CRC Blog Analysis on WHAT DRIVES MEN by Susan Tepper “Between Two Men”

 *The images in this specific piece are granted copyright:  Public Domain, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair Use Under The United States Copyright Law.

The other images are granted copyright permission by the copyright holder, which is identified beneath each photo. 

**Some of the links will have to be copied and then posted in your search engine in order to pull up properly

***The CRC Blog welcomes submissions from published and unpublished writers. Contact CRC Blog via email at caccoop@aol.com or personal Facebook messaging at https://www.facebook.com/car.cooper.7 

CRC Blog Analysis on WHAT DRIVES MEN by Susan Tepper

“Between Two Men” 

     Susan Tepper’s novel    What Drives Men was published on June 21, 2019 by Wilderness House Press 

https://www.wildernesshousepress.com/ 

and book designed by Steve Glines.

https://www.facebook.com/steve.glines 

(Left: Steve Glines Facebook logo photo) 

The official summary of What Drives Men:  “Susan Tepper's new novel is a picaresque romp. A Gulf War vet battling PTSD is tricked into chauffeuring millionaire country music legend Billy Bud Wilcox from Newark to Colorado. Everything goes wrong. Tepper expertly skewers a vast collection of characters on a wildly entertaining road trip from hell.”

Even though most of What Drives Men takes place on the roads between Newark, New Jersey and Colorado, Russell’s own struggles and traumas are not contained in the United States, but across the ocean to Iraq and across the waters in his own brain. What Drives Men has all of the conflicts that the book cover suggests:  conflict within one’s self, between one another, and with nature itself. (Right: Susan Tepper.  Copyright by Susan Tepper)

        

Susan Tepper describes the book cover as bringing all of these conflicts the main character Russell faces into one metaphysical image: “As for the cover, we did a lot of talking about it, me and my publisher Steve Glines, and we didn't want it to be an obvious cover, because the book doesn't start out as a road novel. It's about a man in search of himself, a man who has lost himself during the Gulf War. We also wanted the cover to elaborate on the title what drives men? And so we chose this cover of a man attempting to navigate an impossible universe, using a gondola, a universe with many moons and choices.We wanted a metaphorical cover that sums up Russell's confusion and ambivalence regarding his place in this world.” (Above Left: Susan Tepper's writing room where she wrote WHAT DRIVES MEN.  Credit and Copyright by Susan Tepper)

Click on the link below to read more about Susan Tepper

https://www.susantepper.com/ 

Click on the link below to order What Drives Men from Amazon.

https://www.amazon.com/What-Drives-Men-Susan-Tepper/dp/1733118500/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=what+drives+men+by+susan+tepper&qid=1618963468&sr=8-1 

        

Russell is a disabled Gulf War Veteran suffering from PTSD, living in a childless marriage with wife Maggie.  Then two things happen in his life that change it for the worse:  while in a park he is attacked by a squirrel who he believes is a weapon of mass destruction, especially when the squirrel causes him to bleed. Then his wife Maggie decides to leave.  

This sets the stage for the vulnerability of the soon to be 50-year-old man – he’s lost just about everything when he comes across an ad of a car service office requesting a driver to drive the legendary country-western singer Billy Bud Wilcox from Newark, New Jersey all the way to Denver, Colorado.   His new boss Nina loans him her brother Leo’s vehicle, a bright and shiny black Lincoln Continental for the journey. There is just one requirement or warning about driving Leo’s car – if it receives even one scratch or has the scent of cigarette smoke, Russell is dead meat. Russell promises to treat Leo’s car with the utmost care and respect; and with a promise of a big tip from the legendary singer, Russell is set to go on the journey.

        

Billy Bud Wilcox otherwise known as BBW is an obscene, grouchy, mischievous, cussing, pussy obsessed old man who demands he gets his way at every possible moment, and, along with a suitcase containing $40,000 in case, it’s almost guaranteed BBW will get his way.  But not with Russell, within the same day he meets BBW he is wishing he never took the job and considers BBW like an enemy, or a bee buzzing in his brain, and Russell cannot wait for this driving job to be finished. 

        

Throughout the drive the two argue about everything and almost all of the time: when they are driving, when they stop to eat, stop to gas up, or stop at a hotel for the night.  One of the many things they argue about is BBW’s inability to not flirt with women, oftentimes, calling each woman by the name Shelley Lee, and then sobbing for Shelley Lee to not leave him, which convinces Russell that the old man is senile. 

        Soon Russell is more than BBW’s driver but his brother’s keeper, making sure the old man doesn’t walk on ice, much less walk away and disappear.   He even encourages BBW to bathe and shave but receives a big fat no.

        The two men have their first decent or amicable conversation while driving through Pennsylvania.

       “Tell me about the love of your life.” As if none of the morning drama had ever occurred.

        “Are you talking to me?” said Russell.

“Who else is in this car?  Just you and me.  Me and you.  Right or wrong?”

