Blink

Emily Phillips: She was born, she blinked and...

I read recently about a Florida woman, Emily Phillips, who wrote her own obituary. It went something like this. I was born, I blinked, and it was over. It hit me hard. Because I could entirely relate. Luckily or by the grace of God, I'm not writing my own obit at present, but for certain, I was born, I blinked, and I turned 50. Or 52. How the hell did that happen?

I look at writing projects on my table. Some stuff I've been thinking about for years. More than ten years. Back when a man or a women entering the workforce or even writing their first stuff was still in kindergarten. In some ways, life is better than it's ever been. I feel better, because I work out like crazy and I don't abuse myself like I once could. Was a time I could party all night and get up and bite on the nail. That no longer holds true, so I don't abuse myself. It just isn't worth it anymore.

But there are scares that, dare I say it, come with age. The doctors tell me I have too much plaque on the arteries. It's genetic for the most part. But now I'll need to take medication to keep the cholesterol down. The bad stuff. I have to cut out certain foods. No more red meats or butter or bacon double cheeseburgers. Oh well. You do what you have to do. You're lucky to be here.

There are those who are not so lucky. People who have been friends for ages. For life in some cases. They are sick. Gravely sick. You never imagined the possibility let alone probability, that they would one day be gone from your life, so you put off seeing them for a while because life is getting in the way. A while turns into years, and years, and more years. And then you find out they aren't well. You do what you can to help them, but it will never be enough. You failed them a long time ago. You were selfish.

Look at yourself in the mirror. You might not realize it, but the life is racing by. Make the days count, the hours, the minutes. I know you've heard it before, but don't sweat the little things. Live the life the way you always imagined it. Buy a plane ticket...Now.  A ticket to anywhere.
Because one day you'll blink, and it will be over.

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.

WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM

  

Choose Wisely

"Shoulda, coulda, woulda ..."

The end of the year approaches and it's time to begin making those resolutions that will carry you into the new year. Maybe this will be the year you choose to lose the weight. Maybe it will be the year you choose to pay the bills. Maybe it's the year you choose to quit the butts. Maybe it's the year you choose to make the move to a new job or a new town. Maybe it's the year you choose to work up the courage to take that trip around the world. Hey, maybe it's the year you choose to become the full time writer.

The point is that so many resolutions will get made and another year will pass in which the only thing that changes is our age. The inevitable choice we make will be not to choose at all. Fear can be a real hobbler when you're trying to step ahead in life. Only when you realize that death is following you every step of the way, will you suddenly become aware of the limited time you have left on the planet. Sadly, most people never come to this realization and they die the worst way possible: Not trying.

I was raised in a household that stressed fear. Fear of everything. One step outside the norm and you were somehow punished. You were told which schools to go to, which churches to pray at, which friends were good and which were bad, and when it came time to choose a career, it was already chosen for you. Breaking free of the bondage proved a mammoth task for me, but I did it.

My dad was a great provider and strong community leader. He was an all around good guy. But at the same time, he became my shining example of how not to go through life. He could have been a world class musician had he followed his heart. But instead he chose to do what he was told to do (he could be a musician "on the side"). It was safer that way and yet, paradoxically, I can't help but believe that his life choices somehow contributed to his early death.

Quite literally, he had wanted me to live the same life he did. Expected me to make the same choices as if mimicking my father would have provided him with a kind of validation that he was surly missing ... An assurance that he had made the right moves. But I couldn't be like him, and I rebelled and went my own way. Despite more than a few setbacks during the journey, I've never looked back.
 
I'm always fascinated by friends and acquaintances who will come up to me and tell me I have a great life. "I wish I was you, traveling all over the place, being your own boss." I ask them why they don't don't do the same. They usually scratch their head, tell me their wife/husband would never allow it, or there's no money, or the job sucks but at least it's a job. Amazingly, some of these people are rich and have far more funds than I do to spend doing precisely what they want with their life. Still, they are afraid. Afraid of the unknown. Afraid to break free of the norm, of the suburb, of the life that is vanishing so quickly.

I look at them, into them, and I see the mortality that is greying the whites of their eyes on a daily basis. My heart goes out to them because they aren't living at all. They are existing ... A walking, bipedal mass of wasted energy.

We all have choices. Everyday is a new day and a new opportunity to choose who you want to be and how you want to do it. It's never too late. Choose wisely. You won't get today back ever again.

To join the Vincent Zandri mailing list for monthly news about book deals and free giveaways, please go to WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM and click on Contacts. 

