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[articulate_ink]

Okay, I'm cheating a little. Here are the first three paragraphs of my first novel, The Concrete Sky, which was published two and a half years ago. I actually just sold my third book, also a novel, but I'm keeping it under wraps a little longer. In addition to the obvious shameless self-promotion, there's a point. If you're an aspiring novelist, keep at it. I came close to giving up and if I had, I wouldn't have three books to my credit and a fourth in the works. I'm not rich (would I be here if I were?) but it's been a very worthwhile endeavor nonetheless.



Stranded at the sort of party where he��d have been happier investigating the titles on the bookshelves than talking to the other guests, Chad Sobran took another sip of wine and considered his options for escape. Conversations careened around him like bumper cars. He held himself in place on the sofa. He didn��t know anybody the room and wasn��t sure he wanted to. There were about 10 people left, now that Dalton and that guy he��d been talking to had vanished into thin air. Chad gave up trying to achieve oneness with the overstuffed cushions on the sofa. Next to him, to a busty blonde girl named Reese had spent 15 minutes babbling as soon as they were introduced: You��re gay, that��s like so totally cool with me, so is my brother Julian, and like his boyfriend is this black guy named Dennis and they��re so cute together. Julian says Dennis is a total top. So what is this top thing, anyway? I just don��t get that. I mean, is it like one of you is the woman and the other is the man? Dennis, you know, he must be really big. Whatever. Have you ever done it with a black guy? Reese looked 20 and talked like a woman half her age. Braces fenced her lower row of teeth, and she smelled like a strange cross between Juicy Fruit, cigarette smoke, and the red wine she was drinking. Irritated, Chad shocked Reese into a troubled silence by telling her he had just gotten out of jail the day before yesterday. He hadn��t, but after three glasses of cheap Merlot he didn��t care enough about truth, honor, and good social graces to listen to another word in that breathy helium voice of hers.

��I was only in for a week, but�� you know. It was rough. The other inmates.�� Chad drew a deep sigh and visualized the shower-room gang rapes, hoping a shadow of residual trauma would cross his face. ��Really rough.�� He lowered his voice to a whisper: ��I dropped the soap.��

Reese��s lower lip trembled. She couldn��t have looked much younger without splitting into an egg cell and a puddle of sperm. She slurped the remaining Merlot in her glass, then wiped her lips with the back of her hand, never taking her eyes off him. Chad refilled her glass from the bottle on the coffee table, careful not to burn his sleeve on any of the votive candles, then refilled his own. He looked at her with what he hoped was a criminal glare. Someone turned up the volume on the stereo loud enough to make Chad��s eardrums pulsate to the beat, and his annoyance enhanced what he hoped was a sinister aura.

[rapier]

wow!...what great writing, need i say it..great charcterisation and an interesting train of thought from the start. Good understanding of peoples social face and inner motives, etc.

So- if you don't mind a question...what are your best ingredients for a novel??

Mine are what I like-- but probably not necessarily what anyone wants to read: if I ever attempted writing a novel it would contain a lot of description of nature..with a little human drama thrown in. Only the more extreme of human behavior would be worth writing about I think...and I would endeavour to be poetic and profound. Thats about it....

[articulate_ink]

Hey, thanks for that.

Ingredients? Let me clarify what you mean. What are the themes and images I tend to return to? Or what feeds my creative process? There are a couple of different ways to interpret your question. Let me know and I'll see if I can come up with a semi-coherent answer...