“I guess so.”  Russell feeling uncomfortable. It didn’t strike him as the sort of thing he wanted to share with Billy.

“Come on, now. Don’t be shy.  You saw my crocodile tears.  Let’s see some a yers.”

“You want me to cry?”

The old man chucked.  “Not cry.  Bare your soul, boy.”

Bare your soul boy.  A song he might’ve sung at the height of his career.  Except Russell never bared his soul.  Never.  Asking Stan if he considered Maggie nice was about as far as he ever got baring his soul.  He wasn’t even sure he had one.  If people asked:  Do you believe in God?  Russell always said:  I don’t know.  No point agreeing to something that felt unimaginable, extreme, even far fetched.  The day the squirrel jumped out of that tree, if someone had asked:  Do you believe in God?  He would’ve said:  I believe in the devil.  The devil jumped out of that tree and bit me.  Of course nobody asked. 

“Cat got your tongue?”

“What was the question?”

“You gotta ask twice, no point askin’.”

Russell groaned.  “Do we have to talk about this?”

“Yep.  If you want to clear the slate.”

Clear the slate!  What a joke.

He listened to an ad on the radio for Listerine.  He thought about telling the old man how he was walking along minding his own business when this rodent (as Clara called it) flies out of a tree – this virtual Batman attacking him on the neck.

“Her name is Maggie and she left me,” he said.

“When?”

“Some time ago.”

“What season?”

“I don’t know.  Winter I guess.”

“Ah-ha!  I knew you had issues with winner.  You don’t like it.  Maybe you used to, now you don’t.  You and Maggie husband and wife?”

Russell groaned again.  “Do we have to do this?

“If you want to get your mind free.  Or do you want to be daft in your old age?”

As if you’re not? thought Russell.  “I feel like having a pepperoni pizza.”

The old man cracked up laughing.  “That’s Maggie talkin’ from your gut.  She’s still got you hot inside.  Still smokin’ for her.  You want to eat her pepperoni, that’s what you want.”  He made obscene noises with his lips.

Things completely change when they come across three drifters in a cowboy bar in Ohio:  pretty blonde Sonia, African American beauty Peaches, and blonde-headed man Tad. At BBW’s insistence and Russell’s strong displeasure, the three join Russell and BBW on their journey to Colorado, in what they believe is BBW’s lucrative ranch where a white stallion is waiting for them to ride upon. BBW is ecstatic to be sitting in the back seat between Sonia and Peaches while Tad sits upfront with Russell; the whole time Russell regretting he took on this job and as impatient as ever for the job to end.   

Soon the five individuals must face the greatest conflict of all while they visit Iowa’s Crane Pelon Falls. By the time Russell drives to Nebraska, he reexamines his and BBW’s relationship: Are they enemy or foe or something in the middle?  

        

Susan Tepper has been a writer for twenty years and is the author of nine published books.  She writes in all genres, with stories, poems, interviews, essays and opinion columns published extensively worldwide. An award-winning author, Tepper has been nominated nineteen times for the Pushcart Prize and has received a Pulitzer Prize nomination for the novel ‘What May Have Been’ (currently being adapted for the stage as The Crooked Heart). 

        

        Her story "Africa...then" was published in Gargoyle Magazine 2020 issue #72 and has been nominated for the Best American Mystery/Suspense Series. Other awards include Second Place Winner in Story/South Million Writers Award, 7th Place Winner in the Francis Ford Coppola sponsored Zoetrope Contest for the Novel (2003), Best Story of 17 Years of Vestal Review, a nomination for NPR’s Selected Shorts Series, and other honors.  

        

        Additionally, Tepper has been an editor at Wilderness House Literary Review and Istanbul Literary Review. For seven years she was panel moderator of the SMALL PRESS PANEL at Marymount Manhattan College Writers Conference, which eventually morphed into the Hunter College Writers Conference. FIZZ her reading series at KGB Bar, NYC, ran for a decade, and showcased the talents of our literary stars as well as many first time authors. 

        

        Before settling down to the writing life, she worked as an actor, singer, flight attendant, marketing manager, overseas tour guide, TV producer, interior decorator, rescue worker and more. She blames it all on a high interest range. Tepper is a native New Yorker.

Gwen M. Plano’s "The Culmination, a new beginning" is #230 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION

 *The images in this specific piece are granted copyright:  Public Domain, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair Use Under The United States Copyright Law.

The other images are granted copyright permission by the copyright holder, which is identified beneath each photo. 

**Some of the links will have to be copied and then posted in your search engine in order to pull up properly

***The CRC Blog welcomes submissions from published and unpublished fiction genre (including screenwriters and playwrights) for INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION.  Contact CRC Blog via email at caccoop@aol.com or personal Facebook messaging at https://www.facebook.com/car.cooper.7 

****Gwen M. Plano’s The Culmination, a new beginning is #230 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific excerpt from a fiction genre and how that fiction writer wrote that specific excerpt.  

