"Why Not Black Thursday?"

(Disclaimer note to readers: The return of Brad Nelson Here... via Pascal Marco's blog has been rumored for some time now. And that time has come with the conclusion of the most recent Black Friday retail frenzy. In response to this orgy of madness, Brad has dispatched his first op-ed piece in over five years, pleading his former student, Pascal, to oblige him by posting his ramblings right here on this blog. So, until Brad creates (or his fans clamor for) his own personal web log, Pascal is happy to indulge his one time writing mentor.)

Brad Nelson Here...

So, I ask: what's keeping the American consumer from demanding that retailers make available to him and her a Black Thursday?  Why must we wait until the stroke of midnight (please do not read this as "why must we strokes wait until midnight") Thanksgiving evening before we can stampede the doors of our local Wal-Mart or Target store and trample our strange, just-slept-all-night-on-the-sidewalk-with-them, bedfellows?

I, for one, see no reason other than this: Thanksgiving must, more than any other national holiday, remain sacrosanct.  

"Thanksgiving must, more than any other national holiday, remain sacrosanct."--Brad Nelson

That word I use--sacrosanct--is not to be taken lightly. Few things in our wonderful country are still regarded as such. Webster's defines the Latin-derived compound word as most sacred or holy; inviolable;  immune from criticism or violation.  Some very strong language indeed. And I admit I may be pouring the gravy on a bit too thick when I point out that Thanksgiving and the word sacrosanct came into being at almost the identical time in history: the early 1600s.

There is no other holiday, or day for that matter, including the Lord's very own day, that is more revered in the United States than the last Thursday in November. It is the only one of our main holidays that is not prone to float and change its date due to Gregorian calendric adjustments. (I wonder if the Mayans may not have been involved here. Note to self--write future op-ed piece entitled, "Those Crazy Mayans: How Not to Lose Your Head Over Missing an Important Date.") Our national feast day is always the last Thursday in November.  Period.  Gravy spot on the white tablecloth that looks eerily like an exclamation point.

This most hallowed of days is not to be tampered with even by the Almighty (dollar, that is, not God, for Christ's sake!) nor be threatened by the prurient-like pursuit of 2 for 1 Xbox deals or $199.00 48" LCD TVs.  For God's sake, what have we as a consuming people become?  If stores are opening at 12:01am the day after Thanksgiving for this confounding-named day of Black Friday, what's to keep that store from opening right after the last last slice of pumpkin pie with whip cream is served at perhaps 7pm for heaven's sake?

Black Friday Frenzy.

Sacrosanct. Merriam nor Webster didn't make up this word to describe some poorly conceptualized or otherwise frivolous event. No. They've reserved this word for us to use for the likes of describing TV watching. For example, Bonanza on Sunday night (60s), Laugh-in on Monday night (70s), Cosby on Thursday nights (80s)...well, you get my point. It's a word solely set-aside for describing such things as how we should treat the office of President of the United States, or, maybe more accurately, the reason behind why you mustn't wear white after Labor Day (note to self for another topic to post on my pal Pascal's blog--working title: "Labor Day Myths and Legends Debunked!").

But I digress.

Sacrosanct: holy, inviolable. Thanksgiving is a day we should only be thinking about thanking and giving and giving and thanking. Not a day wondering if we should carry pepper spray with us when we make the mad dash for the iPad2s selling at iPad1 prices just in case we need to incapacitate the poor slob who was only there to run push his wheel-chair-bound wife with the cannula stuck in her nostrils while connected to her portable oxygen tank he unselfishly slung over his shoulder whilst pushing her toward nirvana.

C'mon! Can anything be more sacred than that expression of pure love?  Believe me, in my day had anyone suggested that we mess at all with anything related to the sanctity of Thanksgiving they would have been called a Commie. Should anyone out there, even the largest retailer in the world, Sam and his Mart, suggest that we start tampering with the 24 hours devoted to the hallowed sacred rite bestowed upon us by our forefathers...well then by the power vested in me I label them no better than terrorists.

We need more people like Anthony Hardwick to step up to the proverbial feast-filled plate and decry as he has that this most un-sanctimonious of intrusions upon our highest of American holy days must STOP. We are meant--dare I say entitled, although no one can ever accuse me, Brad Nelson of being in favor of entitlements--to feast and then gloat over the gluttony of our happiest of holidays.

Anthony Hardwick--a real American hero.

