Chicago Down- Cover Blurb

Greetings all,

I’m working on a draft of Chicago Down’s back cover description.  Here’s a peek at what I’ve compiled from the short synopsis so far. I’m still working on trying to dwindle it a bit more.

*****

Salbatora vows to honor her father’s last request: find Eliot Ness to help free her brother who was wrongly arrested for Prohibition violations. She abandons her Texas home, leaving behind memories, and the living dead.

Ness isn’t the only thing Sal finds. Chicago struggles under Prohibition. While its citizens covertly indulge in spirits, a sinister darkness grows. Born of greed, it’s more disturbing than a lust for alcohol. While gangsters battle over territories, the undead have no preference as they run amok, and the Illinois governor has lost his mind to a madcap plot to corral Chicago’s mounting zombie populace.

An unlikely team, Sal Guerrera, Eliot Ness, and Al Capone form an unusual camaraderie as they fight the Screamin’ Mimis, as Al calls them. They develop a strategy to deter the governor’s plan which will collapse the weakened city. But can they end the evil’s terrorizing hold? When they learn how the dead sprang to life, they must strike at the source to set Chicago free. And they may not survive alive.

Chicago, are you ready for your unsung heroes? (Note: this line is slated for the cover, as opposed to the back blurb.)

Copyright 2017 Wanda Paryla

I’M BACK!

Greetings, All,

It seemed as if I disappeared, didn’t it? I did, but I found myself in a closet sucking on a pacifier and drooling. Eh. It wasn’t the first time that I’ve found myself hiding from my responsibilities. I once found myself hiding in an ocean wave off of the coast of Texas complaining to Poseidon of the ills of being mortal.

When I was about eleven years-old, I looked for myself for hours on a hot August day in Central Texas. I was in the woods talking to a mound of fire ants about the dangers of talking to strangers. Odd, isn’t it, what and who a child can befriend without judgment?

Then there was that time down in Marion, Illinois… Never mind. Well, okay, and that time in West Virginia when I lost myself in a staring contest with a yellow spider. That really was about the only time that I was glad that I found myself.

Hahahahaha…

In truth, this is not the first time that I’ve played the disappearing act, shucking my obligations as writer of blogs. Or poetry. Or fiction. Or Memoirs. Pfft. I’m a pro.

I especially tend to start my shucking around the time a set of characters starts dishing the heat. I have a problem with fire, you see. And I really don’t like being told what to do. I’m in such a predicament as we speak. Er, or type and read. Whatever.

So I’ve been hiding from my characters again. Just as I finished an outline for Chicago Down, complete with a little tear-jerker moment that I can’t wait to add to the manuscript, I fled the scene like dirty cop on a wild horse. Oh…what? You liked that descriptive sentence? Me too!

Anyway, this blog was not only to let you know that I am back, but also to amuse you a bit. Be happy. Ride wild horses. Or drink Wild Turkey. Whatever floats your holey canoe.

Thanks for reading!

Oh P.S.: If you’re a lady local to the Chicago area, especially the Southwest area suburbs, check out my Events page, I’ll be doing an book signing on June 3, 2017, in Joliet, IL, at a ladies-only event.

https://wandasparyla.com/upcoming-events?iframe=true&theme_preview=true

Chicago Down (a Meme & More)

Chicago Down

Talk about foreshadowing.  Can you see it?

16bk8z

“Never call me Toots again, Al,” Sal said.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Know what?”

“What? You about to cast a kitten?” Al said.

“Cast a what?” Sal demanded, eyebrows drawn together hard. “What, you ass?”

“Don’t fuck with me, girl, or you’ll end up in worse shape than that Screaming Meemie I just bashed.”

“Oh, stop. You’re not gonna do shit.”

“You’re something. What happened to hard boil a sweet, young thing like you?”

I’ve never been sweet.”

Copyright 2016 Wanda Paryla

Chicago Down (an excerpt)

CHICAGO DOWN (Updated 5/28/17)

“There’s something I know about Al Capone’s life and death that the rest of the world does not. Because history is inaccurate. But, I knew him. I was there the day he died. So, I know. You can believe me or not. Doesn’t matter.

Al was by no means perfect. He could be cruel. Monstrous at times even. But Chicago owes him. It’s a bill that they’ll never pay. It’s a debt they don’t even know they own.” – Salbatora Guerrera

Wanda Paryla Copyright 2016

The Crime of a Life Sentence (another excerpt)

*Currently untitled poem*

 

I was swinging

Hair flying

Laughing to myself

Memory running wild

 

Devil’s on the playground

Here to erase my woes

God turned his back on me

Now I live where the fires glow

 

Back and forth

My memory goes

I struggle to keep my eyes shut

I need to live where the fires glow

 

Let me stay in peaceful dream

Bottomless and salty

The pitt of the damned

Where the fires glow

 

Some voices, they urge me

Face your slave master

But the fires beg me

Cover your eyes for sanity

 

Devil, he holds me

Gently in his arms

God’s gone, sweet child

So stay here, where the fires glow

 

The fires

Avengers of my goodness and dignity

I’m safe nowhere

Where the fires don’t glow

 

Wanda S. Paryla Copyright 2016

 

 

 

A New Look

Good day to you all.

