery five years ago. He's quick to roll up his sleeves and pant legs to show me his latest cuts and bruises - and it makes me feel like a boy again, sharing "war wounds" like trophies. Funny thing is, I've been doing the same thing to him. I shared the cell phone picture of me with facial cellulitis in the hospital in June, where I looked like a circus side show freak.

I love showing him my progress around the property - each newly weeded and mulched bed gets a satisfying, "Good job, young man!" and a hearty pat on the back. It's strange, but I've grown to seek his approval.

Last week he met Toby, my daughter Melanie's little Rat Terrier. Frank surprised me by dropping down to all fours, spinning around in the grass, and patting the ground to engage his new pal. Toby rose to the occasion. With head to the grass and haunches up, tail wagging, and tongue lolling, he played with Frank just like he does with my dog, Balto. I snapped the above picture after they both tired.

During our many conversations, I discovered that my new friend has worked in factories all over the northeast, from New Jersey to Rochester. He tended cows as a fourteen year old (walking miles at 4 in the morning in deep snow) and even worked in a piano factory for a while. His wife died of cancer 11 years ago, and he's never found another soul mate since. "I never hit her or yelled at her," he boasts, "and I turned my paycheck over to her every single week." He's proud of that, because in his life he's seen some pretty awful things. He's chronicled the loss several children, most of his siblings, and other friends and relatives to suicides and freak accidents. The stories he has to tell make the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Never mind that I hear some of them five times. ;o)

I asked him the other day if he likes to read books, because I was thinking of donating a few of my LeGarde Mysteries to him. It's such an integral part of me that it's hard for me not to talk about it. He hung his head and stared at the ground.

"I can't read."

The awkward moment was quickly dispelled when he dismissed it with a smile and started talking about his father again, the man who hit his mother and drank too much. I listened to the story again, nodding as if it were the first time I'd ever heard it, and sank into my lawn chair to enjoy the comraderie.

***

Aaron Paul Lazar writes to soothe his soul. The author of LeGarde Mysteries and Moore Mysteries enjoys the Genesee Valley countryside in upstate New York, where his characters embrace life, play with their dogs and grandkids, grow sumptuous gardens, and chase bad guys. Visit his websites at http://www.legardemysteries.com/ and http://www.mooremysteries.com/ and watch for his upcoming release, MAZURKA, coming in August, 2009.

2009-07-26T10:06:00.002-04:00

Sometimes my booksignings are madhouses. I've been literally mobbed by ladies going through my wares like it was Filene's Basement sale. I guess that's because I often give away something for free to draw folks to my table. Sometimes it's bowls of Dove chocolate. For the past three years I've given away autographed poster size photo art printed on the Kodak NexPress Digital Printer. These prints were legit, since we had to do test runs to warm up the machines. And rather than throw away the results, I just kept them with my boss's blessing.
a
But now that I'm no longer employed by Kodak, I don't have that advantage anymore. So, I decided to mat and frame my art photos and try to sell them. You can see some of them in the picture from yesterday's event. Melanie kept rearranging the table to more artfully present the items - didn't she do a nice job?
a
So, aside from bookmarks and flyers, I didn't have any more big ticket freebies to give away yesterday. I'm not sure if that's why business has dropped, if it's the economy, or if the past two sales (with abysmal numbers) were just vagaries of life, just coincidences. On average, I usually sell 20-25 books per sale at my favorite winery. The last two sales brought in a grand total of NINE books and one framed print. Abysmal! But I try to stay positive, and always tell myself, "it's nine more books than I would have sold if I'd stayed home." Right? Right.
a
Yesterday's event at Knapp Winery on Cayuga Lake was so pleasant that it didn't matter. It was a special celebration all along the lake of greyhounds and their rescue owners, and all dogs were invited. Daughter Melanie came along to keep me good company, and she brought her Rat Terrier, Toby. He is a doll, and was a great ice breaker. We met dogs of all breeds - from scores of beautiful greyhounds (I was so amazed at how laid back and loving they are!) to poodles, cocker spaniels, wonderful mutts, and a little tiny dog named Maggie May who rode in her owner's front pack with a baseball cap on. So cute!) Toby poked his head out from beneath the tablecloth (see above) to greet everyone, and Melanie walked him all over the grounds to make new doggie friends.
a
Having the dogs in this very public venue was a thrill. People were drawn to each other, chatted like never before, and extended themselves in ways normally not associated with wine tasting. An elderly man crouched down to scrub a spaniel's ears and talk "babytalk" to him. Greyhound owners congregated and chatted, and their dogs lay down on the cold cement and licked each other's faces. Little babies tottered about, shrieking with joy. There were smiles everywhere, and people met each other's eyes without fail.
a
So here's the question.
a
Why can't we take our well behaved dogs everywhere? Why isnt' it okay to bring Balto into a clothing store? He's neat, clean, and well trained. Heck, in France and Italy they allow dogs in restaurants. It's no different from home, where our dear pets lay beneath the dinner table or sit by our sides. Life would be sweeter, folks would smile more, and that innocence that lies behind stranger's masks would pop out unexpectedly, giving us a glimpse of the real person who lies dormant beneath.
a
A few simple rule changes could make it happen. Any chance our new President would be up for it?

- Aaron

2009-06-18T17:33:00.001-04:00

Title: A Will to Love
Author: Kim Smith
Publisher: Red Rose Publishing
Format: ebook, novelette
Genre: Romance
Publisher Addresses: Red Rose Publishing, 12065 Woodhull Rd., Forestport , NY 13338
ISBN number: 978-1-60435-344-0
Price: $2.99
Publisher website: http://www.redrosepublishing.com/

A Will to Love
Review by Aaron Paul Lazar

I’ve never read a romance. Honestly. But I ordered Kim M. Smith’s ebook, A Will to Love, because I fell in love with her silky smooth writing style when I discovered her first book, a cozy mystery entitled Avenging Angel. I ordered A Will to Love this morning–while recovering in bed from a hospital stay–and read it in one, luxurious sitting.

How many men actually read romance? I have no idea. I suspected the content would only appeal to women, but I was wrong. Smith’s strong characters and the emotions they evoked wove magically together the moment I met Benton Jessup and Kitty Beebe.

Jessup, a man haunted by the loss of his lifelong soul mate Carla, tries to keep his southern inn afloat. He cooks meals for his guests with ease, and has even been written up in the local gourmet press. But his heart’s not in it. He aches for Carla and plods through life in a haze of sorrow.

Enter Kitty Beebe, a romance author from Ireland with fiery gold hair and disturbingly beautiful blue eyes. One would expect this setup to result in a predictable rescue of poor Jessup, but it doesn’t go quite so easy for him, which adds to the luscious tension. Kitty, a complicated lady, becomes besotted with Jessup, but isn’t sure she’s ready to rescue him for a lifetime.

Another character I fell for was “The Inn” itself. Set in the lazy southern countryside, its beguiling charm oozed from the pages. I want to go there. I want to live there. And I wouldn’t mind being Benton Jessup. At least in my dreams.

In this passage from A Will to Love, we discover the depth of Jessup’s pain:

“But they had to come back to Mississippi and the life that she wanted.

At least the memories would remain forever. Maybe that was why he had agreed to the Celtic cross now adorning the headstone. Its gray granite cast a faint shadow on the small bundle of pansies he laid on the grave. He didn’t speak. He wouldn’t know what to say anyway. His whole life, past, present, and future now rested beneath the fresh grasses growing over the mounded earth in the little cemetery on their land.

She would understand his stalwart silence. She had known him through and through.

There would never be another woman who would be that close to him.

He’d make certain of it.”

The only issue I could find with the novelette was its requisite length. Of course novelettes are short. But I hated it to end and wanted to learn more about Kitty’s past, the things that led her to a troubled sort of hesitancy to love. I yearned for more of their life at The Inn and in the cottage in Ireland. I guess that’s the nature of a novelette, and of course, the skills of a fine writer. They always leave you wanting more.

Smith, “a true blue southern gal who was raised on black -eyed peas and cornbread,” promises more books, including another romance short, Love Waltzes In due in the Forever Young Anthology at Red Rose Publishing, September 2009. The second Shannon Wallace mystery is due in December, 2009.

