Jet Laggggggggg!

Jet lagggggg...Enough said!

Bitter Sweet

Finally back home. It's good to be home. Think I'll plan he next adventure! After I sleep 20 hours!

Back in New York City!

Can't see straight being up 18 hours...but good to be back in NYC!

Roma at Night!

A night eating and drinking in Rome!!!

When in Rome!

When in Rome...I have a feeling I've used this title before but...

More Travel Musings!

More thoughts on my last afternoon in Florence for a while!

Don't Eat It!

You come to a beautiful, if not exotic land and you want to eat everything. But that's not always a great idea!

Travel Obsession!

Yup, I'm obsessed with travel and always will be.

My Florence Apartment, Film Noir Style!

Come take a tour of my Florence walk-up apartment and see where the magic happens!

Travel Never Gets Old!

Travel never gets old in the writer's life...

Coffee!

Is there anything more Italian than cafe? I desperately need a caffeine injection after sending 12 hours on a plane. The best cafe is located just steps away from the Pantheon.

I Thought Covid Would Kill Me

 No exaggeration. I thought Covid-19 would kill me. It all started out so innocently, as so many little seasonal colds and flus do. I went skiing on a Wednesday, but by Thursday evening, I was enjoying a beer in one of my locals after a day of writing, and I started feeling not quite myself. Rather, I could feel a fever coming on, and get this, my lungs ached right down to the ribs. I knew something was wrong, but I pretty much shrugged it off and said to my friend, "Think I'll grab some NyQuil at the supermarket before I head home." Every year I get a little something, and usually all it takes to kill it is a couple good night's rest with the help of some night time cough medicine. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, as my grandmother liked to say. 

But I suffered through that first night while the fever not only intensified, my entire body went into some kind of toxic shock that took the form of aching joints, muscle, and bones. It was a chore just heading the few feet to the bathroom, and all the while I was there, I was shivering with fever. The next morning, I called my doc and she told me to get tested, pronto. Since that would take a few days, she suggested I isolate myself anyway, and take plenty of fluids. I did as she told me. This wasn't an easy thing for me. Even though I work at a desk in my bedroom, I run and lift heavy weights day in and day out, and simply staying still in my bedroom all day was going to prove more difficult than it seemed, even being sick. Still, I did as I was told. 

The next day, I was tested and the day after that, the results came back in the form of a text message all in big red letters. Positive for Covid-19. Naturally, I tried to figure out where I could have contracted it. So did New York State who promptly called me, gave me my beginning and end dates for quarantine, and then proceeded to trace my movements. Like I said, I'd been skiing, I'd been to a couple locals that had been practicing safety precautions, and of course, the local mega-mart. Other than that, I'd been to the dentist, and a physical therapy session for my lower back. In the end, we never really could figure out where I got the dreaded bat disease. All I knew is I had it and had it bad. 

Now, I know of handful of men and women about my age who have had Covid. None of them were necessarily in good shape, and one of them in particular had been using a cane for severe lower back problems and was even in the hospital for bad kidney stones. Yet, his Covid case was a mild one. His symptoms were like a cold. That's it. Yet, what I contracted, kept getting worse and worse, almost like I had underlying medical conditions. Case and point: after around day 4, I started developing a severe bronchial cough. It felt like I was tearing my ribs out with every gut wrenching cough. 

Around day 5 or 6, I started coughing up blood. As I watched my blood circling the toilet drain, I pictured myself being dragged to the ER and immediately transferred to ICU. A nurse would turn to a co-worker and tell her to "Get a priest." That's the stuff that was swimming through my mind while I felt like I was dying. I called my doctor and she took charge, putting me on a steroid for the lungs plus a heavy duty cough medicine with codeine. It seemed to help. 

