Brian Van Brunt's Blog

Last year, I taught a doctoral class at a university on the topic of violence in written communication as it related to the likelihood of targeted, mission-oriented violence. One of the assignments was to analyze a fiction writing sequence to assess the potential for leakage related to violence. As I like to use my life in my creative work, I used a scene from Wolf Howling to give the student’s some source material to analyze. I won’t spoil what scene for those who haven’t read it (but come, on—you should read it), but think green light, a ghost tour and little red riding hood. They liked the assignment and offered some insightful analysis. 

One of the students, a particularly bright one—shared some observations. She said, “An overall tone in this writing sample makes me think the author doesn’t see the best in people, but instead, the worst. Everyone, from the tourists to the murder was described in a way that focused on their negative qualities. Racist t-shirts, dismissive parenting, suffering from loneliness, and a pervasive sense people are out for their own interests. Very few had characters had any redeemable qualities.” 

As you can imagine, this has been floating around my mind for the better part of the year. Kafka wrote, “A book must be an ice-axe to break the seas frozen inside our soul.” And this got me thinking, is that true for writers? Are we exploring our own frozen seas? Crafting our own axes?

I’ve been a therapist for over twenty years. I’ve often wondered what this did to me. I know what we do, what we see, our careers and work have an impact on how we see the world. The things we do sneak into our hearts. Bartenders considering the barfly’s drinking habits and addictions, nurses talking to patients who are slowly killing themselves with sugar, cigarettes, or nicotine. Has working with people who are struggling to stay alive and overcome their mental illness created a, shall we say, depressing view of human nature for me? Has that drifted over into my books? 

The short answer is, probably. As I’ve worked on Samsara, one thing has been clear to me. This project is more than a book, it’s part of me. The writing has been a process of exploring who I am and what lays in front of me. This is why I’ve enjoyed seeing which characters people resonate the most within the story. Are they drawn to a reflective Wagner, the mysterious woman with the dog, Ella and her hard-as-nails persona, Albert with his obsessive and chaotic mind, Dalton as he collects the world’s beauty, Kara as she exploits herself and the men she comes in contact with, Cooper and his naïve optimism and creativity, Liv and her sadness and depression, or is it the mystery of sharks, Mr. Conrad, and Valentine’s cold, enigmatic presence? Dealer’s choice. 

To me, there’s a cost to experience; a cost to creation. How do we understand (I’m looking at you, Hawthorne) where the observation changes the observer; how the author’s mind creates and is—in the same way—created, where the therapist heals and when they suffer, how the teacher teaches, the professors profess, how those who have been hurt, in turn, hurt others. What exists, at the heart of it all, and what’s the payment to the yellow-eyed demon at crossroads? There’s a Ying-yang to it all. We’re at the poker table, pot-committed, though unaware of cost for entry and what, ultimately are the stakes we are playing for in this game of life.

So, I keep writing, because this is what I do. 

Tell next time. 

The post That old abyss… appeared first on Samsara a story of sexuality, violence, and insanity.

My lovelies,

There are times when I think I am actually writing to the future. Samsara holds within it a circular arc. Readers approach the vortex and find themselves in a bit of a Rorschach test; driving them to resonate with or reject the stories, themes and characters they encounter. One of the harder parts, I think, is figuring out how much of this is for me and how much for the reader. 

This past week, I introduced to you Monique, a voice actress who has done exceptionally well in creeping me out when she appears in her dark outfits, candlelight and tells stories with her intense eyes. I’ll be using these for the next few months to help advertise the book, so I hope you enjoy. If you can’t tell, I like the idea of blending reality and fantasy and the interplay between how we create and what already exists. 

This writing has made me think more about the process of creation. How much of it is inspired by others and how much is fed by our dreams and the stars. I’m not quite sure I’ve come to a resolution on this. But it is one of those things that causes a sweet pain, like prodding a loose tooth as a child. Even then, you knew the pain would produce something. Pain is the midwife to creation, to art, to life. 

I was walking the streets of New Orleans last month and saw Sean Friloux, the artist who created the cover for Wolf Howling. I commissioned the piece from him to create an alley with a black cat. He does these powerful, dark and haunting landscapes and has a love for the city that equals my own. I love the way it came out and I have the original hanging in my apartment on Bourbon. Sean was showing some new pieces in the Pirate’s Alley near the Cathedral. Nothing made me happier than seeing he had some paintings for sale with black cats in them. It’s that interconnection again of art and artist; of admirer and participant. Which came first? The painter or the writer? The alley or the cat?