See more at her website, http://www.mkimsmith.com/.

2009-06-01T17:04:00.003-04:00

I've been waiting for this day forever. Or so it seems. I was totally fascinated with HUNTED when I followed along as SW Vaughn wrote it. It's an urban thriller, with a twist. I usually don't even LIKE urban fantasy - you know I'm a mystery-only guy. But the writing was so tight, so strong, that I became hooked in just a few pages. And I've been a diehard fan every since.

SW is my critique partner my writing hero. Her writing sings, her characters get tangled in your brain, and you'll never, ever forget them. They might even invade nightmares once in a while. (Ask me about Jenner - coming in SW's next Lyrical book. I dare you!)

I hope you'll check out this new ebook (just released today) which features a unique set of characters cast against impossible odds. Don't you just love the cover?

Here's a brief synopsis of the book. If you like the sound of it, check it out here. It's a steal at $5.50!

HUNTED by SW Vaughn

Grace Carrington can read people's minds and force machines to do her bidding - and as if that doesn't make her enough of a freak, her glowing eyes ensure she's nowhere near normal. While on the run from a mother who wants to exploit her talents, she encounters two beings with powers stronger than hers . . . who for some reason want her dead.

a
What Grace doesn't know is that her father was an angel, and that he's far from the only one to have mated with humans. She is Nephilim: half human, half angel, and no longer alone.
a

But some angels are not all white robes and fluffy wings. Some angels do not suffer their children to live - and seek to destroy the Nephilim at every opportunity. Now Grace is being hunted by the angel who commands the Stalker: an inhuman killer of unknown origins, from whom no Nephil has ever escaped alive.

2009-05-29T11:23:00.004-04:00

When I first started writing over a decade ago, I exulted in every new dialog tag I could think up. I preened over “he croaked” and purred over “she grumbled.” Finding new and inventive ways to say “he said” became my quest.

My early works were peppered with gloats, murmurs, and barks. I even started a most coveted (only by me) list.

How many words can you think of to say “he said” or “she said?” Here are some, in no particular order:

Mumbled

Murmured

Expostulated

Grunted

Groaned

Whispered

Purred

Spat

Huffed

Croaked

Barked

Choked

Queried

Cackled

Harrumphed

Stuttered

Muttered

Moaned

Hissed

Grumbled

Whined

Sang

Twittered

Tittered

Griped

Yelped

Cried

Stammered

Shrieked

Crooned

Wheedled

Retorted

Pressured

Cajoled

How many more can you think of? There are probably hundreds.
...

Okay, now that you’ve wracked your brain for tantalizing tags, let me tell you one very important lesson.

DON’T * EVER * USE * THEM.

What? Such brilliance? Such innovative thought?

Yeah. Sorry. Forget it. Never use anything but “said,” “asked,” or an occasional “whisper” or “mumble.”

Once in a great while, if you feel you really need it, slip in a “spat” or “croaked.” But I’m here to tell you that dialog tags, for the most part, should be invisible. “Said,” is invisible. “Asked,” is invisible. “Barked” stops the flow of the dialog. Anything that makes your story stutter needs to be eliminated, including these juicy but totally distracting tags.

Got that part?

Now that I’ve encouraged you to use “said,” I’m going to retract it.

Forgive me, but that’s just the way it is. If you can avoid a tag altogether–through the clever use of action “beats”– then more power to you.

Here’s an example of changing a passage from lush useless tags, to he said/she said tags, to using beats instead of tags:

Case A

I maneuvered the van around the next pothole, and was about to congratulate myself for my superior driving skills when a series of washboard ruts nearly popped the fillings out of my teeth.

“Want me to take over?” Tony wheedled.

“Why? Am I making you nervous?" I retorted, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

“Of course not, sweetums. You’re a great driver. Just thought you might want a break,” he crooned. We rounded the bend and the road disappeared. The crater before us could hold three elephants. Big elephants.
“Whoa! Watch it, honey. Don’t wanna blow a tire,” Tony groaned.

Case B

I maneuvered the van around the next pothole, and was about to congratulate myself for my superior driving skills when a series of washboard ruts nearly popped the fillings out of my teeth.

“Want me to take over?” Tony said, leaning on the dashboard.

“Why? Am I making you nervous?” I said with a frown.

All smiles, he said, “Of course not, sweetums. You’re a great driver. Just thought you might want a break.”

We rounded the bend and the road disappeared. The crater before us could hold three elephants. Big elephants.

“Whoa! Watch it, honey. Don’t wanna blow a tire,” Tony said in a panic.

***

Case C

I maneuvered the van around the next pothole, and was about to congratulate myself for my superior driving skills when a series of washboard ruts nearly popped the fillings out of my teeth.

Tony braced himself on the dash. “Want me to take over?”

My knuckles turned white. “Why? Am I making you nervous?”

“Of course not, sweetums.” He forced an innocent smile. “You’re a great driver. Just thought you might want a break.”

We rounded the bend and the road disappeared. The crater before us could hold three elephants. Big elephants.

Tony’s frozen smile barely hid his panic. “Whoa! Watch it, honey. Don’t wanna blow a tire.”

***
These examples aren’t beautifully written or perfectly rendered. But they should give you the gist of what I’m trying to illustrate today.

Add your own examples below, if you’d like. Let’s see some Case A, B, and C’s in the comments section!

2009-05-05T21:04:00.003-04:00

Title: A Spark of Heavenly Fire
Author: Pat Bertram
Publisher: Second Wind Publishing
Publisher's Address: 931-B South Main Street, Box 145, Kernersville, NC 27284
ISBN number: 978-1-935171-23-2
Price: $18.00
Publisher phone number and/or website address: www.secondwindpublishing.com

A Spark of Heavenly Fire
by Pat Bertram
Review by Aaron Paul Lazar
Author of the LeGarde Mystery Series

Who says you can’t squeeze romance into a thriller? And while you’re at it, how about weaving in a deeply moving story about human redemption?

Author Pat Bertram says you can. And she’ll convince you before you can say chimera – the lethal combination of virus, bacterium, fungus, and human genes that causes the rapid spread of the “red death,” a bio-engineered weapon threatening the entire state of Colorado.

Kate Cummings is trying to deal with the loss of her husband, who drove his car off a mountain after a long battle with Multiple Sclerosis. She passes by his bedroom without daring to enter, and slogs through life in a solemn daze, feeling guilty for every time she waited a few extra minutes to answer his summons, or for each time she became angry. His loss haunts her, and although her work at the Bowers Medical Clinic is fulfilling, it can’t heal the hole in her heart.

When a jogger stumbles into Kate with red eyes blazing, he vomits blood on her and dies instantly. A rash of similar deaths follows, decimating the state. Orange paint markers on front doors – signifying a “red death” in the marked homes - begin to appear with frightening regularity. Panicked parents discard their red-eyed children, fearful of contagion.

Enter Greg Pullman, reporter for the Denver News, who’s engaged to the ditzy beauty, Pippi O’Brien, local TV weather girl. But when he bumps into Kate after Pippi heads for the border in search of safety, things change. Together, Kate and Greg investigate and unearth the shocking source of the horror that has shut down their state and caused a rogue wing of the military to terrorize Colorado’s remaining citizens. Basic human amenities – so often taken for granted – become grounds for murder. And the streets are no longer safe to walk unescorted.

In addition to a killer story line, smooth writing, and phenomenal characterization, this page turning thriller features fine examples of charity through glimpses into Kate’s huge heart. The remarkable heroine opens her home to survivors who are homeless and hungry. Soon, partnered with a destitute woman named Dee, Kate’s home becomes a refuge for survivors. And in the midst of the massive deaths, terror, and horror, Kate finds salvation.

The tension in A Spark of Heavenly Fire is electric. Taut suspense pulls you along at a rapid pace. This reader was up way past his bedtime three nights in a row. And yes, it was that good.

**********************************************************************
Aaron Paul Lazar writes to soothe his soul. The author of LeGarde Mysteries and Moore Mysteries enjoys the Genesee Valley countryside in upstate New York, where his characters embrace life, play with their dogs and grandkids, grow sumptuous gardens, and chase bad guys. Visit his websites at http://www.legardemysteries.com/ and http://www.mooremysteries.com/ and watch for his upcoming release, MAZURKA, coming in 2009.