Other little things occurred. I didn't lose my sense of taste or smell, so much as food tasted like salt, and liquids like orange juice tasted flat and old. And boy did I sleep. Even though I did my best to keep up with my work schedule, I slept pretty much from 8PM to 8AM, and then again, 1-3PM. And even then, I had to tear myself from my mattress. But like the doc said, the only real cure for the disease is constant rest, and the inner hope that the virus doesn't start winning the war being waged inside your body. 

Now it's been well over two full weeks, and I am happy to report I'm definitely on the road to recovery. I'm even back to light workouts and short jogs. It's important to build up the strength in my lungs again. But it's sad knowing there are people out there who are getting this awful disease who will not make it. It will be too strong for them. It will attack their organs and make their lungs into so much toast, and it will kill them. As for me, I might have dodged a bullet with this one, but I've also learned a lesson. Life isn't cheap, but it can be fleeting. Despite Covid restrictions I made immediate plans for an adventure to the Middle East in late May, and I will make plans to be in Italy for most of the Fall. After that, I will finally make the move to a place that suits me and my work perfectly. Or who knows, maybe I will just keep traveling the world since I can work from where I want, when I want. 

I'm immune to this thing now, so they say. For how long, I don't know. But I will be vaccinated as soon as possible. I don't want a rematch with it. Facing a grim reaper in the form of a manufactured foreign born virus once in a lifetime was enough for me. 

I hope you stay safe, and avoid Covid-19 like the  plague. 

______________________________

For a one week more you can grab THE GIRL WHO WASN'T THERE in eBook for just $1.99 as a part of a Kindle Monthly Deal. Grab yours!!!!

WWW.VINZANDRI.COM

 

  

 

 

  

My Radiation Poisoning

Inside the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone

Okay, so I grabbed your attention with a little click bait. But how do you really know I don't have radiation poisoning after visiting the site of the worst nuclear disaster in history? I'll know for sure if certain body parts start falling off.

Chernobyl was one surreal dystopian scene, let me tell you. Not sure how I'm going to use it in my fiction, but perhaps some of it will get into my Tanya Teal Corporate Wars Trilogy. We'll see.

The real surprise from my latest adventure came in the form of visiting Transistria, the Eastern European country that doesn't exist but does exist. How then could I have visited the place if it doesn't exist? Just Google it and you will see what I'm on about. It's the last vestige of the USSR. A place where Lenin and Stalin are still worshiped and you can meet someone for coffee on the corner of Lenin and Marx street. I'll be writing an article about my experience there in the coming days. Just know that it's a playground for Putin who is currently placing lots of tanks there and manufacturing weapons and ammo. The only reason they let Westerners in after a strict checkpoint search is simple. They need the damn money.

Papa Lenin in Transnistria

So now that I'm back from nearly three weeks researching four countries, one of which doesn't exist but does exist, I'm back to work. It's gonna take me some time to catch up with everything so bear with me. Here's what it looked like my first morning back (via YouTube).

I'll be signing dozens of hardcover editions of my newest novel with Polis Books, The Caretaker's Wife (which is now available in audio too), tomorrow at The Mysterious Bookshop in downtown Manhattan tomorrow October 8. Looking forward to it and I hope you grab your signed copy either by visiting the store directly or by going online.

It's good to be back and not under constant surveillance.

PS. Subscribe to my YouTube channel. I'll be doing way more videos from now on. 

WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM
 

The ever changing, ever volatile publishing landscape...

Where the big books get published or rejected...

...back in the old days (say the mid '90s), when I first started out in this business, I had always intended to write a lot of books as quickly as possible (I got lambasted for this attitude in writing school). I also intended to get them to market as quickly as possible. I would then spend the bulk of my free time on wine, women, and song (I played drums in a bunch of punk bands). Woe was I to find out that while the writing came quickly to me, the publishing game was...to quote one of my late dad's favorite euphemisms...slower than whale shit.

