BLOG HOP!

Published September 24, 2012 by rochellewisoff

What is the working title of your book?

For the past seven years it’s been Please Say Kaddish for Me. Who knows if that will survive?

Where did the idea for the book come from?

Originally my thought was to write about my maternal grandfather’s immigration from Poland in 1903 at the age of 19. But I found that little was really known about his history. So instead of going to Poland I “went” to Kishinev, Moldavia, the site of the first internationally recognized pogrom in 1903.

What genre does your book fall under?

Historical Fiction.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Part of the fun of writing and dreaming is picturing the characters in my head. Some of my players are too old or too dead to play the parts but I see them just the same.

For Havah Cohen, the headstrong rabbi’s daughter, I see Sasha Cohen, Olympic figure skater turned actress. With her dark brown eyes and Eastern European heritage she certainly looks the part.

If you’ve ever seen Adrien Brody in The Pianist you might understand why I see him as Arel Gitterman, the rabbi’s son. While he loves Havah with a passion, he’s also a man of his word and marries another to whom he’s been betrothed since early adolescence.

Arel’s father, Yussel Gitterman, who has been blind since contracting encephalitis in his 4o’s is a man of great insight. No doddering, fragile old man this one. I see him portrayed by Michael Douglas.

Denied her beloved, Havah moves to Kishinev where she is employed as housemaid for a German musician, Ulrich Dietrich. A man of strong moral fiber but often tripped up by his own temper he falls in love with Havah. I could see a young Gary Cooper in the role.

Ulrich’s best friend is Russian doctor, Nikolai Derevenko. A brooding loner, he detests the treatment of the Jews in Russia. David McCallum came to mind. Those of us who were Man from UNCLE fans will remember him as Ilya Kuriyakin. Of course the actor’s in his 70’s now.

Theodore Roosevelt as himself.

What is a one-line synopsis of your book?

After losing her family in a brutal pogrom, a Czarist sanctioned massacre of Jews in turn of the 20^th century Eastern Europe, 16 year old Havah Cohen faces insurmountable challenges and ultimately learns that in the deepest darkness one may find the greatest light.

Is your book self-published or do you have an agent?

Currently it’s under contract with Jeanie Pantelakis of Sullivann Maxx Literary Agency.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

The first draft only took a few months as a I recall, editing it is another story. In seven years I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve cut, pasted and rewritten.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

There might be similarities to Songs for the Butcher’s Daughter by Peter Manseau, Call it Sleep by Henry Roth and Tevye the Dairyman, a collection of short stories by Sholem Aleichem.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

As the granddaughter of Eastern European immigrants I’ve always had a fascination with Jewish history. While much is known about Hitler’s Holocaust little is known about the atrocities foisted on the Jewish people in Russia’s Pale of Settlement beyond Fiddler on the Roof. Although it’s entertaining and one of my favorite plays/movies ever, it’s a watered down version of life in the Pale.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

Romance. There are at least three threads of unrequited love running through the novel. While Havah and Arel, the rabbi’s son, fall deeply in love he’s betrothed to another.

*****

Thanks for dropping by. I was tagged by janmorrill.wordpress.com

Bloggers I’m tagging

Douglas M. MacIlroy at ironwoodwind.wordpress.com

Joyce Johnson at jemj47.wordpress.com

IMBALANCE

Published September 21, 2012 by rochellewisoff

It’s that time again! Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Madison Woods for the opportunity, challenge and fun. It never ceases to amaze me how one picture can stir so many imaginations. Thanks to Lora Mitchell for the intriguing prompt. Here’s my submission for this week. I’m looking forward to reading other stories from new friends around the world. 97 words.

“Whaddya think?” Jeff parked Myra’s wheelchair next to the statue.

Its three, single-file posterior wings and impossible position made her twisted back ache.

***

One year ago today they’d strolled along the Poughkeepsie Bridge.

Jeff whipped out his iPhone. “A portrait of next year’s Olympic gold medalist.

She mounted the side rail like she would a balance beam. There she struck a pose. But she slipped and plummeted 212 feet to the river.

***

Myra stroked her lifeless legs and then the statue’s contorted neck. “I think if I had a fairy godmother, she’d look like that.”

EDIBLE COMPLEX

Published September 16, 2012 by rochellewisoff

Over twenty years as an on-again off-again professional cake decorator I’ve been asked to do some interesting things with the edible media. A few of these creations will forever hold a fond place in my memory.

One such customer was a young woman who wanted a cake to celebrate her son’s potty training success. While I’ve decorated cakes for birthdays, baby showers, wedding showers, graduations and monumental achievements, I can honestly say that this one is a first. Nonetheless, it is a milestone. Why not commemorate it?

EUTHANASIA

Published September 13, 2012 by rochellewisoff

Thanks to Madison for choosing my photo for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. Two summers ago this magnificent creation showed up in a corner of our garage door. While I’m not a big fan of spiders, I’m in awe of their webs. And as always, I love the challenge of story telling in few words. 93 words this time.

The ravenous pain that riddled every nerve ending of Jessie’s cancer-wasted body defied morphine. She would welcome the death angel when he came.

Outside her window the porch light illuminated diaphanous spiraled threads that stretched from one corner to the other. She admired the creator’s tenacity.

Through her medicinal haze she gazed at her daughter Marissa’s bruised face. “The bastard. Leave him.”

“Don’t have to. Someone shot him six times at close range.”

“Do you know why that spider spins her web?”

Marissa kissed Jessica’s powder burned hand. “Yes, Mom. For her children.”

CEASE-FIRE

Published September 7, 2012 by rochellewisoff

Thanks to Piya Singh for this week’s photo prompt.

Here’s my offering for Friday Fictioneers. 100 words on the button this week. I can’t say that it came easy, but I think it conveys the story I was going after.