  

The Interstate of Life

We have a finite set of miles allotted to us. What are you doing with yours?

Do you find yourself lying in bed some mornings wondering where you took the wrong turn in life?
Maybe it was right after college when instead of taking  left off the interstate of a life towards something that would make you happy but not a lot of money, you instead took a right onto the entrance-ramp of security and financial responsibility. I took that right, right out of college. I had a little help in the matter in that I had been groomed from birth for the family business. "Groomed" is putting it kindly.

But soon after entering into the business, I rejected it. It didn't feel right. I was a young man who felt uncomfortable in his own skin. It was like having been thrust into an arranged marriage and being repulsed by your new partner. I wanted to be a writer. That was the life I wanted to live. People thought I was crazy. My family thought I had lost it. They all said, "You have this great business. One day it will be all yours." Then they said, "You can write on the side."

I didn't want to write on the side. Writing on the side was for hacks and pretenders. I knew that if I didn't give it my all, I would one day become the fat, middle-aged man with high blood pressure, a house in the burbs that needs a new roof, and more debt than I could possibly pay off. If I were going to become a writer, I wanted to do it the way the greats did it. Like Hemingway and Mailer and Gellhorn. I wanted to write about everything and see the world doing it.

I rejected the family business and I rejected the suburbs and I rejected anything that even speaks of normalcy and safety and what's expected of me. Does it make me selfish? Maybe. Writing is a selfish pursuit. It requires alone time and it requires space and it requires stimulation that cannot be had by sitting on the couch in front of the television anymore than it can be had by doing it "on the side."

Today....at this very moment in time, I'm not fat, I'm not unhealthy, and I don't have insurmountable debt keeping me up at night. But I don't own a business, nor do I have a country club membership, nor do I own a house, nor am I rich. Not even close. But damn, I'm happy as hell. Happy that after taking a right hand turn off the interstate of life, I pulled a U-turn and pursued the other route. It's made me who I am right now and who I will become many miles from now.

WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM

  

From the Jungle to the Frying Pan

You know this particular fish from some James Bond movies.

The plane ride home is a time to reflect. You've spent the better part of 48 hours, hiking, canooing, driving, over some of the most difficult jungle terrain you ever imagined on your way to an airport that's nothing more than a shack with some ceiling fans, and you look forward to going home. You stare out the porthole window of the 757 and watch the snow-capped peaks of the Andes pass you by as the plane rocks and rolls from up-drafts. The turbulence sends chills up and down your spine, but it also makes you feel somehow alive. You feel good because you've accomplished something unusual.

In the Amazon Jungle you were taunted by spider monkeys who swiftly moved in packs of 200 or more, swinging from branches only inches above your head. A family of howling monkeys growled at you while protecting their new baby. A tarantula blocked your path on a narrow trail as you and your guide tried to get back to the lodge in the dark of night. A piranha bit your finger as you pulled it in with fishing line and hook. The bite stung and drew blood. It also caused the guides to laugh out loud while shaking their heads. "Who's the silly gringo in the Indiana Jones hat?"

Now you're home to the daily grind (yes, writers live the grind too!). You went straight to the ortho surgeon from the airport only to learn that you snapped a tendon in your right foot during the many hikes through Peru's mountainous jungle and that now you need an operation that will lay you up for two months. "You didn't hear something go POP?" asked the inquisitive doctor. Not an easy thing to accept for someone who jogs and trains with weights on a daily basis. Not to mention hiking, flyfishing, drumming for my new band, etc. I can't bear the through of sitting for more than a five minutes. But like a Russian travel friend of mine likes to say, "Hey, what can you do?"

Here's what I do: I have an email into my fixer. I'm already setting up the next adventure. Until that time, I have the galley proof of The Guilty (the third book in the Jack Marconi series) to get through, plus the first draft of a new Dick Moonlight novel, Moonlight Weeps. There's an article or two I will be writing, and one being published next week about my adventures in Africa from Living Ready Magazine. I'll suppose also be taking time to heal from my surgery. I'll be healing all summer long. Which also means I can't drive. Oh no, how am I going to get around?

Oh well, welcome to Vincent Zandri's real world...From the jungle to the frying pan.

WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM

  

One step backwards and I become a permanent piece of Machu Picchu history.

  

Chianti by Motorbike and a Prayer

Checco and I make it to Chianti in one piece and take in some wine and atmosphere in a typical piazza...