What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? I began writing it in January 2020, but in February my writing was interrupted by surgery. Once back on my feet, I wrote steadily and finished the first draft in May. I sent it to the editor during the summer, and then to the publisher in September. 

 

Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work?  And please describe in detail.  And can you please include a photo? I live in the Midwest and am fortunate to have a small office in my home. It is there that I write.  Though I have a laptop for travel, I’m attached to my desktop computer when I’m home. 

What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I usually begin writing very early in the morning, around 4:00 am, and that practice was true for The Culmination. Silence helps me focus and early mornings are particularly quiet. Often, I sip on coffee or tea as I write. Though I enjoy music very much, when I’m doing serious writing, I appreciate silence. (Left: Gwen M. Plano in her office. Copyright by Gwen M. Plano)

What is the summary of Culmination, a new beginning? The Culmination can best be described as a military thriller. It tackles difficult topics such as denuclearization, the power struggles over oil in the Middle East, as well as the ever-present danger of war. Readers will find themselves sitting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, walking in the historic Red Square, and laughing with children in an orphanage in Turkey. They will glimpse the horror of war and watch the give and take of a negotiated peace. Readers will also meet the two heads of state who fall in love and subsequently commit themselves to creating a world in which all are family. 

Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference.  This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer. Leaders from nine countries with nuclear arsenals gather in Reykjavik, Iceland to negotiate a nuclear disarmament treaty. Vice President Margaret Adler from the United States chairs the meetings. After an intense and heated exchange between two heads of state, Adler calls for order and addresses the group.

“If we’re honest with ourselves, or anyone else, we’d admit freely that we don’t trust, that we live in fear, and that we are always ready to impose a deadly strike. In fact, our power is measured by our ability to destroy. Isn’t that right?

“No one suggests that we abandon our need to protect our country’s boundaries and our people. Rather, today, we lay the foundation for an alternative way of relating. Shall we proceed?” 

Members glance one at another and nod their agreement.

For the next two hours, the leaders present and discuss their preliminary ideas for progressive nuclear disarmament. The Pakistani leader asks for a break, and Adler concurs.

“Let’s reconvene in fifteen minutes,” she says. 

As chairs get pushed back, and people stand, Adler walks out onto the deck. A chilly breeze brushes her skin, which she welcomes. This is her first visit to Iceland, and she smiles. What a perfect location. 

The Russian President interrupts her reveries when he stands by her side. “This is a day I could not have imagined, standing shoulder to shoulder with the Vice President of the United States, looking out on ...” 

Adler smiles, “I couldn’t have imagined it either. Here we are, the two most powerful countries in the world, nations who have hated one another for a century, marveling at natural beauty and a child playing with a kite. No, I couldn’t have imagined.”

President Smirnov gives a side glance and asks, “Where did it occur?” 

Adler realizes that he’s noticed her arm prosthesis. “Afghanistan.” 

“Ah, another reason to hate Russians.”

“Don’t we all have reasons? You wonder who holds the power—truly. Those of us who can destroy, or a child who plays innocently with her kite?”

Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write?  And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt?  I never expected to write this book, but in some ways, I had no choice. The characters crowded into my office and insisted that I listen to them. In a very real way, they wrote the book. I simply tapped the keys and learned of the urgent need to become family. 

Growing up in Southern California, Gwen M. Plano loved learning and she loved imagining stories, some grandly epic, all personal and heartfelt. She taught and served in universities across the United States and in Japan, then retired and focused again on her stories. Her first book, Letting Go Into Perfect Love, is an award-winning memoir recounting some of her struggles in life while providing insight into the healing process. 

Gwen shifted to fiction after this first book and joined forces with John W. Howell in writing a thriller, The Contract: between heaven and earth. Its sequel, The Choice: the unexpected heroes, soon followed. The Culmination, a new beginning is the third book of the series. This summer the final book of the thriller series, The Call for freedom, is set for publication. Gwen lives in the Midwest with her husband, traveling and writing. Her four adult children and her four grandchildren are her pride and joy. (Right: Gwen M. Plano with her husband Larry in 2020.  Copyright by Gwen M. Plano)

CONTACT INFO:

Blog:  https://www.gwenplano.com/blog-reflections  

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/GMPlano 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/gmplano  

Amazon Author’s page:  https://amzn.to/3eAU2Bt 

BOOK LINKS:

Letting Go into Perfect Love - https://amzn.to/3bToO7t 

The Contract between heaven and earth - https://amzn.to/2U2Lgmv 

The Choice: the unexpected heroes - https://amzn.to/3lcz8eA 

The Culmination, a new beginning - https://amzn.to/3eEWkj9 

All of the Inside the Emotion of Fiction LIVE LINKS can be found at the VERY END of the below feature: 

http://chrisricecooper.blogspot.com/2021/03/stephenson-holts-arranged-marriage-is.html 

Eileen Farrelly’s “Irish Washer Woman” is #278 in the never-ending series called BACKSTORY OF THE POEM

 *The images in this specific piece are granted copyright:  Public Domain, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair Use Under The United States Copyright Law.

