Sep 14, 2014
It’s just past sunrise. The sculptor wakes to the sound of a large truck pulling into his driveway. Standing at the front door — screen door propped open with his foot, a bowl of a mug of steaming coffee in both hands — he squints at burly men with burlier beards as they remove a piece of marble from the moving truck. They ask where they can put it. He says in the garage. A man slides off the blue tarp from the nascent sculpture, says good luck and drives away.
First he stares at the block of stone, anywhere from a few seconds to a few hours. Then, with mallet in hand, he begins to lop off the chunks.
In the beginning it seems random. He’s trying to uncover what’s trapped. As the floor becomes covered in marble powder, the sculptor exchanges his hammer for tools more precise. He chisels away at an arm or a leg. A nose appears somewhere within the head. He’s already thinking about the wrinkles and the lips, but first he must tend to all the rest.
As the months pass he focuses on toenails, abdominal muscles, wrinkles on the forehead. From the ground up a body begins to emerge from what once part of a cave. Here is the most important and most delicate task. The soul of the sculpture is in the eyes, someone once said. The sculptor can envision what they look like, but the sculpture remains faceless. With metallic tools rarely seen outside the orthodontist office, he begins to chisel away.
How many months have passed, and does it matter? He stands thirty feet away, then ten feet. He stares into the eyes and clutches the head. His shoes are covered in porcelain dust. He doesn’t own a broom or a dustpan. Is the sculpture finished? Wrong question. It was finished when it first came in. Lopping the chunks off was just as essential to this process. A final flurry of marble dust falls to the floor, revealing the final eyelash.
The garage is quiet now. The tools are idle. He acknowledges his creation before pushing the sculpture into the corner with all the others.
That night he sleeps well. In the morning he wakes up to the sound of a truck.
“Where should we put it?” The deliveryman asks.
“In the garage.”
And so it begins once again.
I just completed the final edit of Slim and The Beast, after cutting/editing/re-inserting/deleting close to 30,000 words over 2.5 years. This is a big day for me, arguably more than the release date, because I’m finally getting back to the purely creative part of writing. New marble to chisel away.
A lot has changed since my last update. For one, I’m starting a new job in about forty-five minutes: editor in chief is my official title, which sounds a lot fancier than it really is. I’ll be writing articles and editing, as well as a bit of translation for a company that specializes in digital marketing and Internet advertising. I don’t much about those subjects outside of the Inkshares process, but am excited for the opportunity. After three great years teaching English to French professionals, it’s time to move on.
In other news, I’m honored that Shakespeare & Company (Anglophone bookstore next to Notre Dame) wants to have me on a writer’s panel in October to discuss Slim and The Beast and the Inkshares process. They are going to be stocking my novel, and might even get me there for a reading. WH Smith (a big Anglo bookshop on Rue de Rivoli) is also affiliated with my distributor, so it looks like I may have a reading/signing/tea and crumpets over there. Finally, there are whispers of a book tour in the spring, but that is partly dependent on how big of a splash the novel makes. While I can’t share any details, know that Inkshares has been incredible throughout the process (my editor has been nothing short of amazing), and is working closely with me to make sure the release is all it can be.
2014 has been a wild year. If, one year ago, a spiritual-seeming man had walked up to me and said that Slim and The Beast would be published by December (December 19th is the projected date), and that I’d be doing book events involving signatures and drinking tea with other “writers,” I’d have looked him the eye and call him a jackass (hopefully this is the last time I’ll reflexively mention that I just used the past perfect + perfect conditional, otherwise known as the Third Conditional).
The bottom line: the only reason all of this is happening — book store events, new job, probable book tour, and of course publishing — is because of your support. Your belief in me has fueled me since the beginning, and I’ve now reached a point where I can honestly say Slim and The Beast is what I’ve always wanted it to be. It is a good novel, and I feel that it’s great; while it’s not up to me to judge it, I still love it after almost three years of head banging and editing.
I am staring at the sculpture now. I may need to add an eyelash or two. But in a few weeks Slim and The Beast will find their place in the corner, next to a dusty attempt at a novel previously known as Whistleblower.
A new sculpture is emerging, a novel that takes place in Lodz, Poland during World War Two. There are three protagonists, much like in Slim and The Beast. Viktor, a university professor who loses his job on September 1, 1939; Carl, a German policeman who is full of ambition and regret; and Elsa, a thoughtful woman whose father was killed during the Night of the Long Knives. Time to drop the chisel for the mallet once again.
PS: I’ve decided on my author name — Samuel L. Barrantes. The accent is gone, as is the Lopez for a couple of reasons. Marketing strategy: head to your local coffee shop and carry on this conversation, preferably with tea cup in hand, pinky in the air: “Well I’m waiting for the December release of Slim and The Beast. […] Samuel L. Barrantes. […] Oh? You haven’t heard of him? Why, that’s quite peculiar. You simply must check him out. Run along now, darling.”
PPS: My great friend, Yann Rousselot, has a beautiful collection of poetry currently in the funding stage on Inkshares. It's called "Dawn of the Algorithm." His deadline is mid-October. If it inspires you, jump on board before it's too late.