Yesterday I played some hookie from my new book(s) and hopped on the back of a motorcycle for a ride into the Chianti region of Italy. Chianti is about 25 or so kilometers from downtown Florence, and calling it a scenic ride doesn't remotely do it justice, as it is as close to God's country as one can get without dying and taking the high speed express to heaven.

The high speed metaphor is a discriminate since my mode of travel was a motorcycle (they call them motorbikes here which makes them sound cute and fuzzy which they are not). I rode on the back of my friend and all around fixer's bike, Francesco "Checco" Tassi. Checcho loves motorcycles and he owns a bunch of them. He races off road with a core group of like-minded crazies and sometimes will travel across entire countries like Spain on a motorcycle. So when he accelerated our bike upwards of 110 KPH, while I held on with one hand and aimed a video camera in the other, I had to believe that he knew exactly what he was doing and that if we crashed I would die as quickly as an insect goes splat against a speeding windshield.

At one point, a two-point buck jumped out in front of us and for a split second, the old life (or middle aged lives in both our cases), flashed through our brains. Instead of spilling the bike, Checco calmly decelerated and tried to ease us past the frightened deer who suddenly about-faced and made the mad dash back across the street in the direction from which he originally crossed. It was all quite the adventure, and dressed in vintage leather coat, scarf, and engineers boots, I felt like I was caught up in some 1950's adventure movie. Secret of Incas, China, or maybe The Naked Jungle. Of course a Fellini flick would have been more apropos.

One thing is for sure, when you find yourself riding on the back of a motorcycle in the middle of the most beautiful, vine and tree-covered hills imaginable, cruising a gravel-covered road with a slight rain spattering against the translucent helmet visor and dripping down your lips, you come to realize in every bit of that "Eat, Pray, Love" sort of way, that life does indeed not suck. Life is what you make of it. No one is going to make it for you. So if you're reading this on your couch today in your living room, and you want to escape so badly you think you're going to lose your mind, promise me something. Promise me you'll click off this blog and click onto the Expedia travel site (or whichever site you prefer) and book a ticket to some distant land. Doesn't matter where too or for how long, so long as it's far away, and will take some difficulty getting there. I guarantee it will change your life.

Until next time...

 WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM
 THE INNOCENT, the No. 1 Bestselling, Amazon Kindle is FREE all day, Sunday, 25 March, 2012...Nab it for your travels!!  

My Friend Dave

I like to have a couple of beers at the local after a long day of writing. It's a an easy way to unwind and more importantly, a great way to solve what the great American novelist Jim Harrison calls the problem of "re-entry." That is, leaving the solitary fictional world for the real one waiting for you outside your writing studio.

Two days ago I was sipping my first cold beer, still feeling the bumps and bruises of the five back-to-back rewrites I'd just completed for my new publisher, when my friend Dave walked in. We always light up when we see one another because we are both musicians. And pretty good musicians at that, the two of having been playing out in some pretty hot bands for more than thirty years. Often when I see the stocky, pleasant-faced Dave, he settles himself on the stool beside me, orders a glass of red and we start in on a conversation about music which almost always leads to women and/or our present love interest. Yes, like me, Dave is a bachelor with kids.

But this time, we didn't talk music or women.

This time Dave asked me what I did this past weekend. I told him that I had to work both days in order to meet my Tuesday deadline. It made me feel good to admit that I gave up the weekend to work. Unselfish even. I expected Dave to tell me he'd gone out with friends or maybe on a date and that it was all a lot of fun. But he didn't tell me that. Instead he told me that he'd helped a friend of his move. He told me his friend was a cook at a local diner that Dave often frequents. The cook not only lost everything he owns right down to his wallet in a tragic house fire, but that he only survives on about $400 per week. Four hundred bucks and the cook, who is a single parent, supports four kids who live with him full-time.

As is too often the case with a man in the cook's situation, he had no where to go. But despite being a man of meager means, the cook spends much of his free time volunteering to help out underprivileged inner-city kids. So much time that he caught the attention of the mayor who not too long ago, offered to help the cook should he ever find himself in need of anything. All the cook would have to do is ask.

This past weekend the cook took the mayor up on his offer. In turn, the mayor offered up an multi-bedroom apartment inside an empty battered women's shelter. The cook could take the place for he and his kids for as long as he needed, free of charge, until a time when he got back on his feet. The mayor came through for a man who might not have a whole lot of money, but who unselfishly sacrifices his time to help others. And from what I hear, he can cook up a mean plate of eggs and bacon.

