What - you didn’t think I wasn’t going to talk about me, did you?

Years ago I began writing a novel.I’ve always had an ache in my heart to finish one, especially after trips to the local library and Barnes and Nobles, aurrounded by dozens and dozens of diverse books that moved a readership with ideas conveyed through words, rather than words and visuals which is what I’m used to.I began writing it a year after the events of September 11th, 2001, when the War on Terror hit the heightened level its at today and reattacked it after a trip to Israel in ‘04 where I was warned to be careful on which bus I stepped on in fear that bombs could be lurking around every corner. Upon teturning to New York, that fear stayed with me and I was very jumpy on subways and buses, because if it was easy for a suicide bomber to get on a bus in highly secure Israel and blow it up, whats to stop one from getting on a C train, which isnt the picture of security, and sending it to train heaven?COFFIN is the aftermath of that possibility. It’s the HUMAN aftermath, focusing less on the hows, whens and technical aspects of getting a bomb on a train and blowing it up, but more on the psychological horror of a small band of passengers, waiting for someone to rescue them from Hell beneath the ground, forced to band together with individuals they only met moments ago. It’s about claustrophobia, esteem, death, coping, infatuation and survival.I hope you’ll join the passengers and I as we aim to rescue them from their metal coffin beneath the waters of the Hudson River, seeping in through cracks in the tunnel walls.

“Back in the car, Rocco had exhausted his supply of childish jokes and impressions. The rest of his arsenal swayed to blue comedy not quite suited for the under-sixteen set. David amused himself by making stupid faces at Matthew from across the train and the young hipster retaliated with a string of raspberries. Rock hoisted himself from the ground and peered out into the darkness.
‘Anything?’“He spun, reacting to the dainty hand resting on his shoulder. Annie had come up behind the blue-collar worker, gazing past his broad frame into the deep, black pitch of the tunnel.
‘Nah. Nothin’.’
‘Think they found something out there?’
‘I’m sure they found SOMETHING.’
“She bit her lip. ‘Oh…. Well, I meant… like anyone…you know…’
‘Alive?’ 

This entry was posted on Monday, October 16th, 2006 at 3:55 pm and is filed under News & Views. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.