I leave you with this final thought, speaking of terrorists: as my dear old dad, Farnsworth "Nellie" Nelson, a WWII-decorated-for-heroism-real-Amercian-hero, used to always say right after finishing his last scoop of Neopolitan ice cream before retiring to his Lazy Boy and falling asleep while watching football, "If there was ever a day our enemies should attack us, if they were smart they'd do it on Thanksgiving Day."

Just sayin'.

I Lost My Virginity to 7 Women at Once

Now that I have your attention, what I said is almost true.  As my wife and children like to say, my headline would be considered one of my classic "quasi fatte" statements. I learned this term when I read Joe McGinnis's wonderful book (one of my all time favorites) called The Miracle of Castel del Sangro. In the book, McGinnis documented the miraculous story of a lowly Italian soccer team and their historic climb from the bottom to the top of that country's iconic football (soccer to us American idiotas) league. 

McGinnis used the Italian vernacular of quasi fatte (literally translated as "half or almost the truth or fact") to describe the propensity of the Italians he encountered covering the story to embellish the events of the local team's climb in the ranks of Italy's soccer league from has-beens to champions. Italians are born fictionalizers (some might say womanizers, too) and maybe that's why I had so much fun writing my debut thriller novel, IDENTITY: LOST.

I had a chance recently to be invited to appear at my first book club.  I wasn't sure what to expect.  About nine months ago, not long after finding out my novel would be published by Oceanview Publishing, I took the liberty of interrupting a rather beautiful woman reading a rather large book in a restaurant I like to frequent called The Herb Box located in Scottsdale's DC Ranch area. I asked this lady what she was reading, she told me the title (which we've both seem to have forgotten today) and I took the liberty to let her know that I had a novel that would be released in the summer of 2011.

Her name was Cindy and she was quite impressed and asked me for the name of the book. I gave her my card, pitched my story, and she immediately inquired if I'd be interested in talking about my book at her book club after the book's release.  I agreed and this past Sunday I was welcomed by the seven gorgeous members of The Reading Divas Book Club of North Scottsdale.  I really didn't know what to expect when I arrived but Cindy had prepped me well, telling me the gals in the club were voracious readers, all with ravenous appetities for fiction works like mine. Quite luckily for me, they all loved my book.  I had died and gone to book club heaven.

The READING DIVAS (l-r) Judy Breshears, Sheila Vadovicky, Jill Murphey, Alison Prevear, Mary Ferro, Paula Stone and Cindy Quirarte, seated.

Simply and seriously stated, my experience with the Reading Divas came as close as I'll ever come to experiencing my own fantasies of valhalla.  The girls expertly concocted a baseball theme, complete with Cracker Jack coordinated place settings, baseball jerseys and hats, and a Chicago Vienna hotdog menu to boot, complete with poppy seed buns, celery salt, and sport peppers.  These contagious-spirited women knew the most direct way to this man's heart:  baseball, great ballpark food, and making me feel and believe as though I was in the center of my own personal harem of devoted fans.

But don't even think for one minute that I'm trivializing anything or making diminutive in any manner the almost three and one-half hours I thankfully spent with some of the most fascinating people I've ever met. All were accomplished professionals in their own right, covering fields from optometry and Alzheimer's research to uber event planning and real estate marketing. 

But their greatest gift was their frankness about my writing and how it had touched and moved each of them in very intimate and personal ways.  Finding out that my words had the power to bring forth so much emotion from complete strangers is a very special gift received indeed.  I really have nothing to compare it with except maybe the depth of emotion brought forth from the shared intimacy of lovemaking or the experience of witnessing the birth of human life.  It was really that kind of experience.

Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that my encounter with them would enrich me so much as a writer; to listen to them share with me how intimately engaged they had become with the characters I had created and how involved they became with their own emotions about the premise of my story and the consequences of your actions was a gift I'll not soon forget.

The Divas each added their autograph to this official Major League baseball and gave it to me as a parting gift.  Little did they know that their gift of gab about my book was a present that will remain with me forever.

Thank you, Reading Divas.  You touched my heart and now have a place in it forever and there's no way to be quasi fatti about something like that.

Poisoned Fiction Review: HOW I CAME TO WRITE THIS BOOK by Pascal Marco

Poisoned Fiction Review: HOW I CAME TO WRITE THIS BOOK by Pascal Marco: "Signed copies available from www.poisonedpen.com As of last month, my debut thriller novel, IDENTITY: LOST has been available in Ha..."