You might think that's the end to a heart-warming story. But as Dave sipped his wine, he shook his head and sighed. He told me that Social Services got word of the cook living inside the shelter. That regardless of the mayor's offer, the cook will be forced to hand over his children to "the system" should he not find his own proper housing and the financial means to support his children within thirty days. Social Services feels it's doing the cook a favor here. It's their job to take children away from their parents when they feel the parents aren't properly supporting the youth's needs.

Dave and I sat in silence for a while as I regretted having told him about my having worked all weekend. It made me realize how lucky I am to have such good fortune and how selfish I can be sometimes when I give up an entire weekend to work on my writing. I asked Dave if there was anything  that could be done for the cook. He mentioned that he'd played a gig on Saturday night to benefit the cook. That he was able to raise hundreds of dollars. "Hey," Dave said, "the guy cooks my food. It was the least I could do."

I can learn a lesson from Dave. I can also learn a lesson from the cook. It doesn't matter what's happening in your life, good or bad. Sometimes it's just better to drop everything you're doing to help out another soul in need. It's what we do because we have to, and it's what we do in order to earn the right to call ourselves human beings.

WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM

GET THE NO. 1 BESTSELLING AMAZON THRILLER: THE INNOCENT  

    

Back in the "W" Column

"Big Blue in action, taking all the right winning chances."

I'm watching the New York Giants play in their first playoff game since 2008 (Don't quote me on that). I haven't gotten the chance to watch much pro football the past few years because usually I spend much of the Fall in Italy. But this year I spent most of the summer in Europe which freed up the football season. Still, work got in the way and I didn't see many games, and then when my team, The New York Football Giants began to lose consecutive games, I figured they'd never make the playoffs anyway. So why worry about watching? Hell, I don't even have a TV.

But then something strange happened. Well, not strange, but important all the same.
The Giants started to peak late in the season.
They regrouped, took a good look at their mistakes, made attempts to correct them, healed their injuries, placed the past in the past and started looking towards the future. And in doing so, they started to win.

Life is like that.
Sometimes when things look like they will never be repaired or healed, you suddenly find yourself back in the winner's circle. I played football for eight years so I guess I feel comfortable with the football metaphor, and after getting my head banged up for all those seasons, I feel like I've earned the right to use it.

But to get back to my point...
Five or more years ago when I was writing the first drafts of my suspense/thriller, SCREAM CATCHER, I had just separated from my wife. I didn't have a new publisher and was barely making a living as a freelance journalist. It was during this time I took a step back and tried to reassess my life. Where had I gone wrong after having scored a major deal with a Random House imprint for two novels (THE INNOCENT and GODCHILD) and at the same time, married the love of my life, only to lose them both?

Curiously, I couldn't point at any one thing I'd done wrong, only that they had gone wrong. So how would I repair my life and get back to my winning ways and perhaps even win my love back? I didn't have the answers. But I did know this: If I made a renewed commitment to hard work and to writing the best books I could in the shortest amount of time, my publishing losses would take care of themselves and begin turning into wins. In other words, instead of brooding and reaching for a quick fix, I started behaving like a winner. This past Spring, when I sold over 100,000 e-Books of The Innocent in 60 days and it resulted in a 7 book "very nice" deal with Thomas & Mercer, I knew that I had indeed taken the necessary steps in order to get back to my winning ways.

All professional success aside, I still had my personal life to think about. My love life. I'd enjoyed some very nice and fulfilling relationships with some very good, if not exceptional women. But for some reason, none of these relationships were working out in the long term. What was going wrong? Like I did with my professional life years earlier, only very recently did I take a step back, reviewed some game tapes as it were, and decided to start becoming a new man. A man who could not only be trusted, but who could trust himself to do the right things. No one wants to be a Facebook or Twitter flirt forever, and frankly, by the time you hit your mid forties, if you still gotta rely on FB "pokes" and "winks" for your jollies, you deserve to be alone.

In the wake of my dad's sudden death, I've started spending some time with someone who used to be very close to me. Very close. We've had some very good times amidst some seriously stressful and sad situations. We're both finding one another as single, free adults with open hearts. That we are becoming friends again and more is plainly obvious. That we are taking it slow and careful is also obvious and smart of us. We're older now. More mature. But we're still very much attracted to the same things that attracted us in the first place all those years ago. You can see it and feel it whenever our eyes connect.

I guess we have every reason not to take a chance on this. We have a history together. A history that went bad. But then, love isn't sometimes risky. It's always risky. So is the writing game. The New York Giants have only inches to go in order to nail a first down. Problem is, it's fourth down. They can take a shot and "go for it" or they can play it safe and kick it away.

