Hello Everyone!
The second anthology publishing a story of mine is now available. Pick up Isolation and check out "No Lights" along with the other stories published.
And not to sound too pushy, but each of the authors in the anthology get paid per book sold, so thank you for supporting me, the other authors, and independent publishers.
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Following the journey of award winning author, Alex Azar, as he travels the publishing world and all things interesting. To reproduce or publish any material found within this blog, please contact me at azarrising@hotmail.com
Friday, January 14, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Grandparents
Grandparents
[For my non-Arab readers; Cedo means grandfather,
where Tete is grandmother.]
I want to begin by saying that I am
writing this as me, not a character, not some persona, but just (not-so) little
ol’ me. This is the first, and
hopefully last, non-fiction story I’m writing for my Alphabet Project. The point of this project for me was to
expand my writing style. I tend to
focus on the supernatural, paranormal, and pretty much anything beyond normal
life (for example take a look at ‘D’).
So to expand my styles, I knew I’d eventually write something personal,
something about me, but I didn’t expect it to come up as soon as ‘G.’
I’ll
be the first to admit that I could have come up with a fictional story about
grandparents that would have been great, but once I started thinking about it,
I couldn’t get my real grandparents out of my head, and then my lack of knowledge of my
paternal grandparents really drove me.
The conversations I had with my dad made me realize how ignorant I was
to my own past. I’m glad I took this
little detour into the world of nonfiction, but I don’t plan on returning
anytime soon.
By the time I was born my paternal grandparents had
already passed away. Even worse than
never having met them, my memories of the stories I heard about them are shoddy
at best. I think my grandmother died of
Alzheimer’s several years after my grandfather passed. I recall my father mentioning that his
father was a jokester, vaguely remember my dad telling me a joke his father
would say about wearing pants backwards so when he farted, the gas wouldn’t
have to travel to the front to exit via the zipper. Unfortunately, at this point I could be completely off, my
memories typically are. I feel to
properly convey who they were I’d need to do a little research.
My research begins by asking my sister if she knows
whether our dad would be comfortable talking about his parents. She doesn’t think he’d have a problem with
it. After explaining to her the nature
of my inquiry, she tells me that she recalls that our grandmother was “very
petite and sweet” and that she thinks they both died of old age. It was a
little more information, but not enough to explain the mystery of who my
grandparents were.
Still unsure of whether the topic would upset my
father, I decide to ask my brother.
Although he’s younger than our sister, I recall him talking about them.
And… he remembers about as much as I do, maybe even less. But both he and my sister think it’s a safe
topic to approach our dad about it.
Having dinner with my dad I bring up the topic of
his parents, but I do so timidly. Since
my dad just cooked, I asked if his father cooked, knowing full well that men in
the old country didn’t do a damned thing.
My dad actually scoffs at the question saying that men didn’t lift a
finger. I press a little further, and
ask if grandma cooked. He tells me that
she was the best cook he ever knew. Now
I’m getting somewhere. Tete was a “very petite and sweet” great cook. He goes on to tell me that she was the
sweetest woman, and not just because she was his mother. Ask anyone who knew her, and they’d verify
this.
“And what about Cedo?” I ask, thinking to continue
the story of my late grandparents.
Let me tell you, I was not expecting what my dad
said next, “He was a son of a… gun.”
Clearly meant that he was a son of a bitch, but this was at the time he
and Tete met. He tells me that Cedo
carried a gun with him almost everywhere he went because when he was younger,
some Turks killed his brother in front of their mother, and he was justifiably
jaded because of it.
Now, I’m definitely thinking that my jokester memory
of him is way off, but he then tells me that upon meeting my grandmother Cedo
wanted to marry her. I doubt it was
love at first sight, but he wanted her.
So when war broke out and he had to move his family he also moved her,
and her three sisters (who she was caring for at the age of 14) and her son
(understand this was a different time and a different country, it wasn’t
unexpected for a girl to be married and a mother in her teens, in fact if a
girl was in her 20’s and single there was something wrong).
My father continues to tell me a story of his entire
family that truly is worthy of a feature length movie. He tells me of being so poor at one point
that his brothers, cousins and himself would have to pool money together just
to buy a soccer ball to play in the streets, or even having to fill a large
sock with rags and whatnot to make a ball.
Furthermore, he talks of a war torn country, and being stranded in a
different country for months with his brothers until an uncle was able to
retrieve them. And of his father giving
shelter and a job to a son-in-law after becoming extremely poor.
He told me that for all the hard times he
experienced when he was younger, his brothers and he had fun; which really
threw me back. Obviously I knew things
were different back then, and over there, but their social network was actually
talking to people around them, including family. And while I may be close to my family, I have to assume there’s a
certain bond that can only be forged, by picking wheat out of cow shit to clean
and eat as your only source of food for days.
There’s still one question I haven’t built up the
courage to ask, but won’t be able to properly finish this without. How my grandparents died? That, and if my dad can confirm my memory of
Cedo and the fart joke.
The following week I had a second conversation with
my dad, and holding nothing back I asked how his parents died, thankfully there
was a death at the time in the movie we were watching so there was some kind of
segue. At least one of my memories is
correct, Tete died of Alzheimer’s, however she died after I was born. The timeline is sketchy, but she visited
America around the time I was born, she died a few years later overseas. My dad believes she saw me as a baby, but he
can’t confirm this.