PASCAL MARCO: Back From ThrillerFest; Into The Arizona Heat

PASCAL MARCO: Back From ThrillerFest; Into The Arizona Heat

Back From ThrillerFest; Into The Arizona Heat

ThrillerFest was an amazing event for me again this year.  My third time attending the fan, hopeful author, and published author convention, now in its sixth year, I was once more overwhelmed by the generosity and warmth of a community of writers and authors of whose success I can only begin to imagine having a thumbnail of myself.

Take for instance Gayle Lynds.  Gayle has written nine novels and has been called the "queen of espionage" in the thriller writing community.  I was lucky enough to sit next to Gayle at a table where authors signed their books for attendees of the convention only because "Ma" came next after "Ly" in the alphabetical scheme of things that particular day.

Her chair remained unoccupied for most of the 40 minute signing session (as did the chair to my left, planned by the place card sign in front of the empty space to be occupied by Steve Martini. I was very fortunate that within those first few minutes to have one fan come up to me and ask to have my book, IDENTITY: LOST, which she had just purchased, signed.


The "Queen of Espionage"

I was ecstatic. A fan bought my book at ThrillerFest in New York City.  Is this really happening to me? It was only one book but I figured one is better than none. I inscribed the book to the new fan, Paula Lanier, who told me she "devours books." I'll never, ever forget her.

The very next moment Gayle Lynds came around the corner, looking for her seat.  I recognized her because, well, after all she is a best-selling author, and, as well, I had befriended her on Facebook a while back and knew her from her profile pic.  I pulled out the chair for her and gushingly said before she could even put her seat in it, "Hi, Gayle. You don't know me but we're Facebook friends."

Talk about stupid is as stupid does.  Forest Gump here couldn't take back his words, wanting to reel them back in like a fishing line that had snapped after losing the proverbial big one. But Gayle was gracious. She asked me my name as she pulled my place card toward her, saying, "Oh yes, Pascal. I know you. Great writer's name."

Did Gayle Lynds actually just say she "knew" me? She was being kind, I know, but it still sounded wonderful, warm, and so gracious.  She may as well have said, "Welcome. Welcome to the family!" That's how good her greeting made me feel. A fellow ThrillerFest author, welcoming me to the gang.

"I just sold a book," I told her. Okay, Forest, you're gonna run out of fishing line. 

"That's fantastic," she replied. "It's 100% more than what I've sold today."

Once again, grace from Gayle while under socially dysfunctional fire from moi.

"So, tell me about your book."

"My book?" I asked.  I felt another line snap. Nice going, Pascal!  Thank God you've got that great writer's name because your ThrillerFest social skills really suck.  "My book?" I began again. "Yeah, well my book is about a boy who is the sole witness to a crime in Chicago's Burnham Park in the late 1970s but the cops and the Cook County States Attorney's Office bungle the case and he's put into witness protection in Arizona.  The book starts thirty years in the future, the witness now a ruthless Maricopa County prosecutor and he crosses paths with the killers once again."

No reply form the Queen of Espionage. My story sucks. What was I thinking?

After her pregnant pause, Gayle speaks.  "Wow! That's a fantastic premise.  I really like that. What's the title?"

"Identity: Lost."

"Great title.  Are you writing a second?"

"Yes, I'm six chapters in."

"Well let me know when you're done with it. I'd like to read it. I'd love to give you a dust jacket blurb."

The "Queen of E" and "Forest"

Okay, this isn't really happening, is it?  Gayle Lynds offers to read my next manuscript, sight unseen?  Even though I'm now a published fiction writer, I can't make up stuff like this.  I've spoken again and again, here within this blog and at every book event I have had to date about the miraculous, serendipitous journey of "coincidences" I have experienced since the day I decided to write a novel.  (Hear that, Oprah?)  Her majesty, Lady O, is right--there is no such thing as coincidence.

Now if she can only figure out how to shorten the Arizona summers. Then she'll be a shoe in to become our first female president. 

Hmmm...maybe I've stumbled upon an idea here for another book. Coincidence?

MysteriesEtc: Review: Identity: Lost by Pascal Marco

MysteriesEtc: Review: Identity: Lost by Pascal Marco: "Hardcover: 336 pages Publisher: Oceanview Publishing (June 14, 2011) Language: English ISBN-10: 1608090159 ISBN-13: 978-160809015..."

The Road to IDENTITY: LOST

It's now official. The national hardcover and eBook release of my debut thriller novel, IDENTITY: LOST is here. To say I'm living an incredible dream is an understatement.  This journey has been one remarkable serendipitous event after another.

