The Writer's Life 3/20 - Improved

Old Man Winter is having the last laugh on the first day of Spring. At least I was able to open up the floating book shop for an hour or so. My thanks to Herbie, who purchased yet another thriller, and the couple who bought a pictorial in Russian. There are only seven remaining from the batch I picked up recently.

When I downloaded the ebook of Close to the Edge and uploaded it into Word, it came out fragmented. I've been working at getting it into publishing shape, doing five pages at a sitting, two or three times per day. It is too tedious to do for a longer stretch. The story will remain exactly the same. I tweaked the language here and there and added one brief scene I'd thought of after the book was published. The biggest change will be the elimination of the spelling errors. I may have been so cocky about my ability to spell way back in 2000 that I may have turned off the editing aid so as not to be annoyed by the Brooklynese being underlined in red. I doubt I would have missed so many -- at least 50, possibly as many as 100. I appreciate anyone who noticed and spared my feelings. When I go from AuthorHouse to Create Space, it will be a better book. Anyway, here's an excerpt. It may come out fragmented, as I'm working from an old edition of IE, which is not beset by the pop ups I've recently acquired:

   As the light of the set faded, the room was plunged into darkness. The lone window was caked with grime. Barely a ray penetrated. He’d been meaning to clean it since Spring. He could hardly see. He groped for the lamp. He felt lifeless. A regula philospher, he thought mockingly, irked at his recent drifts into prolonged thought. He turned on the stereo to lift his spirits, setting Close to the Edge* on the turntable. He sprawled across the bed and let the music possess him, and soon lost himself, singing along, humming the frenetic melody, becoming more and more engrossed as the title cut progressed. As it approached its climax, he jumped to his feet and raised the volume. He wished he could reach the paradise that was being described. He feared he was heading in the opposite direction.
   Concentrating intently, he noted a new sound. He was surprised, having thought he’d known the recording inside out. He cocked an ear toward a speaker in an effort to identify the instrument. To his chagrin, it was the telephone. The blare of the powerful speakers had nearly drowned its ring completely. He lowered the volume and raced to the kitchen to answer the call.
It was Marie’s mother, as he’d expected.
   “Rocco? Honey, the music’s too loud. My floor’s shakin’. Turn it down, please, doll, before my husban’ gets home.”
   “I’m sorry, Rosie,” he stammered. “I got carried away. It won’t happen again. I promise."
   “That’s awright, hon’. I understan’. Yer all alone. The music keeps ya comp’ny."
   “Yeah.” He was pained at having been reminded. He’d actually forgotten his loneliness for a few minutes.

Vic's 5th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/okxkwh5Vic's 4th novel: tinyurl.com/bszwlxh

Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3

Vic's Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx
Vic's Short Story Collection: http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tiny.cc/0iHLb Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kx3d3uf
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tinyurl.com/pdxwsnt

Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp

Vic's Horror Screenplay: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f

Vic's Blog: http://vicfortezza.blogspot.com/

Vic's Web Site: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/