Cedo died several years after suffering from a
stroke in 1976. Also, as with Tete, one
of my memories is confirmed, Cedo was a jokester. Unfortunately, Cedo did not tell the fart joke. My dad tells me a different story involving
Cedo, farts and a rooster, that isn’t appropriate here (ask me and I’ll gladly
tell you about it). He also tells me that
Cedo was excellent at playing the oud, (*ah-ouhd) an instrument that resembles
a cross of a guitar and a banjo (Google it).
* * *
Maternally, I knew my grandparents fairly well for
most of my life. It would be at their
house that every major holiday was spent.
The house is big enough for any typical family, but with my mom being
one of ten children (that survived) we had anything but a typical family, but
somehow that house always seemed the right size. No matter how cramped it would get around the kitchen table or
T.V. room table, there was always room for one more cousin or sibling.
My grandmother would spend countless hours cooking a
meal that seemed to have no end, while my grandfather would silently sit in his
favorite chair, with a sly smile on his face watching his grandkids scurry
about. A trickster in his own right, whether
it was purposely miss-calling Justin – Jackson, or nonchalantly pulling an ear
of a passerby, he was always able to bring a smile to others.
My favorite story of my grandfather is when he was
driving me home after I had borrowed his car because mine had broken down. He was known for being a notoriously bad
driver, I say it with a smile on my face and mean it in the best way
possible. He’d driven onto people’s
lawns, had to have the police bring him home, but most significantly (at least
for this story) was how slow he drove.
He wasn’t just ‘old man’ slow, he drove like molasses going uphill in
the winter slow, which is surprising because of how young hearted he was. So on the return trip home, he had decided
to drive, and being the respectful grandson that I am, I didn’t interject. We were driving, having a good conversation,
while he drove 20 MPH, in the fast lane of Route 17 South, all throughout out
the conversation I’m wishing I were driving.
All of a sudden he stops the conversation, and points ahead of us on the
road, and tells me (in Arabic) ‘This is how close you should be to the car in
front of you while driving.’ I actually
had to struggle for several seconds to even locate the car in question. Upon seeing it, it was safe to surmise that
two Mac trucks could have fit between us and the other car, that was quickly
and steadily expanding the gap between us.
It’s a simple story with a punch line worthy of a chuckle, maybe, but
thinking about it brings a bigger smile to my face now then when it happened in
the car. It entails everything worth
noting about him: reliable? Check, he took the time to take me home while in
the midst of his chores (and anyone who knew him knows how important they were
to him). Bad driver? Double check. But most importantly, brings a smile to my
face? Check.
Unfortunately, that’s not the only story that comes
to mind when thinking about him. My
cousin, Anthony, and I were at my brother’s house watching a football game,
when Chris got the call. Upon instantly
seeing his face, I mouthed the word ‘Cedo’ to Anthony and we both knew without
another word that he passed. He wasn’t
sick. Yes, he was in the hospital
several times in the last few years of his life, but he wasn’t ‘dying.’ He had no terminal illness, and was still
putting smiles on the faces of all those around him. His was the first death I’ve had to experience, and
unfortunately, in the few short years since his death, too many have joined
him. His were also the first initials I
had tattooed on me, as part of a memorial cross tattoo.
Together my grandparents kept the family
together. Him, a carpenter by trade,
working till the day he passed. And her, always quick to point out ones flaws,
and sometimes a plus. However, when my grandfather passed, it had a major
affect on the family. Suddenly,
Thanksgiving dinner is no longer held at the house, while the new location is
equally inviting, the food is just as good, and family is still the epicenter
of the event, it’s not my childhood memory.
Easter, has become a nonexistent event, lucky if three of the families
show, and not likely at the same time.
Most dramatic of all, is the affect it had on my
grandmother. She tries to be the
matriarch of the family, tries to be ‘big momma’, but she squeezes too hard,
and many of us have slipped through her fingers to go a different direction,
myself included.
Reading that last sentence, I tell myself that I’ll
see her more often, but deep in my heart, I know chances are I won’t see her
until Christmas. I write this in March.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Second Book is Available.
It's my pleasure to announce that the second story of mine "No Lights" has been published and available for pre-order in the anthology Isolation at the link below. Please keep in mind that for this publication, I'm paid per books sold, so if you really want to support me buy one for yourself, insignificant other, estranged children, even your pets.
Help take the 'struggling' out of my title, buy this book.
Postmortem-Press
Help take the 'struggling' out of my title, buy this book.
Postmortem-Press
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Rejection #7: Full Circle
Hi Alex,
Thanks again for your submission. Unfortunately we are unable to use the story in Damnation and Dames.
Regards,
L** and A*****
This rejection is for the same story that was in rejection #6, however they weren't as encouraging as the last. I understand that editors have to read hundreds of stories for these anthologies, but I'd appreciate a little something to show that they actually read it, or better yet why they were "unable to use the story". Although this story's been rejected twice now, I have hopes for this year, stay tuned for exciting news for me and azarrising.blogspot.com
Thanks again for your submission. Unfortunately we are unable to use the story in Damnation and Dames.
Regards,
L** and A*****
This rejection is for the same story that was in rejection #6, however they weren't as encouraging as the last. I understand that editors have to read hundreds of stories for these anthologies, but I'd appreciate a little something to show that they actually read it, or better yet why they were "unable to use the story". Although this story's been rejected twice now, I have hopes for this year, stay tuned for exciting news for me and azarrising.blogspot.com
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