And while you’re in the neighborhood, why not read my previous blog entry? It’s a good reminder for all of us who write to make every word count.

****

Despite his outspoken arguments against the Confederacy, to please Father, Amelia’s twin brother James enlisted. A year later he perished at Clark’s Mill.

Afterward she spent afternoons in the abandoned slave quarters reading Andrew’s letters in secret. The last one came seven months ago.

“When the war’s over we’ll live in New York…”

Had she lost him, too?

From the corner of the shack a Union soldier stumbled toward her, his face chocolate brown beneath his rumpled cap. Her knees buckled. He caught her and crushed her against his broad chest.

Breathless, she devoured his bronze lips. “Andrew. Dearest Andrew.”

EVERY. SINGLE.WORD. *YKWIM

Published September 2, 2012 by rochellewisoff

Special thanks to Doug MacIlroy for permission to share this article from his 12 October 2011 post. When I read it I thought it worth repeating. Enjoy the read.

Shalom-Aloha, Rochelle

I spend a great deal of time proofreading my posts because it is important to me to say what I mean. A long time ago when I was working on my first novel with my co-author, John Pace, we developed the habit of working on two computers (an Apple IIe and an Apple IIc. Thanks Steve and Steve.) side by side on a large desk in our office. One of us would write and the other would edit previous chapters, chiming in whenever a question came up or an idea needed to be explored. During this process, in either mode, we would often come across sentences, paragraphs or entire passages that needed to be rewritten or entirely excised. What remained following that necessary surgery was the task of saying as clearly and succinctly as possible what we wanted to convey in the first place.

Picture the two of us there, staring into space as we struggled to find the right combination and arrangement of words to replace what we’d removed. To keep our heads from exploding we took to starting the revison process by typing *YKWWM at the beginning of the blank spot. These letters stood for “You Know What We Mean.” We would laugh because, though we knew what we meant, until we wrote it correctly, the world would not know what we meant. Once we’d tackled the problem and fixed it, the removal of those six characters signified that we were happy with the changes and could move on.

Words have meanings. Every single one of them. Put them in the wrong order and you’ve thrown Mary down the stairs the ball. No matter how much we wanted it to be easy, writing was work and short cuts got us absolutely nowhere. We had to get it right. The false joy of ‘finishing’ a passage or paragraph pales in comparison to the satisfaction of getting it right. It takes just as long to write a good book as a bad one and typing ’The End’ doesn’t always mean you’re done.

With that I’d like to share a link to an article that I found very interesting. It’s about an inaccurate “quote” set, unfortunately, in stone. Here’s the link.http://www.cnn.com/2011/10/11/opinion/clark-king-monument-inscription/index.html I hope you enjoy it. The solution might be to carve in the characters, *YKWWM.

It worked for me.

For more great words from Doug go to http://ironwood.wordpress.com

WRITER’S CATHARSIS

Published August 31, 2012 by rochellewisoff

This Week’s Friday Fictioneers photo is from Stacy Plowright. Thanks to Madison Woods for opening this forum to form a global community. Who knew?

Thanks for dropping by, Rochelle.

***

“To delight the angels she dances on clouds. Heaven is illuminated by her presence.”

“Clichés.” Luke spat in the sand. “Who really dances on clouds anyway?”

His poetic words touting faith and hope did little to convince himself. He flung his notebook to the ground. Thirteen years was not enough time to love.

Even though none had fallen, he tasted rain. Vaporous whorls and ridges imprinted the blackening sky.

He waded into the churning sea. There he waited for lightning to sear him until her voice whispered on the wind.

“Stay here, my love. Our boys still need you.”

OUT OF MY MIND-LEAVE A MESSAGE

Published August 26, 2012 by rochellewisoff

Have you ever been accused of being absentminded or forgetful? Ever walk into a wall, or worse, another person because something behind you caught your eye? Yeah, me, too.

Among my many nicknames my favorite is probably “Etch” short for Etch-A-Sketch. One good shake and the screen goes blank.

Absent? Ha! I beg to differ. It’s not that I’m absent from my mind. On the contrary, I’m quite present. It’s those external surroundings that slip my notice while my mind is swirling with unwritten stories, novel rewrites or a wedding cake that requires my artistry next week.

What could very well be the best/worst example of my propensity for being in six places at once without touching terra firma happened about four years ago. After loading my car to head out for services I paged through my mental list. Change of clothes? Check. Bible? Check. Prayer shawl? Check.

Satisfied everything was in order I backed out of the garage. The next few minutes were so horror filled I still cringe at the memory. What I failed to check was my wide-open driver-side door.

I can still hear the rrrrripp as my pristine 2002 Saturn’s door panel wrenched from its foundation. My breathing came to gasping halt. I hit the brake and turned off the engine. For a few catatonic moments I just sat there, hoping it was only a nightmare. Then reality set in.

My husband’s cooler head prevailed. After he talked me down from my hysteria tree, he called our insurance agent. With the knowledge that repairs were covered with a minor deductable I felt somewhat better.

But the pain didn’t end there. It would be at least a week before I could get the car into the body shop. Naturally my poor car with its temporary trash bag and duct tape fix made me the butt of all jokes.

What can I say? I am my own anecdote.

Now it’s your turn. Have a similar out of body story to tell?

ESCAPE

Published August 22, 2012 by rochellewisoff

This week I’m in California visiting my kids and their beautiful daughter (my granddaughter). While I’ve had some quality writing time I’ve decided to “cheat” this week with an abridged excerpt from my first novel Please Say Kaddish for Me. It seems to work well with Maggie Duncan’s photo prompt for Friday Fictioneers.

*A side note: Kaddish is the Hebrew prayer recited in honor of the dead and to comfort the bereft.