2009-01-20T15:37:00.003-05:00

Write Like You Talk

Have you ever heard the adage, "Write like you talk?"

I've run across this bit of advice off and on during my career, whether it was in writing skills articles, or from colleagues who had a "eureka!" moment of their own. One mentor told me he didn't write one really good book until he actually put the advice into practice. And let me tell you, it worked. It really worked. I devour his mysteries.

I think "writing like you talk," is another way to accomplish "pure" writing. Simple, yet profound writing. Know what I mean?

I'm referring to words that flow without stuttering in your brain or tripping you up in the middle of an action scene, words that tell a story almost in an invisible way.

Ever had the experience where you're reading a book and you keep paying attention to the actual writing? Okay, okay. I know most writers pay close attention to the writing in every book. But there are superb books whose stories flow so fast you can't stop turning the pages. They aren't always elegant, like Dean Koontz's Odd Thomas series (those books make me weak in the knees, they're so beautifully crafted!), yet they propel you forward so the movie plays in your mind and you don't notice the words.

There are others, however, where you can't help but notice the writing, and not in a good way. Sometimes this is a result of writers who are just learning the craft, who are trying way too hard. And sometimes it's just plain old bad writing. These writers want to dazzle us with their vocabulary, their command of the language, or their brilliant analogies. Sometimes it's just too much. One of the first things I learned was to CUT, CUT, CUT. My early prose was filled with glorious adverbs and adjectives which described in no uncertain terms the visions I saw in my head. But they bogged down the story. After all that, after learning to hone and refine and smooth out the sentences, I'm STILL learning to cut the excess and just tell the damn story!

Of course, one must have balance. In literary mysteries, for example, there is room for a bit of poetry, or a scene described in such luscious terms it makes the reader salivate for a meal, or a dip in a lake, or a romantic moment with your character. (You wouldn't believe how many marriage proposals Gus LeGarde has had! LOL!)

Once you've learned to simplify the prose (Remember my resolution for 2009? Simplify!), then it's okay to spice it up -- judiciously -- so your own style can shine. Perfectly chosen verbs, sparing yet brilliant analogies, or dead-on-dialogue will help you carve your own niche in your genre.

I just finished a book that drove me to write about this topic. As I read, I heard the author's voice in my head. I recognized the natural style and lovely Southern accent, because I've heard her radio show and have chatted with her. And it worked, it really worked.

Here's the review I wrote for Kim Smith's Avenging Angel:

Title: Avenging AngelAuthor: Kim Smith

Publisher: Red Rose Publishing

Publisher Addresses: Red Rose Publishing, 12065 Woodhull Rd., Forestport , NY 13338

ISBN number: 978-1-60435-276-4

Price: $5.99

Publisher website: http://www.redrosepublishing.com/

Avenging Angel

Review by Aaron Paul Lazar

A great read doesn't have to be fancy, full of literary allusions or deep musings. Nor does it need a ritzy setting, plots that twist your brain into a pretzel, or elite protagonists.

What a great read does need is a story that moves, characters who linger in your mind, and a voice that calls you back to its pages. Avenging Angel by Kim Smith accomplished all three.

Smith has written a suspenseful cozy mystery set in the south in a small lazy town. Shannon Wallace, a spunky, smart, and all-American young woman, is at the brink of disaster. Dumped by her beau, fired from her job, and plunged into the middle of a killer nightmare, Shannon's pluck and smarts carry her forward in a tidal wave of terror that will get your heart pumping in this delightful page turner.

When Shannon's boyfriend is murdered hours after he breaks up with her, she discovers their private video collection is missing. Problem is, the star of the intimate show is Shannon, and she'll do everything in her power to retrieve the embarrassing disks.

The author knows how to write. But best of all, she knows how to write like she talks. It's not easy to accomplish, as most debut authors tend to fall into the trap of using words that sound good but don't fit, or making a sentence far more complex than it needs to be. Smith's simple, straightforward, and quite endearing style is what drives Avenging Angel forward, with hints of colorful Southern dialect and engaging dialogue.

That said, there are select moments of literary prose that shine, as in the following excerpt:

"August in the Mid-South is like summer in the tropics. The crepe myrtles bloom in fuchsia and pink, and old people perch like lazy flies on white wicker swings and cane chairs. In every neighborhood, folded fans gently wave at the heat, and everyone talks about the weather. No one moves too much, or too fast, thanks to the humidity, which turns the still air into a sauna-like atmosphere even before daybreak. The firmest hair spray is reduced to damp stickiness, the best-laid plans are set-aside until evening, and the most even-tempered person will contemplate murdering their friend."

By contrast, take a look at this wonderfully simple, yet engaging, segment:

"My dreams were a mish mash of colors and snippets from my life. I saw myself as a child, orphaned. I relived the pain that accompanied it until it nearly drowned me and woke with tears on my face. The birds of summer played somewhere outside the window and all the sounds of nature seemed intensified as though reassuring me I was still alive."

As much as I enjoyed the plot line-straightforward, tense, great suspense-it was the relationships between Shannon, Dwayne, Salvatore, her elderly aunts, and the broad cast of suspects that sold me.

I was most pleased that Shannon didn't fall into the arms of the handsome local detective, because that would have made the work too predictable, trite, or Lifetime Movie-ish. No, Shannon held her own, wasn't pushed around by the cops, and survived numerous attacks by a very frightening assailant. This woman-while she does show very real emotions that ring true-won't be bullied by anyone. And when Dwayne helps her buy and learn to use a handgun, it may be the key to her survival.

Smith, "a true blue southern gal who was raised on black-eyed peas and cornbread," promises sequels to her captivating world. See more at her website, www.mkimsmith.com.

**********************************************************************
Aaron Paul Lazar writes to soothe his soul. The author of LeGarde Mysteries and Moore Mysteries savors the countryside in the Genesee Valley in upstate New York, where his characters embrace life, play with their dogs and grandkids, grow sumptuous gardens, and chase bad guys. Visit his websites at www.legardemysteries.com and www.mooremysteries.com and watch for the fourth book in the LeGarde series, MAZURKA, coming in 2009 from Twilight Times Books.

Double Forté is the founding book of the LeGarde Mystery series and was released in November, 2004. Upstaged followed in October, 2005. His third, Tremolo: cry of the loon, was released via Twilight Times Books in November 2007.

Healey's Cave, the first book of his paranormal mystery series, Moore Mysteries, will be released in 2009, along with Mazurka, the fourth book in the LeGarde mystery series.

He is a regular columnist for FMAM (Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine), Mysteryfiction.net and has been published in Great Mystery and Suspense magazine and the Absolute Write Newsletter. Contact him at: aaron.lazar@yahoo.com, visit his blog at murderby4.blogspot.com, aaronlazar.blogspot.com, aplazar.gather.com, or stop by his websites at www.legardemysteries.com and http://www.mooremysteries.com/.

Mr. Lazar is currently working on his thirteenth book, The Aviary.

2009-01-08T02:50:00.000-05:00

Literary Therapy with Dr. Ni

Have you noticed a recent explosion in Internet radio shows? Perhaps you’ve heard of Blogtalk Radio, or other venues, in the past year. Basically, folks register as a talk show host and run their show via phones and the web. The guests call in, and listeners can either sign in or call in to join the discussion at the discretion of the host. The podcasts are available to download, feature on websites, or share via articles or email. The venue has become a wonderful marketing tool for writers and professionals in all fields. Over the past year, I’ve been a guest on several shows, ranging anywhere from 15 to 90 minutes. Feel free to listen to some or all of them, if you are so inclined, here.

But in Dr. Niama Willam’s Poetry, Prose, and Anything Goes radio show last week (“Dr. Ni” pronounced “nee”), I experienced a completely different type of interview.

It was more like “literary therapy.” Dr. Ni read and loved Tremolo: cry of the loon, brought up questions and issues about the characters, how they related to my life and passions, and spotlighted important aspects of the book linked to current day social issues.

She asked some hard questions that stopped me in my tracks.