The other images are granted copyright permission by the copyright holder, which is identified beneath each photo. 

**Some of the links will have to be copied and then posted in your search engine in order to pull up properly

*** The CRC Blog welcomes submissions from published and unpublished poets for BACKSTORY OF THE POEM series.  Contact CRC Blog via email at caccoop@aol.com or personal Facebook messaging at https://www.facebook.com/car.cooper.7

***Eileen Farrelly’s “Irish Washer Woman” is #278 in the never-
ending series called BACKSTORY OF THE POEM where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific poem and how the poet wrote that specific poem.  All BACKSTORY OF THE POEM links are at the end of this piece.(Right:  Eileen Farrelly in April of 2021.  Credit and Copyright by Eileen Farrelly) 

Can you go through the step-by-step process of writing this poem from the moment the idea was first conceived in your brain until final form? The Irish Washerwoman is a popular Irish jig that my father used to play on the mandolin when I was a child. I also play the mandolin and decided to learn this tune because it reminded me of my father. It was while playing the tune all these years later that I got the idea of writing a poem about it.  

As I wrote I was able to tap into that childhood memory and could visualize the scene which seemed to get clearer and stronger as I wrote it. 

I considered making it more rhythmic and keeping it in the mood of the jig, but that made it feel forced and a little bit contrived and so in the end let it keep the fairly loose form that had come originally.

Click on the below link to listen to IRISH WASHERWOMAN.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92XLtAxSzS4 

Where were you when you started to actually write the poem?  And please describe the place in great detail. I was in the sitting room of my flat in Glasgow and jotted down some initial ideas and phrases before I transferred it onto the laptop.  I don’t have a particular place to write. I live alone so can write and play music where I like without being disturbed. I mostly write on the couch in the sitting room. I am not a very tidy person so am usually surrounded by books and half-empty coffee cups. I would have written some on the couch and some sitting by the window which has a wonderful view of trees, a river and a Victorian bridge which is always busy.

What month and year did you start writing this poem? September 2019. I only know this because it was my submission to my writers group that month. (Right: Eileen Farrelly in September of 2019.  Copyright by Eileen Farrelly)

How many drafts of this poem did you write before going to the final? (And can you share a photograph of your rough drafts with pen markings on it?) I wrote  a very rough initial  version, mostly ideas and key phrase that form the basic framework. I usually move on to the lap top quite quickly to move the text around. The first  ‘complete’ draft was a good bit longer than the final version. I tend to put in everything I can think of then whittle it down. By the third or fourth draft, I am usually just playing with line breaks and making small subtle changes here and there. Unfortunately, I don’t have a copy of the early versions. (Left:  Eileen Farrelly's writing space.  Credit and Copyright by Eileen Farrelly)

Were there any lines in any of your rough drafts of this poem that were not in the final version?  And can you share them with us?  There were some because the earlier drafts were a few lines longer, but I haven’t kept a copy. (Right: Eileen Farrelly's Twitter Logo Photo)

What do you want readers of this poem to take from this poem? In part, I hope they can see the washerwoman as clearly as I can, going about her work and perhaps remember the heavy labor that our grandmothers’  generation seemed to take in their stride. And also that it may help them to connect with music or other childhood memories that were particularly significant to them.

Which part of the poem was the most emotional of you to write and why? The whole process was quite emotional but in a good way. My father died when I was 10 so those memories are cherished. He was a creative man and as well as playing music he loved literature and became an English teacher later in life. As I wrote, there was naturally the regret that he never got to read this, or any of my poetry. But there was also the thought that he would be happy that I was writing and also playing the mandolin.  (Right: Eileen Farrelly's mandolin on the left.  Her father's mandolin on the right.  Credit and Copyright by Eileen Farrelly)

Has this poem been published before?  And if so where? Not yet but it will be included in my first chapbook Somethings I ought to throw away which will be published by a small Scottish press called “Deich”, later this year. Dreich is a Scots word to describe a dull, miserable rainy day!

https://www.facebook.com/Dreichmag/ 

The Irish Washer Woman

When my father played,

I could almost see her

dancing her washer woman’s jig

through the steam, stepping

between the white sinks,

her basket piled high.

As his fingers skipped

across the strings

she tipped the week’s washing

into the bubbling tub.

Bow backed, bobbing

the smell of bleach on her hands,

swirling suds

as she soaped and scrubbed,

knuckling the washboard

in a steady rhythm

And when they were done

it was back to the start

all over again

never missing a beat

All of the Backstory of the Poem LIVE LINKS can be found at the VERY END of the below feature: 

http://chrisricecooper.blogspot.com/2021/02/will-justice-drakes-intercession-is-251.html 

****Christine Duts’s "Aurelie-Survival" is #230 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION

 *The images in this specific piece are granted copyright:  Public Domain, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair Use Under The United States Copyright Law.

The other images are granted copyright permission by the copyright holder, which is identified beneath each photo. 