On top of that, it turned out that aside from a very select group of writers (about .0095) of them, acquiring major publishing deals of say, $250K or more (plus the multi-media rights that go with them) every two or three years without question, was akin to winning Power Ball over and over and over again. I hit one of these mega deals right out of the gate and since then, I've struck a ton of "nice" deals, but nothing that nice. Simply put, if your book doesn't earn out and then some, the monies offered goes down on you faster than Stormy Daniels.

Then came the indie publishing movement, and gone suddenly was the query, wait, and hope days. Suddenly, the publishing end of things go from agonizingly slow to as fast as you can put out a book. To make the sauce sweeter, books no longer have a shelf life. They will be published long after you become worm food. Here's what this means (bulleted of course):

1. Your words are no longer dead once the publishers and bookstores say so.
2. Your books become investments, much like mutual funds or perhaps more accurately, real estate. You put up an initial investment and every year, year in and year out, your books earn you a solid return of perhaps %25 (My indie books on average earn me %40 annually, while my mutual funds earn me about %5. You see where I'm going here.)
3. Fiction writing has become not about the initial advance, but more about the tail end "passive income." If I get sick tomorrow, and can't work for a month or two, the money keeps coming in. It also means...and this is the magical unicorn feel good portion of our story...that my kids and their kids will eventually earn several thousand dollars per month for the rest of their lives.

Back to traditional publishing. Yeah, I'm a hybrid guy. I publish traditionally and indie. I do it all, because I lust publication in all its forms. Plus I'm a control freak and I love controlling my own destiny rather than a bunch of accountants and sales reps determining it for me. Over the past seven or eight months I've started working with a new agent on a couple of books that will eventually go up for sale to the big five or four or whatever they are now. We're working very carefully on these books and quite arguably they are the best of my career. In a sense we are manufacturing a deal here, which is precisely the point.

But the going is slow. As a full-time professional writer, I could never depend solely on this "traditional" publishing model. This model is for "authors." Authors generally speaking have day jobs. They are either lawyers, or writing teachers, or famous journalists, or dentists, or what have you. Again, generally speaking, the traditional model is too slow and too risky to actually give up your day job.

However, for those of us who possess God's gift of proliferation (I'm a machine), we can indeed quit the day job and build an indie list to supplement one's traditional efforts. We are not authors, we are "writers." Think about it, in the seven or eight months I've been working on those two big manuscripts with my agent, I've written three full-length genre novels and another six novellas, plus a ton of short journo pieces and blogs. And folks, even though I do this full-time, let's face it, it's part-time work. In other words, Although it looks like I'm always working, I still have time to work out a couple hours a day, take a nap, go fly fishing, fly to Vietnam (did I tell you I'm heading back to Asia next month on a research trip?), or just pretty much do whatever then hell I want to do when I want to do it.

So there you have it, the hybrid life to date.

One bit of news before I go: Amazon Publishing has very abruptly shut down their Kindle Worlds program. A lot of writers are pretty upset about it. About four years ago I was commissioned to write a novella for the program. It was an X-Files novel. It was fun to write and I was paid $10K, but it never saw the light of day since in the end, Fox couldn't come to a satisfactory licensing agreement with Amazon. Ironically, I might now be able to somehow legally publish the book. However, the point here is that AP is going through some definite changes. They've been wonderful to work with (I have 9 novels at Thomas & Mercer), and I hope to work with them again. But take my advice and be sure to diversify your publishing. Go traditional, go indie, go wide, and build up that mailing list. One day sooner than later, you just might be publishing your books directly to readers off your own website.

WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM           

A Very Zandri Christmas 2015

A very Hemingway Christmas...

I don't want to fall into that, "It's Christmas and time for reflection thing," because it seems that's the general article every writer no matter his or her politics, religion, and or sexual preference writes on a nice day like today. But having spent the past two months in Italy touring a new Italian edition of MOONLIGHT SONATA and rewriting my newest stand-alone, THE DETONATOR, along with a full first draft of the newest in the Chase Baker action/adventure pulp series, CHASE BAKER AND THE DA VINCI DIVINITY, I have come to just a few conclusions that will propel me into the new year, not necessarily as a hard working writer (I always work hard), but a writer who will work smarter.