I've had fun while promoting the book quoting Oprah's  mantra, "There's no such thing as a coincidence" and I will tell you I have fully embraced this belief with Lady O.  She has been the world's #1 proponent (besides my own personal life coach and wife, Karen) of the belief of the power of intention.

I had long believed that imagination was best left to children and seldom harnessed in adulthood.  But then my belief system all changed about five years ago.

Things started to happen that felt coincidental but had a distinctly stronger message for me than just mere happenstance.   One of the first was when I attended Game 5 of the 2005 ALCS Championship when the Chicago White Sox visited the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.  If my White Sox won this game then they would be playing in their first World Series in 46 years. Chance got me and a friend not only into a game when we were told no tickets were available but had us sitting in the opposition owner's box seats with his family.
  
The White Sox did win and that event spurred me on to write a story about it. That story turned into half-a-dozen more I wrote over the next year on a White Sox fan web site. By this time my desire to write seriously had been rekindled and I began to think about this story I had locked away for over twenty-five-years.  Back in the '70s when I was a young father, living in Chicago, a boy had witnessed a murder on the lakefront and decided to come forward.  But, tragically, his desire to do good turned into a life-changing situation, ultimately ending with the loss of his home and breakup of his family.

I plunged headlong into finding newspaper clippings of the details of that crime that had been committed along the shores of Lake Michigan in Burnham Park. Along the way, I discovered this rich, long forgotten history of the area where the crime was committed. That took me down another road and re-ignited my love of history, especially the local history of Chicago and Civil War history.  I was completely hooked and spent every moment I could researching and writing and reading.

It was at about this same time I stumbled upon (notice the phrasing I used) the Scottsdale (Arizona) Writers Group. At the time, I was involved in keeping afloat an Internet business I had started and this was taking up the majority of my time. But I was too deep into my pledge to myself to not quit on this dream of writing something about this story.  So, with a fair amount of trepidation, I walked into the group one day and announced I'd like to join.  I was welcomed with warm smiles but more so by such an unselfish group of people who were willing to help me (as well as themselves) develop their writing skills and story ideas.

After two years of bringing in a new chapter every other week, I was done, and my novel was complete.  How naive I was because from that point forward the real work had only just begun.

That was in March, 2008 and about two months later I had another serendipitous event occur that would change my life forever. I was summering in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin and one day saw a small poster at a local library announcing that New York Times best-selling author Brad Thor would be in a nearby town, signing his latest book.  I had never heard of Brad Thor but a little voice inside me told me I had to go to this event and meet him in person. When would a budding novelist like me you ever expect to meet a NY Times best-selling author?  So with my wife and brother-in-law in tow, both writers in their own right, we went to meet Mssr. Thor. 

It was an intimate, informal book-signing for his latest book, THE FIRST COMMANDMENT, and that fact gave me an opportunity to speak a bit with Mr. Thor.  I told him I had never heard of him but that as a writer I felt compelled to meet a real author, let alone a best-selling one. The words gracious and warm don't do justice to describing Brad's demeanor with me that day and when I told him I had a completed manuscript he immediately recommended I attend ThrillerFest in NYC to pitch it. He even told me if I got it published he even consider reading it for me.

When I got to my computer and investigated this event, I was blown away at the cost.  It was less than two weeks away and putting a last minute trip to NYC for an event of this magnitude was a financial challenge. We were stretching dollars (squeezing the more appropriate word) at this point and as far as I was concerned, if there was a definition of a trip I could not afford, this was it.  But Karen scoffed at me, dismissing the idea of not going.  "If you really want to get this manuscript publish, you have to go."  Then she reminded me. "And, you're forgeting, Brad Thor invited you!"

So, I went to ThrillerFest. I paid the last minute airfare, booked the mid-town Manhattan hotel, sent in my non-member attendee fee. When I landed at La Guardia I hailed a cab.  I met my eventual publisher at AgentFest there and here I am now a published author with my novel on bookstore shelves across the country.  And, true to his word, Brad later read my manuscript and gave me a wonderful blurb for my book jacket.

There are no coincidences anywhere in this tale. It is just a story of a naive guy who grew up on the southeast side of Chicago who always kept believing even someone like him could make his dream come true through the power of intention.


IDENTITY: LOST
National hardcover and Kindle release date: June 14, 2011
From Oceanview Publishing http://www.oceanviewpub.com/
www.pascalmarco.com
@fansofpascal 
Facebook: Fans of Pascal Marco
Cover by: Foster Covers