But it’s not surprising, because the renowned Dr. Ni, literary scholar, author, creative coach, abuse survivor, and natural therapist, has just what it takes to help you dig into your life or novel, explore literary relationships to your life, and return you from the experience feeling enriched and satisfied.

None of it was planned. I didn’t even get the questions until a few minutes before the show. But that made the whole experience more animated, more natural. She surprised me by asking me to read segments of the book I’d never read aloud. I’m working on recording chapters for future audio books, but these chapters were further down the list and I hadn’t practiced. Sure, I made a few flubs, but the discussions we had about these scenes were illuminating.

The Poetry, Prose, and Anything Goes program opens with Dr. Ni’s lyrical and mystical acapella singing, with a welcome that promises to “let your ears become intoxicated.” We laughed a lot, shared common experiences, and dug deep into important subjects.

Following are some of the topics we covered:

- The concept of innocence; how it relates to childhood and shapes a writer.
- How an author’s fears drive suspense and plot elements
- Abuse, and why it’s a recurring theme in the LeGarde series
- The lives of concentration camp survivor’s children
- Grandparenting vs. Parenting
- The “macho man” culture of some African American and Latino men and how it’s okay to be human, to be nurturing, to allow your emotions to show, while also being strong and protective.
- The history and future of Siegfried Marggrander, and where the German segments come from in the series.
- The differences between 50s/60s kids and some children today
- How playing outside and inventing games was/is so good for children
- Materialism and its destruction of the family and quality of some children
- The desensitization of society to violence, gore, sex.
- Nature and the importance of living with and in it, as opposed to living indoor in electronic cocoons.

I wanted to share this with you all for the sake of connecting on important issues, but also to provide some fodder for ideas for those of you who are established or budding writers. Whether you already have a book out there or are about to be published, don’t hesitate to take the plunge with live radio!

At first it’s a bit scary. After all, you are LIVE. But as you become accustomed to thinking on your feet, the fears lessen and it can be truly delightful.

The best way to prepare for radio is to do lots of print interviews first. You’ll collect your thoughts, have files of answers handy, and will be practiced in the art of thinking about your motivations, characters, synopses of books, etc. I must have done 25 to 30 print interviews before I “dared” go live on radio. But they helped immensely. I even practiced answering the most popular questions out loud, so my mouth actually said the things my mind intended.
You also need to be prepared to read “live.” Again, practice makes perfect. Before I record my clips for future audio books, I practice each chapter numerous times, until the sound of the voices and descriptions match what was in my head when I wrote the words. That’s hard to do at first, but after a while it again, becomes second nature.

If you have a laptop in the kitchen, or headphones at work, click on the link to the show above and let me know what you think about our discussion. We can keep it going here if you like.

Remember, dear friends, to take pleasure in the little things. And if you love to write, write like the wind!

- Aaron

http://www.legardemysteries.com/

2008-12-23T14:05:00.005-05:00

Win a Copy of Tremolo: cry of the loon

Hello dear friends and writers,

Will you forgive me if I do a little self-promotion today? I'd love for one of you to win a copy of Tremolo: cry of the loon. It's the best way of sharing what's inside me with you - that book came straight from my soul.

There's an interview of yours truly on Carrie Runnals Words-to-Mouth website today, and if you comment on it you will be placed in the drawing for a free book. Here are the instructions from Carrie's website:

To Win a FREE Copy of Tremolo:

Leave a comment on Carrie's site beneath the interview.

Call 206-309-7318 and leave a voice mail message she can play on-air

Be sure to subscribe to her e-newsletter, so you're informed of the winning name

Deadline for entry - January 15th, midnight, EST

I've copied the gist of the article below, for convenience. But if you want to have a chance to win, be sure to click on the link above and enter a comment.

Carrie: Why don't you start by telling us a bit about Tremolo: cry of the loon?
Aaron: Tremolo is a coming-of-age mystery suitable for all ages, and it particularly plays to the nostalgia of baby boomers. This novel, third in the Gus LeGarde series, is actually a prequel to the founding book of the series, Double Forté, which begins in the current day when Gus is already a grandfather. The novel is set in the Belgrade Lakes of Maine, in summer 1964, when Beatlemania hits the States and the world mourns the loss of JFK. Eleven-year-old Gus LeGarde faces his first brush with evil against the backdrop of the most powerful events that rocked the nation. When Gus and his friends capsize their rowboat in a thick fog, they eventually clamber to shore, where they witness a drunk chasing a girl through the woods. She's scared. She's hurt. And she disappears. The camp is thrown into turmoil as the frantic search for Sharon begins. Reports of stolen relics arise, including a church bell cast by Paul Revere. When Gus stumbles on a scepter that's part of the spoils, he becomes a target. Compelled to find Sharon before the villain does, Gus-armed only with a big heart, a motorboat, and a nosy beagle-must dig deep for courage to survive the menace that lurks in the dark woods.

Carrie: Why did you choose "To Kill a Mockingbird" as the film that Gus watched in Tremolo?
Aaron: There are great parallels that link Mockingbird to Tremolo, especially the threads of evil that weave throughout both. My father took me to see "To Kill a Mockingbird" when it first came out in theaters, and it's remained my favorite movie to date. I remember coming home and sitting in the dining room with my father after the movie. He turned his forearm in the sunlight and said, "Wouldn't it be lovely to have coppery brown skin like Tom Robinson?" Dad worked hard to be sure I embraced life and people of all colors and nationalities. Gus and I have tried hard to live up to his example. ;o)

Carrie: Of your nine LeGarde mysteries, Tremolo is the only one that delves into Gus's childhood. What inspired this?
Aaron: I couldn't wait to revisit the glorious childhood summers in Maine at my grandparents' camp in the Belgrade Lakes. The memories bubbled within me, aching to be released for years. It seemed natural to plop my current day characters - Gus, Elsbeth, and Siegfried - into that setting. And thus Tremolo, the prequel to Double Forté was born.

Carrie: What do you think resonates with readers of Tremolo?
Aaron: One of the strong elements of the book involves the simple purity of living life without gadgets. Gus and his pals have no toys, no television, no computers, no video games. They didn't need them. They had each other, and the majesty of nature to entertain them. A walk in the woods, horseback riding, fishing, swimming, boating... all of these things are much healthier for us than the electronic cocoons with which we've surrounded ourselves.

Carrie: How long have you been writing? What stirred you to write?
Aaron: I've loved to write since grade school, when I filled journals with romantic musings and wrote zany stories. But the real call to write - that obsession that demands hours per day at the keyboard and holds me hostage until it's satisfied - started in 1997 when my father died. I was 44, and the loss crushed me. Dad was an energetic Renaissance man. He taught music and played piano, tended large gardens, cooked hearty soups, loved his family and dogs, and embraced life with unbridled passion. He was the model who inspired Gus LeGarde. I'm actually a lot like my father, so there are strong elements of me in Gus, too. It's an interesting amalgam.

Carrie: How has writing has impacted your life? Can you tell us how it changes or strengthens you?
Aaron: When life gets tough I turn to my writing for solace, borne of escapism.Family and friends help soothe life's woes, and are fantastic sources of comfort. Especially those hugs I get from my little grandsons. But there's something uniquely satisfying about turning to the parallel universe I control (when I can't control anything else) and "taking charge." Even if life wasn't fraught with its own problems, I'd still write. I have no choice. I need the stimulation of the creative process every day. I need to connect with readers. I live for that and I encourage my readers to contact me at aaron dot lazar at yahoo dot com.
a
Carrie: Do you have a motto or favorite saying that guides you?
Aaron: "Take pleasure in the little things." When life becomes unbearable due to family illness or loss, I've learned how to self-comfort by enjoying what God has provided, such as a frosty field on a sunny winter morning, cornflowers growing wild by the roadside, the flash of love in my grandsons' eyes, or the taste of a fresh picked tomato. We must learn to savor these gifts, relish them, and soak them in to comfort us when things get tough again.