I’m all too happy to admit how much my author/writer friends have, unknowingly, inspired me to not give up my craft.

Several times over the past couple of years, I’ve mentioned on Facebook how hard it’s become for me to write. Once upon a time, the words flowed like water to wine. Like rapids even. Then one day, they were seemingly gone. Dried up. It went beyond writer’s block. The words were just gone. It was so bad that I asked the doctor if I could be getting Alzheimer’s. I was lost.

But my hopes that the words would return to me were kept alive vicariously through others. I’d watch their progress, secretly cheering them on. Their words and the thrill of performing their craft were not lost. Quite the contrary.

Recently, I got very ill. And as I lay in my hospital bed the first week in January waiting for the cardiologist to tell me I had some terrible heart ailment (luckily and thankfully, my heart & arteries are as exquisite and tough as Ethan Hunt), I was also very lucky. Due to these terrifying circumstances, I had some time to go over the good old mistakes-made list. I got a chance to see what many others never get to. My heart appears healthy.  But no one knew that for sure at the time.

Alone in the middle of the night – hooked up to all sorts of scary, beeping shit – in an all too quiet room in the cardiac unit, perhaps dying at 46, I was scared shitless as this Scorpio held back her emotions.

Hell, if I died, I was not going out all dramatic like a pussy. Heck, no. I’m Scorpio. I rule death. And if She’s coming for me, she better have 40 silver fucking pitchforks.

Regardless of how worried this warrior pretended not to be, death nor sleep ever came.

At the top of my mistakes-made list was not the things that I thought would be there such as vacations I didn’t take, the kids I didn’t birth, or sorrow at fights with family members. Nothing about a Master’s degree, or the lottery, or all the sugar I’ve consumed in my lifetime. Not even apologies never spoken.

There were two things there. Two sorrows. They are: never loving in return the men that loved me; never giving them a chance. They DID love me. I know that now.

The next is: giving up on my writing for reasons truly unknown to me at the time. I was beaten into submission by me, but had no clue.

Some who know me chalked up the lost interest in writing to depression, sadness, anger, etc. All sorts of barriers. A couple of thrifty pals delegated it to my recent obsession with fixing my past. Or my desire to live there, which actually may have caused my sadness. Maybe they are correct. It was destroying me on many levels. Keeping me blind to all the good; allowing me to only see the bad. I was drowning.

I had no idea what was going on. Maybe I was blind on purpose. That happens, you know? I think I’ve been fighting my age. Maybe those who are older than I know what I mean.

So I enjoyed watching my writer friends. I think if there was no Internet,  I might not have had access to them and who knows where I’d be now. In what state of mind.

They are all winners. And despite that I wasn’t writing, they didn’t treat me any differently than they had years ago. They let me stay in the winner’s circle while, unknowingly, hanging on to me by threads.

I’ve been ill before and hospitalized. But never with something potentially life-threatening.  Life ending. For awhile I was like, “FTW? Figures.” But, while we’re still searching for answers, I’m very much alive. My mistakes-made list is changeable because I’m not dead yet. It’s changeable because I’ve seen others change directions many times.

Scorpio may rule death, but also rebirth. I’m reborn. It’s not time to return to the Underworld just yet. The gods have forced my eyes toward what I should see: the good. This goes beyond writing. It encompasses my spirituality and beliefs. It extends to who I know, where I live, as well as to my abilities of storytelling. My ancestors have given me a gift, and I’m still alive to use it. I should not abuse that.

My advice: do not fight the inevitable.  Change only what can certainly be moved. Let the rest go.

Thank you for reading.

-Wanda

The Crime of a Life Sentence (excerpt)

Hello there!

Please enjoy this excerpt from my book-in-progress of original poetry, tentatively titled The Crime of a Life Sentence. As mentioned in my previous blog, the publication dates of this work as well as the sequel to Someday Always Comes – The Devil Plays Dice – have been pushed into 2017. I am expecting to publish this particular book April 2017.

The poems in this book have been written over many, many years and when I post an excerpt some will have the original copyright dates.

(Please find the link to my previous blog below this post – I’ve inserted one and there’s the link back under this post if my link doesn’t work.)

 

CRYING AT MIDDAY

Crying at midday
I cannot find the right words to say
What I feel is lost

Staring into space
I recall another time with grace
What I feel is lost

My heart breaks in two
Heart bounded by the tragedy of you
What I feel is lost

I strive to not see
Myself and you surrounded by defeat
What I feel is lost

Copyright 2015 Wanda S. Paryla

 

FALLTIDE

Mysterious sounds creeping
While ravens call weeping
And wait on bare branch swaying

Triangle-eyed, round pumpkins smile wide
Cats use shadows to hide
Orange light seeping out bright

And crackling fires warm the eve
While crisp, crackles the leaves
Fall’s arrived; Winter’s nearby

Copyright 2013 Wanda S. Paryla

 

 

The Devil Plays Dice – excerpt