They're going for it.

The big bull running back barrels his way through a very mammoth and angry Falcons defensive line.  

They've gone for it and they got the first down.

They took a shot, that now is resulting in a touchdown and the game lead.

Sometimes all that's necessary to becoming a winning player again in life and love is to not only learn from your mistakes, but to simply start living your life like a winner.

GET ZANDRI NOVELS: WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM

Remember 9/11 Today and Then Move On With Your Life

After a divorce or a breakup or a death to someone close to you, a professional therapist will almost always suggest that you try and recall the good things about that person, then move on. Obviously you will never forget and often be reminded of the individual who at one time was very close and special to you. But now that person is gone and they are never coming back to you. The bond is broken forever. Despite the immediate and sometimes agonizing pain, the loss means one thing and one thing only: it's time to reinvent your life.

Today is 9/11, the tenth anniversary of an event that we will never nor should we ever forget, when a Mickey Mouse organization called Al Qaeda comprised primarily of murderous Islamic extremists got very, very lucky, and managed to pull off the mass murder of the century. Since that time the country and much of the world has been tossed into economic turmoil, travel by airplane has become difficult and full of security hassle, many American lives have been lost on the fields of battle in Iraq and Afghanistan, we've tolerantly learned to live with degrees of fear defined by color coded bar charts, and we've tried in every politically correct way possible to understand why Muslim Radicals might hate us so much. We've even come close on occasion to apologizing for just plain being us. Well, I'm not apologizing. I don't say "I'm sorry" to bullies and homicidal maniacs.

Other things have happened in the past ten years. Good things.
Osama, the Al Qaeda chief thug, is dead. A man who lived by the gun and died by the gun. Another thug, Saddam Hussein has been tried and hanged. We now have active counter-terrorism organizations operating both inside and outside the U.S. and in turn, we are better able to protect and defend ourselves. The internet has exploded with social media sights like Twitter and Facebook spreading messages of freedom and democracy to citizens of Egypt, Syria, Libya and elsewhere, making it just a little more difficult in this day and age for a Mafia style thug like Saddam to rule over a country of frightened people. No we didn't uncover weapons of mass destruction in his country prior to entering into the second Iraq War, but that never disguised the fact that they did in fact possess them and had used them before in the form of poison gas on innocent Kurds and had been in the process of acquiring light water for their nuclear processing plants which were being reconstructed.

But it's ten years since 9/11.
Nearly 3,000 innocent people lost their lives on that day, and we shall never forget a single one of them. While it pains my soul to try and imagine the unspeakable sorrow and horrors each of these people went through on that sunny Monday morning, these days I prefer to think about the passengers of Flight 93 bound for San Francisco who decided to re-take their hijacked plane even though it was almost certainly going to mean sacrificing their lives in the process. But somehow they knew that given the choice of being a victim or a defender, they all chose defender. They are heros and saints.

So what shall we do over the course of the next ten years?

Move on. Remember what occurred all those years ago on September 11, 2001 and move on with reconstructing your life.

No more apologies for who or what we are as Americans. We have our faults but we are a strong people whose spirit will always be one of defending the right to be free.

Be tolerant. There will be many more people of the Muslim faith moving to America who are as far removed from the murderers of 9/11 as you and I are from Charlie Manson. They just want a fair shake at living the American Dream. So part of moving on is to move on with people you might have formerly harbored a distrust for.

Be vigilant. There as many domestic terrorists at work in the United States as there are foreign terrorists who want to kill Westerners, Christians, Jews and people of color. Yup, they want to kill little children too. Let's force them out of their rat holes and put these haters behind bars.

Work harder. No one single U.S. President can bear the unspeakable burden of creating jobs for us. As Americans we've always found a way to not only to make a living, but to create new industries. Lets stop complaining, stop collecting unemployment and other "entitlements" and get the hell back to work. Now!

Fight back. It's not only probable that another terrorist attack will occur in the US, it's inevitable. And when it does, we find out the party responsible, and we don't hold back. This time we retaliate with a "police action" not with one arm tied behind our backs, but with everything we've got. We take terror to the terrorists and eliminate every single one of them in as swift a manner as possible. We send a message to the world that we will not be bullied anymore.

Most of all, we must live and re-invent ourselves as free people who love not only our country but the entire world and beyond.

Let's take today to remember the past. Let's never forget! But then let's also pick ourselves back up, dust ourselves off, and move on with life.

GET ZANDRI BOOKS: WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM