DOES THE UPCOMING HOLIDAY SEASON DISTURB THE WRITING PROCESS?

by 

Arthur Kerns

Before my knees gave out, I ran on a regular basis at a certain time of day. If I skipped my run, for the rest of the day I walked around having a nagging feeling that something was missing in life.

Same thing with writing. I have to write every day at a certain time or I get very antsy. When something or someone causes a change in my program, irritation sets in.

Now when the holidays arrive one is faced with all sorts of disruptions. Visitors, family, relatives arrive and demand attention—right when you’ve had a great breakthrough in that manuscript. Sure you need a break from the routine now and then to regroup and reboot, but aggravation still sets in.

Then there’s the situation when you go on an extended trip to celebrate the holidays. Frustration begins simmering under the surface. Should I take my computer, or notebook, or my rewrites? What will everyone think of me when I barge in with all my paraphernalia then look for a quiet place to work?

Now if you try to explain all this to a non-writer invariably you’ll be accused of selfishness, then thrown an incredulous look, or worse hear the expression, “Oh, you writers.”

Yes, there are times when situations during the holidays inspire a story, perhaps a comedy or a murder. However, does it become a great catalyst for the next story? Usually not for me, but then again there was that time when we traveled to New York City for Christmas and . . .

Today’s Ebola Crisis in Fiction

by

Arthur Kerns

Unfortunately, at times reality mirrors fiction. As the story of the Ebola crisis develops in the news, I went back to the scene in my thriller, The Riviera Contract, published in year 2013. Hayden Stone’s companion CIA case officer Sandra Harrington tells him that the terrorists intend to spread the Ebola virus throughout major US cities. You may find the following excerpt interesting if not unnerving:

Stone recalled images of the village of Mnemdo, on the border of Sudan and the Congo. Three years before. His team hadn’t needed map coordinates to find the sad collection of huts; they’d just headed toward the circling vultures. He remembered standing in the center of the village and feeling the eerie silence broken only by the scavengers arguing over the corpses scattered on the hard-baked ground. The three CIA technicians, one still barely alive, lay in a low-hanging thatched hut. Blood flowed from all their orifices: even, it seemed, from the sockets of their eyes. Before the last man died, they watched him go through mental and physical convulsions. He had pleaded for them to shoot him. Instead, they’d waited for him to die, and then burned the village and all the bodies.

“I understand it’s bad shit. No cure, right?” Sandra asked.

“So far, no. In Africa, some say it’s bad Juju. Even the scientists don’t know where it originates, only that if a person touches or eats a piece of contaminated bush meat, say a chimp, they can catch the virus.”

“What are the chances they’ll spill some of it?” Sandra said, more to herself. “Best for the French to wait for those biohazard people.”

“Handling Ebola is tricky. All research is done in a maximum biological containment setup known as Biosafety Level Four.”

She studied him. “You know a lot about it.”

“I was exposed to it, so I learned all I could.” Stone thought for a moment. “The way I see it, Hassan plans to ship the virus to the States and then spread it. God knows how. Can you imagine the number of deaths? Horrible deaths?

AFRICA CAN BE A DANGEROUS PLACE

AFRICA CAN BE A DANGEROUS PLACE

ASK THE PEOPLE WHO LIVE THERE

Art Kerns

While doing research for my latest novel, The African Contract, I ran across an entry in one of my travel journals. It recorded a visit to a friend’s village miles away from the nearest African city. Strolling among the homes, Dingane introduced me to his relatives and friends, while giving me a history of the region.

            I asked about health services and he told me they were limited. “Malaria, is the main illness,” he said. “Then there is dengue and Yellow fever, but there are other concerns.”

            “What other problems do the people have here” I expected to hear about bandits, rogue soldiers, or corrupt officials.

            Dingane smiled and gave his hand gesture that meant the answer would not be coming quick and simple. “Your people travel here to see Africa’s wildlife. You take photos, enjoy seeing them, and then leave. We are happy you come and enjoy them, but we must stay and live with them.”

            A group of children ran up and interrupted him. They laughed and wanted to touch me, the foreign visitor.

            When we were alone again, Dingane continued. “The snakes are always a danger. They come into our homes, lie in wait on the trails, hang from trees.”

            “Cobras scare me,” I said.

            “The Black Mamba scares us.”

            I remembered speaking with a herpetologist who told me the mamba was the one snake that scared the shit out of him every time he had to remove it from her cage and measure it.

A STRANGER READS MY BOOK

I noticed her mother first. Stylish and attractive, she was better dressed than most of the churning mob in the Phoenix airport terminal, waiting for their Memorial Day weekend flights. She sat six seats away crammed in with other passengers listening for their boarding calls. An unintelligible announcement barked over the loudspeaker and she stood, leaned down to a woman in her early twenties, who I figured was her daughter, and handed her a carry-on bag. The girl accepted the bag without taking her eyes from the book she held. She continued to read as the older woman made her way through the aromas of food concessions to the restroom area.