Carrie: Who are your favorite writers?
Aaron: In no particular order: John D. MacDonald for his Travis Magee series; Laurie R. King for her Sherlock Holmes and Kate Martinelli series; Dean Koontz for his Odd Thomas series; Stephen King for his dialog (the best and most natural in the world); James Patterson for his early books' scenes with Dr. Alex Cross, Nana Mama, and his children; Clive Cussler for the delightful adventures of the Dirk Pitt series; Dick Francis (always wished he wrote a series); Tony Hillerman for his character development and scene painting; S.W. Vaughn (aka Sonja Bateman) for her face-paced, gripping fiction; and Marta Stephens for her newly debuted crime mysteries featuring detective Sam Harper.

Carrie: What's next?
Aaron: Mazurka, The fourth LeGarde book will be out soon through Twilight Times Books. Also, the debut novel of my new paranormal mystery series, Healey's Cave, will follow shortly thereafter. My current WIP is a standalone novel entitled The Aviary, about an obsessive-compulsive bird breeder and his pet parakeet, Ruby.

***
Okay, that's it. I need to get back to my manuscript edits that are due January 1st! I'm cracking the whip on myself and hope the next time we talk I can tell you I finished the darn thing! LOL.

Happy New Year!!!

2008-12-09T09:23:00.004-05:00

Rejection. Oh, how it stings. Most of us have been through it - plenty. Seeking jobs, college admissions, love, or publication for our books. It hurts. Destroys our self-image. For a while, anyway. And it tears at the thin fabric in which we cocoon with our fragile writer's ego, protecting the inner belief that our work is valid.A new writer recently emailed me after receiving a flurry of rejections from big agents. With a crushed spirit, she wrote:

"It makes no sense to me. If someone has written a book that is a good read, then why in the world would it not be recognized, published and read? The only answer that makes any sense is that it's not a particularly good read after all."

Alas, if it were only that simple. Let's step back and take a look at the situation.
You wrote a book. Your instincts tell you it's darned good. You envision an agent or publisher recognizing this and sweeping you up in their arms to share with the world. You dream of financial success, recognition, and that sweet validation that makes you feel you're a "real" writer.

That elusive dream haunts just about every new writer I've ever known. Then, after years of toiling, burning the midnight or early morning oil, sweating and suffering and bleeding onto the pages - most realize, in time, that they'd better not quit their day jobs.If every "good" book were accepted and published, we'd need a great deal more space to store and sell them. I've read that bookstores today stock only 2-3% of the published books in the world. Imagine all the "real" books that don't end up on their shelves? Now imagine all the good books that never get published. It's mind-boggling.

There are enormous quantities of books submitted annually to publishers, and only a relative handful of agents and editors to scan through the 0.05% that are accepted for the slush pile. They often receive hundreds of submissions per day. Imagine reading 100 emails every single day from authors who want to be heard? It wouldn't be hard to feel jaded in short order.

Publishers and agents have cut down their staffs, because of the economy, and it's probably even harder for them to get through the slush piles now, with the fear of job loss if their next pick doesn't bring in some cash.

There are plenty of horrible books submitted each year, too. But there are also hundreds, if not thousands, of very good books out there. Yours may be one of them. (If it isn't, keep on working on your skills until it is!)

Are you in this boat? Have you had your books summarily dismissed by the powers that be, over and over again? Have you hired or courted superb writers to help you perfect your story? Have you scoured your book dozens of times for typos or inconsistencies? Have you researched the heck out of every point that needs confirmation? Have you assured that your dialog is crisp and believable? Have you hacked away at unnecessary adverbs and adjectives? Have you just plain told the story in the same voice you use to speak? And your book has still been rejected?If not, count your lucky stars, for you are among one of the very few who got picked up at the starting gate. If so, let me share something with you.

Rejections may have nothing to do with the quality or value of your book. Most often, they have to do with the market, and what's "hot" this season. It could be the mood of the agent or editor who's reading your stuff, or the fact that your book slides between genres. Maybe it features young adults, but doesn't follow someone's blueprint for what a YA book needs to contain. Maybe it's absolutely perfect for a publisher, but they've already filled the slot for your genre on their list this year. Maybe the first level editor falls in love with your book, but her boss doesn't. Or you get all the way to the top of this year's short list, only to be told you didn't make the cut.

Sound familiar?If you don't get picked up in the first five years by high profile agents or publishers, I recommend seeking a high quality small press. It's not easy to get into their world, either. But you don't usually need an agent, and they can provide a nurturing home for you, as well as help you get your books out to the public.

And let me tell you friends, it's that public, those lovely readers, who will provide the validation you've sought for so long. When the first person (who isn't family or friends) comes up to you and gushes over your characters, or when you receive that unsolicited email from a stranger who NEEDS your next book or "they'll just die," or that lady who's been staring at you with stars in her eyes finally approaches you in the grocery store and says she wants to marry your lead character... that's when the validation just washes through your writer's soul. It's even better than the glowing reviews. Trust me.

So, the publishing game is tough. But it's not hopeless. There is still a place for us in this intensely competitive world. Acceptance by a high profile firm does not necessarily equate to a good book, just as rejection doesn't always equate to a bad book. Just look at the bestsellers out there. Some are quite odious, filled with plot holes, flat characters, and poor editing.

So, why bother?

Even with staggering odds in today's market, every year several "newcomers" are "discovered" and offered lucrative contracts. It does happen. We hear about it all the time. The next "hot" book will be discovered any day now. And it could be yours.My final bit of advice is this:

If you are a passionate writer, you need to write independent of what agent represents you, how many times your work has been rejected, what publisher has thumbed their nose at you, how many readers you have or don't have, how many books you have published or not published.

Okay. Group hug.Now just keep writing. And remember to write like the wind!

- Aaron

(author reading advanced release excerpt of Healey's Cave, release date spring, 2009)

Aaron Paul Lazar writes to soothe his soul. The author of LeGarde Mysteries and Moore Mysteries savors the countryside in the Genesee Valley in upstate New York, where his characters embrace life, play with their dogs and grandkids, grow sumptuous gardens, and chase bad guys. Visit his websites at www.legardemysteries.com and www.mooremysteries.com and watch for the fourth book in the LeGarde series, MAZURKA, coming in January 2009 from Twilight Times Books.

2008-12-01T13:56:00.002-05:00

LeGarde News - Dec. 1st 2009

Now that Thanksgiving is over, and we survived the usual disruptions of near-catastrophes and broken appliances, we can all gear up for Christmas. Every single year I make the lofty proclamation that we’re going to beat the rampant materialism that’s taken hold of our country, and simply exchange homemade gifts or letters. Usually I end up being tempted to buy far too much for everyone, and then the “even up” dance begins, where we ratchet up the total cost of Christmas to something we once again can’t afford.

But this year I really mean it. I’ve purchased a modest amount of art supplies and board games for our grandsons (they’ll be deluged in electronic gadgets from others), a few warm fuzzy outfits and simple toy for baby Isabella, and have worked for hours on photo gifts – such as calendars, puzzles, coffee cups, and a deck of cards. I hope I can stand by this noble practice. My fingers are crossed and my mind is set. I’ll report in next time so you can see if I caved or remained strong. LOL.

On the literary front, MAZURKA and HEALEY'S CAVE are due out in January and April of 2009. I’ll update you with a special bulletin when I get the print copies in hand. We’re still waiting for the reviews from the big review houses, such as Kirkus, Publisher's Weekly, Booklist, etc. But the time is fast approaching. If you’d like to reserve an autographed copy of either book, just let me know at aaron.lazar@yahoo.com.

Meanwhile, I enjoyed corresponding with the students at Pfeiffer University who read
TREMOLO: CRY OF THE LOON (the third book released and the prequel to DOUBLE FORTÉ), for their Mystery Writers class. We had a ball corresponding, the students loved hearing from a “real” author, and Gus LeGarde now has a new group of folks who plan to follow him through the series.

I’ve agreed to do several new radio shows, as well. The dates and links will be posted on my events page, on http://www.legardemysteries.com/ when it’s all settled. Hope you’ll stop by and join us. Some of the hosts include our own Kim Smith, Dr. Niama Williams, Renée Giroux, and Dr. Kent Gustafson.