**Some of the links will have to be copied and then posted in your search engine in order to pull up properly

***The CRC Blog welcomes submissions from published and unpublished fiction genre (including screenwriters and playwrights) for INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION.  Contact CRC Blog via email at caccoop@aol.com or personal Facebook messaging at https://www.facebook.com/car.cooper.7 

****Christine Duts’s "Aurelie-Survival" is #230 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific excerpt from a fiction genre and how that fiction writer wrote that specific excerpt.  

What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? I started writing this book in 2011 and I finished it in 2012. 

Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work? And please describe in detail. And can you please include a photo? I was renting a house in San Jose Del Cabo, (Above Right) in the Baja, Mexico, but I have moved since then. I usually wrote at either the kitchen table or at the counter in the kitchen. (Christine Duts's laptop on her kitchen table. Credit and Copyright by Christine Duts)

What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I often listened to a mix of Yann Tiersen, I find his music inspiring. I also listened to other artists. I always wrote on a laptop. 

https://www.yanntiersen.com/ 

Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference. This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer.

Pages 1 - 3

The wind caressed my face gently despite the hard velocity of my flight. I didn´t feel any of it. I hardly noticed the cold night air as I soared through the sky, my black leathery wings spread out over six feet each. My dark blue-black cape was held by the wind and my long black dress filled with the icy air, but that didn´t bother me either. Why? Because I couldn´t feel. I had no idea what the cold could do to a human body. Flames were the only thing that could really damage but not necessarily kill me. Burning hot, devouring flames I could feel; that pain was too hard to ignore. But this winter breeze? It didn´t have any effect on me whatsoever.

I must have been a frightful sight to anyone passing by, but it was well past midnight, and nobody but night predators like me would prowl the woods in darkness. Owls fluttered away and rats scurried through the underbrush, trying to hide from the ferocious predator approaching in the sky. However, I wasn´t hungry, and even if I was, I usually didn´t feed on animals. Their flesh did not entice me, and I cared even less about their bones and hides. On occasions, their blood deemed appetizing to me; but my appetite was too big and demanding. Therefore, I preferred the blood of humans.

Often I´d slay the evildoer: the drug dealer, the rapist, the child molester, the animal abuser, the thief, and sometimes I even stumbled upon a murderer. The latter were my favorite. They always thought themselves so invincible and strong with a gun in their hand, not believing that I was what I was, until I sank my fangs in their feeble necks and slowly drank their blood. As I felt life drain from their bodies, I could see images of what they had done, and most of the time, they were horrible visions of people they had killed, children whose parents they had taken away. So, I was incapable of feeling pity for them.

Sporadically, I stumbled upon an innocent soul, and if my body could withhold itself, I would resist my urge. Nevertheless, if my hunger was too great, I attacked injudiciously.

I was an excellent hunter and my skills were known among my fellow vampires. The young ones feared me; the older ones respected me, although they knew that they still had the power to destroy me. There have been the random fledglings who thought themselves strong and invincible after they were given immortality.

Poor idiots, they never realized how much they still had to learn and that the path of immortality was a hard and tempestuous one. They usually didn´t last long, especially if they challenged me. I was stronger and better than they were. And I was older. However, I wasn´t as old as the elders, who have roamed the world for two thousand, even five thousand years.

Yes, the elders, the fount of us all. I cannot tell you my story without including the ancient ones, the ones who had launched our kind into existence, the ones our survival depended on, the ones who guided us. Their skin was alabaster white and nearly transparent, and they were a frightful vision to behold, especially if they hadn´t fed in a long time, which often occurred, since their ancient bodies didn´t require daily feedings anymore.

My skin was pale, but not pearly, nearly transparent white like theirs; and my eyes were a brilliant and radiant blue—a gift from eternal life.

As I draw you into this tale of blood and survival without even having started my story, let me tell you that I have been a vampire for a little over two hundred and fifty years. I was made during the tremulous times of the French Revolution. It was a period of great turmoil and little respect for human lives, despite the fact that the Revolution was fought for the freedom of men. Is it because of those days where blood flowed daily from the insatiable guillotine that I have become such a scrupulous vampire, such a ferocious killer? Or was it in my vampire genes? Either way, everything started back then, when I believed in liberty, equality, and fraternity—liberté, égalité, fraternité,” the slogan we called on the streets.

Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write? And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt? It was my first vampire novel. Before that, I had always written about adventure, but little fantasy. Creating this new world for my book was a beautiful process. As soon as I started writing the prologue, the whole story just flowed out of me. Creating the characters, feeling their thought processes, the inner turmoil and battle between the monsters they have become and the strings of humanity they desperately try to retain, it all became a part of me. 