Some adjustments I'll be making for 2016:

--As a hybrid author, I enjoy contracts with several publishers, big and small. But this year, I'm going to pay special attention to growing my own, Bear Media, list of books. This was the first year where I saw significant sales in my indie novels. Namely, the Chase Baker books of which the first in the series, THE SHROUD KEY, was named One of the Best of 2014 by Suspense Magazine. Now that writer/journalist Ben Sobieck is also penning original episodes of the series, I expect to see significant growth in Chase Baker world.

--Less journalism, more fiction. Back in 1999 when I signed my first big contract for my first big novel, As Catch Can (now THE INNOCENT), I chucked journalism altogether, thinking I would nail a 250K contract once per year. What a dope I was. That said, I've always believed a writer needs many outlets for his work in order to make a nice living. That includes journalism outlets. I still write some journalism and maintain my membership with SPJ, but while I'm paid for my time as a journalist, the work isn't the gift that keeps on giving. That means, more fiction. Think the 80/20 principle here. 80% more time spent on scalable fiction projects, and 20% on the journalism.

--Blogging. Was a time when writers were encouraged to blog constantly, since the posts would inevitably lead readers to your books. That basic premise still holds true but blogging doesn't quite have the "Buy Me" power it once did. Let's face it, there's so much noise out there in the blogosphere already that chances are, your words are only making things worse. Again, write more fiction, less noise.

--Word Count. I'm not one of those Bananaramo writers, nor do I feel the need to state a specific word count for any given work day. But I do feel I the need increase my word count this year. I generally write between five to seven pages per day when writing a new book. But this year, I'll try increasing that to ten pages.

--Readings. I dreamt last night that I was giving a reading to a student body. I take that as a sign that I should be out there doing more readings and speaking engagements. Therefore, if you're reading this, and you want me to read and/or speak at your school or function, just email me at Vazandri@aol.com and we'll set a date.

There's probably more things I'm going to try and improve upon this year, but I drank way too much wine last night in beautiful Florence, where the smells of roasting garlic pervades the air and the Christmas bells are ringing in the cathedral towers. I think I need to head out for a run and then open up some gifts with my family who have flown over the Atlantic to enjoy the holidays with me. I might be an ocean away from my American friends and fans but that doesn't mean you're not always in my thoughts. Thanks for making it a spectacular 2015!

Happy Holidays and Happy New Year.

WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM 

"I was born, I blinked ..."

You blink and summer, you sadly discover, has passed you by. Actually, it went by faster than a blink, which life in general seems to do, or so I'm discovering now that I'm a 51 year old guy. Time is now akin to sliding down that slippery slope. The descent isn't all that rapid, but you start thinking of things that you never thought about before (if you'll forgive the Yogi Berrasim, may God rest his soul).

For instance, you wake up one too many times at night to take a leak and what flashes through your brain is prostate cancer. There's more hair at the bottom of the shower drain these days. Gray hair. You're still exercising more than ever, but it sometimes leaves you more tired than energized, so you become a fan of afternoon naps (For the life of me, I don't know how folks with traditional jobs get through the day without a nap).

But there's a lot of good that comes with age too.

For the most part, I feel like I'm twenty-one. I eat what I want, drink what I want, go where I want, and, do what I want, within reason. I still get the high hard one up without help from chemicals, and, praise be to God, I don't think I've enjoyed a summer in recent memory where I haven't had even an ounce of women trouble.

Maybe I'm learning something in my dark middle age (it's not really all that dark. I just like the sound of that). Ten years ago this very weekend, my second wife, Laura, and I, split up. I moved out with fifty dollars in my checking account and a whole bunch of debt, and no publishing contracts to depend on. Now, ten years later, Laura and I are back together. I'm about to publish my twentieth novel in Jan. 16 (Orchard Grove, Polis Books), and I make a very good living at what I do. As for debt, I kicked it's big fat ass.