The book signings are over for the season, and now it’s time for me to take a break from all that and luxuriate in writing during the cold winter months. But if you’d like to order some books for Christmas, I’m offering specials on all three books. And if you’d like to buy them as an autographed gift set, you can save over ten dollars buying through me. What a deal, huh?

Best wishes to all. I hope your holidays are splendid, full of love, and warm you to the core. And as I always say, remember to take pleasure in the little things.

- Aaron

2008-11-06T09:48:00.003-05:00

Title: The Devil Can Wait
Author: Marta Stephens
Publisher: BeWrite Books
Publisher's Address: 32 Bryn Road South, Wigan, Lancaster, WN4 8QR
ISBN number: 978-1-905202-86-7
Price: $15.99
Publisher phone number and/or website address: www.bewrite.net

The Devil Can Wait
by Marta Stephens
Review by Aaron Paul Lazar
Author of the LeGarde Mystery Series

Looking for a deliciously convoluted tale that will twist its way through your brain and keep you up late into the night? Look no further, for Marta Stephens has just released the second book in the Sam Harper crime mystery series, The Devil Can Wait.

Stephens’ debut novel, Silenced Cry, was addictive, propelling readers into the action from page one and corkscrewing through a wild ride of corruption and abuse. Unlike many “seconds” in a series, The Devil Can Wait does not disappoint, and expands Detective Sam Harper’s world from the fictitious seaside town of Chandler, Massachusetts to the steamy jungles of Columbia and through shocking revelations in the Vatican itself.

A dark history precedes the bitter tale of a cursed black pearl ring, whose protectors and seekers have killed to keep its secrets for centuries. Now, just months before the planets align in what is believed to be the sign of a long awaited prophecy, the ring lands in Harper’s back yard, triggering villainy and murder. Murders, that is. Four boys wash ashore the icy Chandler beaches, and Harper’s up to his eyeballs in corpses with few leads and increasing pressure from his captain and the press.

As if multiple seaside murders aren’t enough to drive an already sleep-deprived police force to the brink of exhaustion, a sleazy pawnshop owner and elderly history professor are found dead within days. Is spunky local journalist, Jennie Blake, tied to these murders? If so, what’s she trying to hide? And why can’t Sam stop thinking about the gorgeous brunette in spite of his best intentions?

Stephens has skillfully detailed police procedures in a realistic fashion, a task not easy for one who hasn’t worked a real life police investigation. But on top of this, the author has woven intriguing subplots with a love entanglement that thrusts the story forward to its climatic end. The sexual tension between Harper and reporter Jennie Blake is natural and sublime – adding icing to this already delectable confection of supernatural elements, grisly murders, and the stoic talent and courage of one very likeable cop. Don’t take my word for it – buy it and read it today.

Stephens has hinted at a third in the Sam Harper series. We’ll wait with bated breath, in anticipation of her next taut thriller.

**********************************************************************

Aaron Paul Lazar writes to soothe his soul. The author of LeGarde Mysteries and Moore Mysteries savors the countryside in the Genesee Valley in upstate New York, where his characters embrace life, play with their dogs and grandkids, grow sumptuous gardens, and chase bad guys. Visit his websites at http://www.legardemysteries.com/ and http://www.mooremysteries.com/ and watch for the fourth book in the LeGarde series, MAZURKA, coming in fall 2008 from Twilight Times Books.

Double Forté is the founding book of the LeGarde Mystery series and was released in November, 2004. Upstaged followed in October, 2005. His third, Tremolo: cry of the loon, was released via Twilight Times Books in November 2007. Mr. Lazar is currently working on his thirteenth book, The Aviary. The first book of his paranormal mystery series, Moore Mysteries, will be released in early 2008, along with Mazurka, the next book in the LeGarde mystery series. He is a regular columnist for FMAM (Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine), Mysteryfiction.net and has been published in Great Mystery and Suspense magazine and the Absolute Write Newsletter. Contact him at: aaron.lazar@yahoo.com, visit his blog at murderby4.blogspot.com, aaronlazar.blogspot.com, or stop by his websites at http://www.legardemysteries.com/ and http://www.mooremysteries.com/.

2008-10-29T12:38:00.009-04:00

Hello friends,

I'm out of town this weekend, but wanted to share a haiku I wrote this week after we had our first snowfall. We got about an inch up on our hill. Boy, were those trees and leaves surprised! These photos are from the first heavy frost we had. I couldn't catch the snow on the leaves because it is pitch black out now when I drive to work!
a
Hope you have a wonderful weekend. And if you are inspired to write a bit about your own environment, or perhaps these photos spark an idea, post it in the comments and I'll add it to the piece on Monday. Remember to take pleasure in the little things, and if you love to write, write like the wind!
a
- Aaron

First Snow

Sugar coated leaves

Like frosted bracelet charms

Dance in stunned silence

http://www.legardemysteries.com/
http://www.mooremysteries.com/
http://www.aplazar.gather.com/
http://www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com/

2008-09-29T15:34:00.002-04:00

Wood Library VideoCanandaigua, New York

2008-09-03T15:09:00.011-04:00

Getting Inside the Author's Head

Have you ever wondered about the inspiration for your favorite author's books? Or where that unique character came from? Was she real? Was she imagined? Was she based on you? (grin)

Have you pondered what drove the author to escape through his private parallel universe? What demons is he fleeing? What wounds is he trying to heal?

Or is it all just madcap fiction, made up from a well of deep stories that keeps on bubbling to the surface of his all too creative mind?

I've answered these questions and many more lately, through indulging in a number of radio interviews this year. It's been a learning experience, for sure. But it's also one of the sweetest ways to get close to my readers and share intimate thoughts relating to life, losses, and writing.

If you'd like to take a listen to a few of the most recent shows, feel free to click on the following links. And when you're done, email me at aaron dot lazar at yahoo dot com with feedback. If you don't already know, I love connecting with readers and consider it one of the best parts of being a writer.

Lazar interview with Magdalena Ball, Compulsive Reader.com (30 minutes)

Lazar interview with Yolanda Renee, Renee's Book Talk (60 minutes)

***

About the author:

Aaron Paul Lazar writes to soothe his soul. Columnist and author of twelve LeGarde Mysteries and Moore Mysteries, Lazar savors the countryside in the Genesee Valley in upstate New York, where his characters embrace life, play with their dogs and grandkids, grow sumptuous gardens, and chase bad guys.

Visit http://www.legardemysteries.com/
http://www.mooremysteries.com/
http://www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com/
http://www.aplazar.gather.com/
http://www.murderby4.blogspot.com/

2008-08-17T03:13:00.018-04:00

Author Aaron Lazar with grandson, Julian

Hi, folks.

I'm off in Boston this week, moving my daughter into her new apartment so she can start grad school for her degree in Music Therapy. Time is short, so I've chosen another interview to share with you.

This one was conducted by Kodak. When they asked me to be their "Print Ambassador," we conducted an interview after shooting footage all over the Genesee Valley. By the way, my "day job," as an electrophotographic engineer, involves research and development on massive digital presses. That's what we're discussing, below.

Kodak: Are there ways in which designing presses helps you write mysteries, and vice versa?

Aaron: At first thought, you might imagine that there could be NO connection between engineering and writing. After all, electrophotographic engineering involves the science behind the digital presses we design and manufacture at NexPress, the physics behind the toner, developer, imaging cylinders, and the hardware that work together to deliver prints. One might be hard put to understand how such work - data, science, formulas, and hardware - could be even remotely related to writing. But when I'm on a project, whether it's the development of a new toner to meet incredibly stringent standards, or solving a complex system problem, there's always a mystery that needs to be solved. It's that challenge, that incredibly exciting contest, that gets my blood pumping. And its a similar excitement that courses through my veins when I'm reading or writing a mystery, trying to solve it, absorbing or creating clues, and imagining "whodunnit."

Of course, no matter what one's profession, there's always human drama in real life to stimulate a writer's emotions and imagination. My colleagues have experienced appalling trials, and these traumas spark fears.

What would I do if I lost either of my baby grandsons? How would I deal with the sudden death of my wife? What if I experienced a life changing heart attack? How would I handle it if one of my daughters was being abused, or was in danger?