Were there any deletions from this excerpt that you can share with us? And can you please include a photo of your marked up rough drafts of this excerpt? I don't think there were any major deletions. I wrote this a long time ago, but at the time the story just flowed out of me as soon as I started writing. (Christine Duts. Copyright by Christine Duts)

https://www.amazon.com/-/es/Christine-Duts/dp/1618975749 

All of the Inside the Emotion of Fiction LIVE LINKS can be found at the VERY END of the below feature: 

http://chrisricecooper.blogspot.com/2021/03/stephenson-holts-arranged-marriage-is.html 

Sue Moorcroft’s "Under the Italian Sun" is #229 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION

 *The images in this specific piece are granted copyright:  Public Domain, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair Use Under The United States Copyright Law.

The other images are granted copyright permission by the copyright holder, which is identified beneath each photo. 

**Some of the links will have to be copied and then posted in your search engine in order to pull up properly

***The CRC Blog welcomes submissions from published and unpublished fiction genre (including screenwriters and playwrights) for INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION.  Contact CRC Blog via email at caccoop@aol.com or personal Facebook messaging at https://www.facebook.com/car.cooper.7 

****Sue Moorcroft’s "Under the Italian Sun" is #229 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific excerpt from a fiction genre and how that fiction writer wrote that specific excerpt.  

Name of fiction work? And were there other names you considered that you would like to share with us? My new book’s called Under the Italian Sun and is set in Umbria, Italy. (Right) It’s a book about identity, beginning with Zia discovering that not only has she never known her father but there are two birth and death certificates for her mother, Victoria Chalmers - bearing different dates. The working title was A Starry Italian Sky but I’m never precious about titles. My publishing team knows what will sell.

What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? This is always such a hard question to answer because it’s been a spark in my imagination for a long time. I wrote notes in my Notes app a year before I began working properly on the idea. The first draft would have been written April-September 2020 but then there are a couple of rounds of edits. I finished proofreading queries in February 2021. (Left: Sue Moorcroft in March of 2020. Copyright by Sue Moorcroft)

Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work?  And please describe in detail.  And can you please include a photo? Two places, actually. Deprived of my usual writing retreat and writing week away because the UK was in lockdown, I wrote a bit in my back garden. (Right:  Sue Moorcroft writing in her garden.  Copyright by Sue Moorcroft)

I made a lot of use of headphones because my husband was home, too, and was building a shed. Mainly, though, I wrote in my scruffy little study at the back of my house. It’s overcrowded and the only piece of new furniture is the chair. I’m supposed to be moving to a bigger room with new furniture but it hasn’t happened yet. (Sue Moorcroft's study.  Credit and Copyright by Sue Moorcroft)

What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I wrote as I write most things - onto my computer, between the hours of 7 a.m. and 6 p.m. I do like to scribble thoughts and plans in longhand on a pad or scrap paper, too. I took a break each day for a long walk. In more usual times, I take a break for a dance class or yoga. I drink a lot Redbush tea and my bin is always full of wrappers from cereal bars. My favourites are vegan bars but it’s not because I’m a vegan. It’s because they have good chocolate. (Right: Sue Moorcroft doing Yoga.  Copyright by Sue Moorcroft)

Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference.  This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer.

Pages 13-16, the end of Chapter One:

The next letter was dated a couple of weeks later and Gran had taken up her pen again, beginning with anxious enquiries. 

Are you sure you’re managing? Do you need money? Are you getting enough sleep? It’s all very well burying your grief in the baby, darling, but tinies are exhausting. 

Then Zia gurgled a laugh. ‘Here comes Gran’s usual bluntness. “Exactly how long do you think you can keep this up? We thought you were flouting convention when you lived with that Harry Anstey but that was nothing compared to this current caper.”’ 

‘What caper?’ demanded Ursula.

Zia was already rifling the stack of envelopes. ‘Harry Anstey! There are letters here from him too, amongst some from Mum’s friends. I didn’t know they’d ever lived together. He visited us about once a year and it was like a mini-holiday. Mum would cook big dinners and we’d go on days out to parks or beaches but I don’t remember them acting relationshippy.’ She found the letters she wanted and pulled out the one with the earliest date. ‘This is January, ’92, around the same time as Pap’s letter.’ 

The letter read: 

Vicky, babe, I can’t bear it. I’d gladly take time off work to stay with you and help with Zia but I’m sure you hate me. Do you? Can you ever, ever forgive me? 

Zia met Ursula’s fascinated gaze. ‘Why would Mum hate Harry? They were mates.’ 

‘Old flame?’ Ursula suggested. ‘All that “babe” and “forgive me” stuff? And living together? Perhaps he did a Brendon and got caught with his pants down.’ 

‘Maybe.’ Zia read on, quickly. ‘But, no, this doesn’t sound as if Harry’s begging forgiveness for straying. Listen. “If only I could relive that time when Tori disappeared! I’d sit up with her all night.”’ 

‘Tori disappeared?’ Ursula breathed, eyes saucers of astonishment. 