I’ll end with a dream I had last night. It’s likely this will find its way into either Catching Opheliaor Oracle Gazing. I tend to work in these sketches—a flash or idea that drives my creative process. 

—

“I see,” she said, with the faintest nod. “I truly appreciate your dilemma here.” 

Her voice soundedsoothing, but that wasn’t how it made him feel; not in the least. He staggered back, increasingly unsure of his safety. The panic started when she crossed the gloomy, February-desolate, street to block his path. The panic had risen with each of her approaching steps; giving rise to a more palpable, inexplicable terror. 

“If I may be so bold,” she stood in front of him now, blocking his path, “allow me to explain the birthplace of your current predicament.”

He tried to place her accent. Something Australian or British, but even exotic. She had dark skin and braided hair. The braids were tight and dark, like so many small snakes, speckled with gold rings printed with symbols and words he couldn’t begin to recognize. She was eloquent, but there was something underneath that hummed in a more primal way, like the background noise from a television playing static in the hour of the wolf; that time between night and dawn. 

“The sticky wicket here, forgive the expression, is your assumption that our encounter is greeting; a hello…perhaps even an introduction.” The gold bands with their intricate and ancient carvings, glimmered in her hair from flickering gas light above them. She held a confident smile on her jade-painted lips.

Everything in him wanted to run, though the most he could muster was a deep inhale; an unconscious preparatory action prior to flight. The air he took in was heavy with electricity and it left the smell of ozone thick in his nostrils. He felt the storm approaching and was desperate to find shelter. Yet, he remained motionless.

“Our encounter is not a greeting between new friends…” She came closer, her body against his, and raised her left hand to his neck. She smelled of old earth, of vanilla and spice. He did not resist her touch. He could not protest. 

She continued, “…but rather, a departure.”  Her hand caressed his neck. He was certain she could feel his pulse, hammering against the artery walls like a rabbit being chased by a wolf. 

Her right hand came up and rested on the center of this chest. She then slid it slowly above his heart. Her wrist was encircled with a woven gold and burgundy colored gems. She smiled as she felt the rush of blood throbbing beneath her touch. She drank in his fear and finished with, “This is not my hello…but rather your goodbye.” 

Her hand snaked around to the back of his neck and he shuddered at her touch. She kissed him with lips that were full, soft and very cold. She parted her lips briefly to permit her tongue to explore him. She drew back and they each inhaled and exhaled several slow breaths; sharing the air between them like a sacrament. 

He dove into her eyes with while the taste of juniper and rosemary lingered on his lips. Her eyes held visions of death; of an immense and ancient void crawling with hungry, massive forms in the glacial blackness. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. 

A vertigo rose to meet him, and he began to sway. He tried to grasp at fragments of his reality, but he found them cracked and splintered; falling from his consciousness to be consumed by the dark gravity her center.

He had a fleeting sensation of weightlessness and a then a sensation of falling movement, sliding very quickly down a massive chute. A deepening, unimaginable terror unraveled the remaining strands of his sanity. The darkness rose up and took him.  

“Valentine,” she said to the empty street.

“My name is Valentine.” 

The post Dreams and Prophecy appeared first on Samsara a story of sexuality, violence, and insanity.

My lovelies,

Well, another new year is upon us. I’ve never been one for new year’s resolutions, but perhaps it is a useful time to explore goals and what it is we want to accomplish. Early in this process, I decided to go with writing a series of books and self-publishing. I’ve done about a dozen academic books and this time I wanted to have more control over the creative process.

What I didn’t expect was the sheer fun that came from having to be my own advertising department. Between watching a lot of Shark Tank and thinking on this over the holidays, I decided a great way to get the first book out there would be to offer the dramatized version slowly via the blog.

So, each week, I will upload a chapter of the book read by my team of amazing audio book professionals. Click here to listen

Look for more exciting developments coming as I creep towards completing Ophelia Falling.

So, just, you know, Don’t be a fuck about it.

~B

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My lovelies,

It is finished. I have to say, this process was a bit more than I expected. With a little help from my friends, it ended up coming together. It was important for me to have more creative control with the publishing, so that meant working through Cynthia’s new company Light Rising Publishing and working with Sublime media and Marigny studios to bring together the first book in the Samsara series. Rick and Armond added some most excellent sound tracks to both audio book versions. I’d encourage you to visit Armond’s site and see his cool slide guitars. If you are looking for a place to record music or an audio book, perhaps a film project—I couldn’t recommend Marigny Studios more highly.