So how did I do it?

I worked hard at making some serious changes in my life that extended far beyond something as simple as quitting smoking or giving up gluten. I peered into the mirror, and I was honest with myself. Brutally honest. What I came up with is that your life is your own responsibility. No one is to blame for your plight but you. Not society, not race, not political affiliation, not your parents, not the police, not the welfare state...Not even God or the devil. You and you alone are the captain of your ship and you alone are responsible for its course.

So, yes, I have learned some things now that I'm older, the most important lesson of which is this: No matter how bad your situation is, you can change it. You can reverse anything, if you want to. Happiness isn't something you wear like a skin. It's a choice. In making the decision to be happy, you must make adjustments. Some of them difficult, like giving up a job you hate, leaving a harmful relationship, or packing up, selling your shit, and moving to a new state or country. But the changes are necessary if you are going to be happy (yes, in all the Eat, Pray, Love, sense of the word).

I'm reminded of an obituary that recently appeared in a US newspaper. It was written by the woman who was about to die, something for which I applauded her. In it, she wrote, "I was born, I blinked, and it was over." I've never forgotten those words. Nor should you. That is, you want to assume ultimate responsibility for the one life you live and its happiness.

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Curious Conversation About 'Eat, Pray, Love'

Eat, Pray, Escape ... The movie...

The other day someone asked me what immediately comes to mind when I imagine my life from this day forward (I'm not going to get into the circumstances of who asked me and why, so just bear with me). I immediately responded by saying something along the lines of, "writing, traveling, eating, drinking...At the end of the day, my sig other and I head out for some red wine and a nice dinner under a moonlit night somewhere in Italy, or France, or South America, or..." well, you get the picture.

The woman who asked me the question assumed a kind of sour puss, shook her head, said, "Eat, Pray, Love...That's you. I hated that book."

I said, "I read it, and I liked it." Me, smiling, like, lighten up already.

She said, "Selfish. The writer of that book gave up everything so she could pursue only what she wanted in life."

I said, "But it's her life. The only one she's got. Maybe she gave up what she didn't want anymore, so that she could gain the world."

The woman shook her head once more, checked the time on her wristwatch, then quickly changed the subject.

THE SHROUD KEY is fast approaching its first 10K sold. Get yours now!

WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM

End of the Road...

...or is it just the start?

A month on the global road:
--16,860 miles traveled by air, including a perfect circle around the globe, heading on an east-bound course the entire way (NYC to NYC) 
--Seven flights
--Six countries, three continents
--At least four different time zones (I've lost count)
--Temperatures ranging from 45F to 115F
--Modes of transportation: Airliner, boat, rickshaw, tuck tuck, tram, train, 4x4, car, van, elephant
--Food: vegetarian, seafood, mutton, beef

--Average amount of sleep per night: 4-5 hours
--Number of currencies: Four
--Terrorist attacks while en route to Dehli: two (both by Maoist Rebels aimed at the railroads. Total dead and injured: 100+)
--Top memories: The burning of the dead in Lumbini. The cleansing of the body in Varanasi, the giant orange swastika a holy backdrop. Monsoon rain and winds pummeling our little boat on the upper Ganges, and a human skull lying jaw up on the banks where we anchored and held onto our ratted rooftop tarp for dear life. Swimming downstream in the Ganges, nearly drowning when we hit a stretch of water so deep, the clear-over-gravel-color river turned to blue. The overnight train to Agra, sleeping beside dozens of Indians, young and old. The woman who rushed the train on a stop from Occha to Agra, slipping between the car and the platform, her right leg cut off just below the knee as the train pulled out of the station. Touching, for the first time, an elephant's ear, its smooth almost silky texture taking me by complete surprise. The nervousness of a rhino cooling itself with mud only a few feet away from where I stood in the back of the 4x4 ...