Then Zia read the next few lines and almost stopped breathing. ‘“Lucia Costa has been here again. I wish Tori never gave her this address. I was in the front garden and suddenly she was there, asking about Tori, ranting that you should never have taken Zia-Lucia from her in Montelibertà. Nightmare! I was as gentle as I could be, repeating what I told her last time, that we’d lost Tori and you no longer lived locally. I do feel sorry for her because she was obviously fond of Tori but if it wasn’t for her sniffing around maybe I could bring you both home.”’ 

‘Jeez!’ yelped Ursula. 

Zia’s breath escaped as a gasp. ‘Lucia Costa! Who on earth was she? Why was she looking for me? And what the hell does he mean about taking me from somewhere called Montelibertà?’ She grabbed a discarded A4 envelope and turned it over, scrabbling for a pen. ‘Let’s list significant points and try and piece the story together.’ 

They spent the rest of the evening at the task, picking at their over-cooked meal absent-mindedly as they puzzled over the letters. By midnight their bullet points filled the back of an A4 envelope. 

Weary eyes burning, Zia ran her gaze down the list. ‘So, this is what we have.’ She used her fingers to mark the points. ‘Gran and Pap thought Mum was doing something wrong but shared her grief over Tori’s death.’ Another finger. ‘Harry suffered guilt over her death. Probably Tori is the second Victoria Chalmers. Mum had been to a place called Montelibertà in Umbria, Italy and fetched me from this woman, Lucia Costa.’ She reached the last finger on that hand as she came to the final point. ‘Just after Mum and I moved to the midlands, Lucia went to Exmouth looking for me but no one told her where I was.’ She paused to rub tired eyes. ‘This is like a TV drama.’ 

Ursula grabbed another letter and read aloud from it. ‘Then in 1999 Harry says, “Oh, Vicky, that bloody Lucia Costa turned up again after all these years! I told her I knew no more than I had when you first moved away. BLOODY woman!”’ 

‘And the last few letters from him are asking why Mum’s not answering his letters any more,’ Zia rounded out. ‘He sounds so sad. The very last says: “I didn’t tell Lucia where you live, Vicky! Why would I betray you now? I’ve kept your secrets all these years.”’ 

She laid down the letter, blood rushing in her ears. ‘Holy shit. What did Mum do?’ 

Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write?  And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt? It’s the real jumping-off point for the rest of the book, the moment when Zia finds a place to start unravelling the secrets that her family have kept from her. Part of the time, I was frustrated with Chapter One because it didn’t quite work. I knew what I wanted but failed to find the key to achieving it. Then, after the first draft was written, my editor (Helen Huthwaite, publisher ad Director of Avon Books, Harper Collins)  suggested that the writer of some of the letters should change. She was so right. After that, everything fell into place and I took on Zia’s emotions of astonishment and apprehension, overlaid with a compulsion to discover the truth. (Left:  Facebook logo photo of Helen Huthwaite.)

https://www.facebook.com/helengbolton 

Were there any deletions from this excerpt that you can share with us? And can you please include a photo of your marked up rough drafts of this excerpt? The first draft is long deleted, I’m afraid … Here’s a screenshot of changes made during the line edit. (Screenshot of changes to UNDER THE ITALIAN SUN.  Credit and Copyright by Sue Moorcroft)

Sue Moorcroft is a Sunday Times bestselling author and has reached the coveted #1 spot on Amazon Kindle UK as well as top 100 in the US. She’s won the Goldsboro Books Contemporary Romantic Novel Award, Readers’ Best Romantic Novel award and the Katie Fforde Bursary. Sue’s emotionally compelling, feel-good novels are currently released by publishing giant HarperCollins in the UK, US and Canada and by an array of publishers in other countries. Her short stories, serials, columns, writing ‘how to’ and courses have appeared around the world. (Left:  Sue Moorcroft's web logo photo.)

Born in Germany into an army family, Sue spent much of her childhood in Cyprus and Malta but settled in Northamptonshire, England aged ten. She loves reading, Formula 1, travel, time spent with friends, dance exercise and yoga. (Right: Sue Moorcroft in March of 2021.  Copyright by Sue Moorcroft)

Discover more about Sue at www.suemoorcroft.com

https://www.amazon.com/Under-Italian-Sun-Sue-Moorcroft/dp/0008393028/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr= 

All of the Inside the Emotion of Fiction LIVE LINKS can be found at the VERY END of the below feature: 

http://chrisricecooper.blogspot.com/2021/03/stephenson-holts-arranged-marriage-is.html 

Ellen LaFleche’s “Prayer for Weeping” is #277 in the never-ending series called BACKSTORY OF THE POEM

 *The images in this specific piece are granted copyright:  Public Domain, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair Use Under The United States Copyright Law.

The other images are granted copyright permission by the copyright holder, which is identified beneath each photo. 

**Some of the links will have to be copied and then posted in your search engine in order to pull up properly

*** The CRC Blog welcomes submissions from published and unpublished poets for BACKSTORY OF THE POEM series.  Contact CRC Blog via email at caccoop@aol.com or personal Facebook messaging at https://www.facebook.com/car.cooper.7

***Ellen LaFleche’s “Prayer for Weeping” is #277 in the never-ending series called BACKSTORY OF THE POEM where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific poem and how the poet wrote that specific poem.  All BACKSTORY OF THE POEM links are at the end of this piece. 