There are a number of items you can purchase. For simplicity, I’ve summarized them here with links:

The paperback book available for purchase through Amazon at $19.95 (I will gladly personalize and sign these to you when I see you!). The book includes color photos and cool clues throughout.
The Kindle version is available from through Amazon for $9.99.
The dramatized audio version (read by some amazing voice actors) is available from my website at $14.95. Thanks to John, Megan, Jessie and Joanne for their cool readings.
The audibles/itunes audio version (read by me!). This one should be up ANY day on audibles. We are sorting out what is up with this.
The special edition paperback is available from my “Get everything” special edition on my website. You really do get everything…and then some. You get a limited edition (100 copies) signed paper back with stickers, postcards, and a Samsara themed black cat USB drive. This includes a digital copy of book and both audio versions. One is me reading and the other is a dramatized version with four different actors.
Headed down to New Orleans? Check out Second Line Arts and Antiques on Decatur. I have signed copies for sale there as well as some artwork from my daughter Emily.

Well…no rest for the wicked. Up next, working on finalizing book 2, Catching Ophelia. Not to give anything away, but the first book ends on a bit of cliff hanger…and at the risk of borrowing George R. R. Martin rage, I think my lovely readers would string me up if I don’t keep the train rolling.

I’ll make frequent updates here on this blog. I’d love to field questions from readers about the first book, the creation process or to hear any reactions you may have.

~B

The post Wolf Howling appeared first on Samsara a story of sexuality, violence, and insanity.

One of the challenges in writing is finding that sweet spot when it comes to sex and violence. I’ve found having good editors like Sarah and Melissa has been instrumental in finding that balance between capturing a scene in a way that is accessible for all readers but doesn’t lose the natural essence of prose.

The sex scenes in the book came easily (ha! A bit of a double entendre). In subsequent re-writes, I found softening some of these scenes made more sense. While I think they would have resonated with some readers in a powerful way, I’ve found a good litmus test for exclusion or editing to be this: Does this advance the story or take the reader out of the story? When I look at different readers, I found the more detailed sex scene took more people out of the story, so therefore they were softened (again, you are welcome for the double entendre).

One of the concerns that has been on my mind is the descriptions of violence and how they may lead to a contagion effect for others. A favorite artist of mine, Stephen King, wrote a novel called RAGE in 1977. Sadly, in the late 80’s and 90’s, several school shootings were inspired by the book including ones in Washington, California three separate attacks in Kentucky. In 1999, King asked his publishers to take it out of print.

While initially a noble idea, writers struggle with this concept. King himself writes again in Mr. Mercedes, a protagonist who kills with a car, perhaps foreshadowing terrorist attacks in New York, London and France. At what point does writing inspire these attacks? At what point is the writing a reflection of society? These are deeper questions that I think about.

In the end, I think the same rings true—violence that deepens and advances the story stays. Violence that takes most readers out of the narrative is smoothed over some.

The post Writing sex and violence appeared first on Samsara a story of sexuality, violence, and insanity.

The Samsara series started with an image from a dream. It was a young woman and a dog approaching a man listening to music outside of a market in the French quarter. The story evolved in an organic manner, revealing its sexuality, violence, and insanity as I walked the streets of the quarter and wrote in local coffee houses and bars.

The city calls out to those who listen; a siren song of sorts. To some, it is an inspiration and muse. To others, it is an addiction and debauchery. Wolf Howling, the first book, tells the story of a young woman and her dog as she guides Wagner to a revelation about his life, his character and nature.

To be a writer is to be a voyeur. The world reveals itself to those noticing things that exist just below the natural observation. It’s like that science experiment in 7th grade where you stay in one place and watch a two-foot square patch of grass. Writing New Orleans in like that. Pausing enough to see the deeper connections and bringing them together in a story.

Samsara blends a fast-passed narrative as a mystery unfolds in the first book, Wolf Howling. It’s my hope to bring you this story in different formats: paper and electronic copies with illustrations as well as an audio version, for those who prefer to hear their stories.

There are several inspirations for the book. I’ve always been drawn to Hemingway’s short, descriptive style as well as the existential nature of The Fall by Camus, No Exit by Sartre and Waiting for Godot by Beckett. I love a good mystery that unfolds with vibrant and diverse characters like those from Oceanic Flight 815 in the TV series LOST and the Ka-tet found in King’s Dark Tower Series.

Wolf Howling is in final production and expected to be available in print, audible, and electronic versions the summer of 2018. The second book, Catching Ophelia, is in final copy-editing and will follow shortly in the fall. I’m currently writing the third book, Oracle Gazing, while overlooking bourbon street and in search of the perfect Americano and comfortable leather chair.

The post Greetings appeared first on Samsara a story of sexuality, violence, and insanity.