Those are the fibers that make up the cloth of every day life. As in news stories, they generate a germ of an idea that may blossom and grow into a storyline or an entire book. Most of the themes I've used had come from my own life, but the influences of those around me cannot be denied.

Kodak: Why do you write mysteries as opposed some other genre?

Aaron: It's common wisdom that you should "write what you read."

I've always been a fan of mysteries, and used to devour them as a child. My parents would bring home boxes of books from auctions, and I'd be happily lost for weeks in series like The Hardy Boys. I graduated to books by Agatha Christie, Rex Stout, and Helen McInnes in the years that followed. As time went on, I progressed to my current favorite novelists, including John D. MacDonald, James Patterson, Dick Francis, Clive Cussler, Laurie R. King, Lillian Jackson Braun, Peter Mayle, Dean Koontz, Stephen King, and Tony Hillerman.

Kodak: What's the feeling when you think of people actually holding a book in their hands which you've written, sitting with it, holding it, turning the pages, reading the printed words?

Aaron: The feeling is rather humbling and most phenomenal. To think of someone sitting in their living room, inhaling the sights and sounds and emotions I've painted on the printed page, fills me with an indescribable sense of joy and... a little bit of nervousness, too. My readers could be in Australia, or Iceland. Africa or Dallas. On a boat or in a plane. In bed or by the fireplace. Anywhere. Any time. Reading my words. My words... my characters, in the hands of folks I've never met. It gives me goose bumps. My parallel universe is suddenly out there, exposed, being absorbed by someone else. It's a little bit scary, but it can also be validating when they ask for more. That's the best part!

Kodak: Ebooks haven't really caught on. Do you think it's because of that whole tactile experience - holding the book, turning the pages?

Aaron: Ebooks are a great value that open up a world of publishing to thousands of authors whose work might not be available through other means, and some folks just love them. However, the majority of my readers have told me they want print books. They want to hold the book in their hands, turn the pages, feel the accompanying sense of "progress" that comes with it, and be able to put the book on their shelf when they're done. They want to save it for their children, and know it's going to be there in a hundred years.

I feel the same way. I like to carry a book in my back pocket or briefcase, sit out in the sun without worrying about the sun glaring off a screen, or having to tote around a heavy laptop or ebook reader. I especially love the feeling of holding the book in my hands when I finish a great read. It feels like a more personal connection with the author, without electronic ads popping up in the background. I turn the book around in my hands and "savor" the look and feel of it when I'm done. It becomes like an old friend, and the experience is only completed after I place it on my favorite bookshelf. Plus I especially love it when I can get the author to sign the flyleaf.

Kodak: Print has obviously played a big part in your life. Could you expand on that?

Print has opened up the whole world to me, allowing me to connect with my readers in a way that wouldn't be possible otherwise. That's what it's all about - the connections. The people I've met at book signings or through email have been astounding. And oftentimes, there are moments that just floor me.

Take for example the case of Jamie, a very successful young entrepreneur, who contacted me after reading Double Forté. He told me Gus LeGarde had "shown him that cooking a pot of stew, reading a stack of books and watching the Bambi movie with the ‘little ones' in our lives is more important that studying statements, proformus, and packing for the next business trip." He said, "I feel as though Gus, through your words, is actually slowing me down a little bit. Tonight, because of your book, I spent a little extra time while tucking them in. reading an extra bedtime story, and rocking the little one in her bedroom for ten minutes or so." His feedback warmed my heart. Even though I write mysteries, Gus is a diehard family man, and the books are filled with warm moments between him and his grandson, for example. If just one of my books causes just one of my readers to spend more time with their children...that's more than enough for me.

Kodak: What do you think it means to be an ambassador for print? And how do you think that role, for you or anyone, will continue to drive the future of print?

Aaron: Being an ambassador for print means to engage, motivate, and inspire readers. By creating a mystery series that grabs readers who want to learn more about the characters, to delve into their past and future, to dig deeper into the mysteries and come back for more - that seems to inspire them to read more, and that means more printing.

And if my humble words can influence one single reader, like Jamie, then that is the most satisfying and validating part of the whole process. Let's face it, print is here to stay. And along with all the other authors on this planet, I'm honored to be a small part of that process.

2008-08-14T09:20:00.001-04:00

As requested, here are some of my European photos. These were taken with a 35mm camera in the eighties. I've scanned the prints, so the quality isn't superb and the colors have dimmed, but perhaps they'll do the job!

I've also attached an excerpt from Mazurka, fourth in the LeGarde series and about to be released by Twilight Times Books. It's a break in the action - a tour of the Musee D'Orsay, in Paris. Scroll down to the bottom to find it.

Aaron

Wolfach

Stein Am Rhein

Schwarzwald

Rhothenberg

Rhotenberg

Paris

Cross country skiing near Muelhausen, in the Schwabian Albs

Houses in Denkendorf

Notre Dame, Paris

Rainy Paris Street

Muelhausen

The Seine

Notre Dame (see what I mean, Steve?)

Cabbies in Vienna (Wien)

My wife, Dale, in Paris

Me, in Paris, about age 33.

Excerpt from Mazurka:

We entered the Orsay Museum when the doors opened at 9:00. After paying for our tickets, we sauntered hand in hand through the grand, light-filled building to the Impressionist collection on the upper level, surprised the hall was relatively quiet. I'd expected that this collection of unequaled masterpieces would be mobbed all hours of the day.

Maybe everyone’s headed for the Louvre to see the Mona Lisa?

I chuckled, but quickly forgot my quirky inner thoughts when I spotted one of my all-time favorites, Jeune Filles au Piano by Pierre-Auguste Renoir. Two charming sisters leaned toward sheet music propped on a piano. Long, silky locks rippled down their backs. Pastel bows carefully fastened their hair, capturing the slim plaits whispering across their cheeks. The golden-haired sister perched on a piano bench, her graceful right hand on the keyboard. She bore a faint resemblance to my daughter, Freddie. The pretty brunette leaned over her sister’s shoulder, carefully inspecting the music. Their faces were delicately drawn, their skin creamy white. Innocence leapt from the page. The soft whirls of Renoir’s paintbrush had captured youthful virtue so succinctly that I was unable to tear myself away. Even the background enchanted me. Feathery oranges and greens depicted heavy drapes that provided a soft backdrop for Renoir’s subjects. I knew this painting well and had enjoyed it from many a source, but the immediacy of standing directly before the original dazzled me.

Camille touched my arm and brought me back to earth.

“Look,” she whispered reverently. “The Swing.”

We sidestepped to the next offering. Renoir’s depiction of a sun-dappled afternoon hung before us. Two young men in straw hats and jackets flirted with a young lady who stood on a wooden swing. I imagined the drops of sun playing across her long white dress as she swung slowly back and forth. She wore pale pink flowers in her upswept strawberry-blond hair and responded coyly to her suitors’ teasing with downcast eyes.

We meandered slowly through the rest of the Renoir exhibit, enjoying each piece as one greets an old friend. We paused at Le Moulin de la Galette and enjoyed the sun-speckled depiction of the outdoor café, where companions socialized and danced in the splendor of the afternoon sun. Ornate, white-painted iron gas lamps stood in the background, offering their delicate glass globes to the heavens.

We shuffled slowly past the La Danse à la Campagne and La Danse à la ville, both painted in 1883. Just before we left the Renoir exhibit, I stopped before an unfamiliar work.

It was clearly Renoir, but the bucolic riverside view had never found its way into the Impressionist calendars or coffee table books in my collection. I moved closer to the painting, dazzled by the sense of movement that flowed from its vibrant brush strokes. Golden-green grasses swayed by the riverside, distinctly undulating in the moist river breeze. White clouds rolled overhead across the outlet where the blue river merged with the sea. I wondered if Renoir had picnicked on this airy riverbank as he captured the scene for all eternity.

Spellbound, we moved into the Degas gallery and stopped to admire the bronze figure of the ballerina, Grande Danseuse, sculpted in 1881 by the master. A cast bronze corset anchored an authentic taffeta skirt. The young dancer’s proud face thrust forward in a nearly arrogant expression as she positioned her slim arms behind her.

Next, we strolled to paintings of vivid horse races, marveling at the artist’s ability to capture the excitement of the racing field. Dancers and bathing women covered the walls. Degas worshipped each woman through his honest depiction of her daily activities.