Next stop...who knows.

WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM

Social Media: A Situation Report

Time has been a precious commodity lately.

I've been nailed with a two developmental edits for two upcoming books at the same time, plus I had to write a 70 page novella for the mystery collective I belong to, and add to this a re-edit of an already published novel and my normal duties as a journalist and I'm about ready for the funny farm.

What did Hemingway once pen? "No one can work everyday...without going stale."

But hey, business is business, and while I have a nice advance riding on at least one of the two aforementioned books (more money than I made in an entire year five years ago), I'm not shirking my duties. However, I have noticed myself getting more and more agitated with the social media and the persistent onslaught of useless information that bombards me not day in and day out, but minute in and minute out.

No, I do not wish to be invited to play a Game of Thrones or whatever it's called.
No, I do not wish to like your "I love Fluffy Cats" page
No, I don't care about your impromptu selfie snapped in the office bathroom
No, I don't care that after twenty glorious years of marriage you and the hubby are still in love.
No, I don't care that the old girlfriend has a new boyfriend.
And for God's sakes, please don't IM me unless the house is burning down around you. Even then it might take me a while to respond.
As for texting me without being invited to text? You're risking your life here...

Okay, I can hear you loud and clear, "You're one to talk Zandri!" and it's all too true. I'm not casting cyber stones so much as I'm realizing the utter time suck and futility of the social media networks (don't forget to add in useless emails here...). Christ, you can't even pimp your books on Facebook anymore without having to pay out the ass for the, ummmm, privilege.

I think there was a time, not all that long ago, where social media played a vital role in an author's promotion. It got our names out there on a global level, and if our work was any good, we gathered many new fans and sold a few books. Some of those fans even became friends. Some of those good friends live in far away places like Moscow, Cairo, Florence, and many other places. I've never met some of these friends, but a few I have, and that is the beauty of social media.
But when it comes to the everyday posting of useless information, I find it to be a distraction of immense proportions and I'm more inclined lately to turn the damn thing off altogether while I tend to my work.

Okay, so much for my rant about social media. Time to finish this essay and get it out there on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Google+, ...

www.vincentzandri.com

Life is Short...

On my way to the gym this morning I almost rear-ended a Jeep that had one those black, vinyl tire protectors wrapped around the spare tire which was attached to its back gate. Painted on the tire protector were the words,

Life is Short. Live it.

Simple. Declarative. No decoration or funky colorful illustrations to further stress and/or dilute the point. Like the cups that are cracked and hooked above the sink, it made me think (thanks for the metaphor Wilco!). We all have choices to make in life. If we're lucky and have the means to do more than just subsist on what we make for a living, we find ourselves having more choices to deal with than we do decisions. So often life is a matter of no choice and it becomes an endless, almost hopeless pattern of work, TV, bed. You wake up one day and you're old, or worse, terminally sick. 

But those who wish to avoid the old, shoulda, coulda, woulda, would do well to pay attention to the words on the Jeep. You must make some very hard life decisions that might not always be so popular with those who love you. Those people who consider you family, friends, and even lovers and partners. Your decisions might even be considered selfish. But then, you must live with yourself day in and day out. If you are a writer or an artist, then you more than anyone know full well what it is to live alone, even when you live with someone else.

As my 47th year winds down, and my new books BLUE MOONLIGHT and MURDER BY MOONLIGHT get ready for publication in December, I look at my writing desk and see two more novels in the draft stages. I see my passport. I see some spare Euros and a whole lot of world I haven't yet experienced. I have my health, my career, my hopes and dreams. Over the past six months, I've spent more time at funerals and wakes than I have over the past six years combined. I know that one day, when I least expect it, my life will come to its final conclusion. Dust to dust. Worms to the flesh.

But for now, I fully realize that I'm left alone to sort out some serious decisions. Life decisions. In doing so, I will keep this clearly in mind:

Life is Short. Live it.

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