Can you go through the step-by-step process of writing this poem from the moment the idea was first conceived in your brain until final form? I began writing this poem in the autumn of 2013 when my husband John was actively dying of ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease).  He was in the process of being weaned off a ventilator in preparation for leaving the hospital to receive hospice care at home. The emotional experience was so intense that I was unable to physically cry.  (Right: Ellen LaFleche's husband John Clobridge.  Copyright by Ellen LaFleche)

What was the point of tears? I was overwhelmed with fear and sorrow, relief that he was coming off the ventilator, anger at fate, anticipatory grief, hope for a comfortable death, and so on.  All emotions needed to be put on hold for hours every day so I could complete a slew of practical tasks: researching questions to ask the neurologist, preparing our house for home hospice, (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hospice) helping to soothe my 6-month-old grandson, comforting my daughter, traveling 50 miles back and forth every few days from the urban hospital in Central Massachusetts to our home in Western Massachusetts.  

I tried to spend a few minutes each day engaging in some way with writing. Sometimes, this meant just thinking about sitting down to write at some point in the future. Because I couldn't physically cry, I knew I wanted to write a poem titled "Prayer for Weeping," a way for me to weep spiritually and metaphorically; in other words, there are other ways to cry beside using the eyes.  I used my cell phone to send myself messages that contained an image or idea, a few words, even a line or two. Many months after John died, I started to consolidate these messages to myself into a cohesive poem.

Where were you when you started to actually write the poem?  And please describe the place in great detail? Most of the lines were written in John's hospital room or in a small sleeping alcove in the intensive-care waiting room. The room was overly bright with artificial light that pulsed in time with the beeping of machines. The window framed a close-up view of the hospital's emergency helicopter landing pad. John was rapidly losing the ability to speak because the ALS was causing an ascending paralysis that affected his tongue and speech muscles. But he managed to tell me - in a weak, halting voice - about how he'd watched an emergency heli-pad landing on the day I was at home defrosting a frozen pipe.  The heli-pad is my enduring memory of that room, overlaid with the sights and sounds of medical workers coming in and out of the room with startling frequency. (Ellen LaFleche with her daughter and grandson.  Copyright by Ellen LaFleche)

 

The poem is included in my book, Walking into Lightning, which explores the extended grief of losing a life partner. I wanted the book to acknowledge the physical and sensual losses that are specific to losing a spouse. 

What month and year did you start writing this poem? This poem began in November 2013.

How many drafts of this poem did you write before going to the final? (And can you share a photograph of your rough drafts with pen markings on it?) It underwent revisions for several months after that. It was pretty much written through the messenger app on my phone. The memory of writing and revising is hazy because of the extraordinary stress of the circumstances. I ended up cutting and pasting the completed poem into a word document. My phone crashed a few months after I completed the poem and I lost my contact list, a batch of photos, and the poem's revisions that were stored on my messenger app. So the drafts have been lost. (Above Left: Ellen LaFleche in 2013.  Copyright by Ellen LaFleche)

Were there any lines in any of your rough drafts of this poem that were not in the final version?  And can you share them with us?  A few lines were transported into a poem titled "Prayer for Despair:"

* Because I bloom in your mouth like a carved radish in water

* Because the full moon is trembling inside its executioner's hood

Which part of the poem was the most emotional of you to write and why? I'd like readers to appreciate that the imagery is often ironic, ie., "the breakable beauty of a hyoid bone," and to get a sense - within the context of the book - that weeping can be a metaphorical or concrete action. And that we need to think about the complex relationship between our actions and emotions. Consider this line:  "because a child is ripping a littleneck clam from its shell."  (Above Right: Ellen LaFleche in September 2020.  Facebook Logo Photo)

Perhaps the child has found a mollusc at the beach and is cruelly killing it. Perhaps the child is very hungry and is desperate for a bite of protein.  Perhaps the child is at a fancy restaurant with his or her parents, and is being taught how to eat a delicacy.

Each of these actions could be motivated by anger, desperation, a desire to please, etc. 

Which part of the poem was the most emotional of you to write and why?  I'd have to say that the entire poem itself was/continues to remain an emotional experience because of the extraordinary circumstances under which it was written. Each line carries for me the grief of losing my spouse. 

Has this poem been published before?  And if so where? The poem was published in 2014 in DASH literary journal 

http://english.fullerton.edu/publications/dash.aspx 

and in 2019 in my book, Walking into Lightning (Saddle Road Press). 

http://saddleroadpress.com/ellen-lafleche.html 

All of the Backstory of the Poem LIVE LINKS can be found at the VERY END of the below feature: 

http://chrisricecooper.blogspot.com/2021/02/will-justice-drakes-intercession-is-251.html