We reached the hall that featured our mutually favorite artist, Claude Monet. We lingered for a long time before the paintings of the artist’s gardens in Giverny, France. I stood, hypnotized, before the works of the genius who so deeply loved nature and light, and turned to Camille.

“You know the large perennial garden on the south side of our house?”

“Mmm hmm,” she answered.

Her eyes were glued to the painting as she luxuriated in the flow of colors bathing her senses.

“Elsbeth and I designed it to match this painting. Grape-colored bearded iris and red poppies. Of course it’s not even close, but that was our intent.”

“I can see it,” she said graciously, smiling and tilting her head to the left. “I thought it looked familiar.”

Our short visit ended with the massive water lily studies that sparkled from the walls. I imagined floating in a rowboat past the dripping weeping willows and sliding beneath the delicate Japanese bridges spanning the sun-drenched lily pond.

“Next time,” I said, “we need to allow several days to spend here, and then we’ve got to visit the gardens in Giverny. They’ve redone them, you know, and have replicated the original designs that Monet planted. Lily ponds and all.”

“Really?” she asked. “I’ll bet they’re gorgeous.”

Her stomach growled loudly, causing a few heads to turn. She blushed. We’d been gazing at the precious artwork for five hours - it had seemed like minutes. But a quick recheck of the time showed it was indeed nearly two o’clock. We still planned to visit Chopin’s residence and take a short tour in the famous Catacombs that snaked beneath the city.

“Hungry?” I asked.

She nodded. I was ravenous, and gladly took her arm to rejoin the thronging crowds on the streets of Paris.

2008-08-10T03:03:00.002-04:00

Hi, folks. I have a book signing this weekend and am moving my daughter to Boston next week, so I won't be able to write my usual Sunday column for a few Sundays. I hope you understand.

Instead, I'm going to post a few interviews. This one was conducted by Beryl Singleton Bissell, author of The Scent of God.

-Aaron

BSB: As I was reading Tremolo, I kept thinking what fun it would be if you created a series of these “young Gus” stories for middle readers. Sort of like the Hardy Boy’s of the late 20th Century. Do you have any plans for such a series and if not, why?

APL: Actually, I do have plans to continue the “young Gus” series – at least two more books. I haven’t aimed these at any age group in particular, however. It seems my oldest readers (one of my favorite readers is 98 years old!) enjoy the young Gus romps as much as the YA crowd.

I still haven’t “shown” my readers the year after Tremolo, when Siegfried is struck on the head by a motorboat and loses most of his faculties. Poor Sig. He’s my angel on earth.

And let’s face it – I probably won’t be able to rest until I have “documented” Gus’s whole life!
I’ve written another prequel that takes Gus and Elsbeth to Boston in the late sixties, when they both attended the music conservatory. It’s a delicious hippie aged adventure, replete with flower children, white slave traders, and plenty of emotional plunges. That book may generate some of its own sequels. Gus and Elsbeth are just married in Portamento and they discover their pregnancy at the same time that Gus’s grandmother becomes seriously ill. Multiple traumas happen to our poor hero! On top of that, he almost gets pecked to death by a peacock. But that’s another story for another day…

BSB: I’ve noticed how totally good and loving your main characters are, and how totally evil the criminal are. Most of us, even the most jaded, have elements of both good and bad within us. Can you explain why you’ve chosen to present your characters as either good or bad.

APL: It’s strange, but I never really “chose” to do this. It’s just the way it tumbled out of my brain. I’m not sure why, because I’m certainly aware of how most folks are a blend of good and bad. Maybe it’s just exposure to too many movies where characters are painted that way. Or simply the way my crazy imagination works.

Better yet, it could be my passion for opera. You know there are always the good guys and bad guys, and rarely anyone in between. I think that must be it.

BSB: I am interested in ways that your writing has impacted your life. Can you tell us about how writing changes or strengthens you?

APL: This is a great question, Beryl, one that I know you have great insight to in your own life.
When life gets tough – I turn to my writing for solace, borne of escapism.

Sure, family and friends help soothe life’s woes, and they are fantastic sources of comfort. Especially those hugs I get from my little grandsons. But there’s something uniquely satisfying about turning to the parallel universe I control (when I can’t control anything else) and “taking charge.” Gus LeGarde and Sam Moore (protagonists of both mystery series) are a lot like me, and by creating scenes with them I’m able to participate in virtual adventures. Or to relive the loss of a loved one – and work out those feelings. Or to recapture the joy of childhood. Or to get my blood pumping in my virtual armchair by running helter-skelter through the woods after a bad guy. Or to enjoy “visits” with my beloved father and grandparents, who are populated throughout the books.

You get the drift.

But even if life wasn’t fraught with its own very real problems (we have plenty of medical problems in our family), I’d still write. I have no choice. I need the stimulation of the creative process every day. I need to connect with readers. I live for that.

There’s nothing more satisfying that coming across a reader in the local grocery store who stares with star-struck eyes and tells me how she wants to marry Gus LeGarde. And so does her mother. LOL. It’s great.

Seriously, though, there are deep connections that bind us together – whether they are through themes of loss, honor, family, nature, gardens, music, art, or any common element that resonates with readers. I always encourage my readers to connect with me at aaron dot lazar at yahoo dot com.

BSB: How does your family react to your writing and your writing life and its demands?

APL: You’ll laugh at this one. Or maybe not. Could it be a common problem?

My family is jealous of my writing.

It’s not like I squirrel away in a secret place to write for hours during the day. I don’t. Though sometimes I wish I could!

I get through the day’s needs – engineering, commuting, dinner, babysitting, dishes, catching up – and then I take just an hour or two to write and promote.

Whether it’s late at night or in the early morning, I need a few hours for myself. It was impossible when my three daughters were younger and needed me for everything. You know, laundry, homework, packing lunches, driving everyone to drama club practice, band practice, soccer games, or piano lessons. But as they matured and became more independent, I found the time to pull away just a little.

Even now, it’s never enough. Promoting takes so much time away from the pure writing process that it’s sometimes frustrating. But “nobody ever bought a book they haven’t heard about,” so it’s a necessary part of the business.

My wife is proud of me, but sometimes she gets jealous of “me and the computer.” I try to explain that it’s “me and my books,” but she always mentions about that darned computer. Says we’re joined at the hip.

My daughters seem proud – but they haven’t read all of my books yet. I think that’s because “it’s just Dad,” and they can read them anytime. I guess it’s like that “in your backyard” scenario. I live near Rochester, NY, and I’ve never visited the George Eastman House. Because it’s right there and I can visit “anytime.” Shameful, really.

So now can I add more sex and violence to my books?

Originally I wanted to write stuff that was titillating, but wholesome. I avoided the sex scene details, worried what my little girls would think of their daddy. As time went on, though, in the later books I have added some mild steam to the mix. Nothing scummy or graphic – just sensual scenes between Gus and his wife. In Mazurka, which is due out this year from Twilight Times Books, Gus and Camille enjoy their first “time” together in Paris on the night of their honeymoon. My readers have waited a LONG time for this event.

BSB: With your busy schedule as an engineer, gardener, chef of family feasts and other meals, photographer, blogger, father, grandfather, how do you find time to write?

APL: It’s not easy. On top of the above tasks, I also do the cleaning, laundry, home repairs, shopping, and bills. Oh, I hate doing the bills. Maybe someday when I’m rich and famous (LOL) I won’t have to worry about the struggle. But it never seems to end, even when you think it’s going to “get easier this year.”

But things worthwhile are never easy, are they?

I manage to balance it by putting family first and writing second. The rest comes along for the ride. I also cook healthy feasts on Sundays and we eat off of that every night during the week. Lots of veggies, poultry, and fish. And if the oil change in the car is a little overdue, or if my weeds aren’t all neat and tidy like Sam Moore’s gardens (the creep is retired; I’m so jealous!), or the kitchen floor isn’t shining… well, so be it. I’ve gotta write. I have no choice.

Thank you, Beryl, for these lovely questions! Unique and insightful, they gave me an opportunity to chat about stuff I usually keep to myself. :o)

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