Q & A with the author
Q1 Why did you write this book?
Why would anyone spend three decades writing a book about a series of events in life?
Everyone's existence is filled with special stories. But my life is my story; an amazing journey, a bouncing steel ball in a living pinball machine flying through the molecules and empty spaces of primal experience. Those empty spaces needed filling, demanded filling and my job was to keep it all moving.
This last week I found out that my once upon a time literary agent Carl Brandt of New York had passed away. I wondered why he had not responded to the copy of "Tears on the Equator," I sent him in the mail and I was touched by that intuition…is he still with us?
"I'm so sorry to be the one to have to tell you," Mr. Thayer his longtime associate and friend said, "Carl passed away last summer," I held the phone a little tighter, took a breath and slowly let it out. Carl was one of the great agents of America. I met him after a quick intro from Tom Smith at National Geographic. "You've got a book here," I want you to get on a plane in a hour and meet Carl for lunch." Amazing. We sat in a Manhattan deli. I ate smoked Pastrami, with a side order of fries with vinegar. Carl had a salad. We talked, rather I talked and he listened asking a question now and again. After lunch he made a phone call and sent me over to Random House.
"Heh folks," my new editor said-"we have ourselves a writer!" I can't remember his name today, but he said the words.
"We have ourselves a writer." A strange looking black robed long bearded writer, where better than New York? Most people couldn't tell whether I was a Hassidic Jew or some strange cultic Christian. My Priest's cross was the great confuser. The new writer smiled. What I didn't know that fall day in New York City, so many decades ago, was that the Ugandan, boots on the ground chapter of my life was in its death throes, an undesired event which would somehow mystically morph in my belly giving birth to the thousands of pages I would churn out about our families struggle in Africa.
I am a writer and so I wrote. Carl Brandt was my mentor, a few words here, a few words there-"I can't sell your book but I encourage you to keep at it, because it is a story which must be told." So when you ask me why did I write this book or what my motivation was or what images moved me forward and what is my idea of success for this work, it all had to do with the words of others and the experiences of my soul filtered through my passions and prayers and the hope--perhaps a vain hope-- of winning some major literary prize, because 60 years ago, a teacher stuck a barb into me with her words, "you'll never be able to write."
To write is to create, to create is to resist the forces of tyranny and oppression which I faced and hear my mind-speak to me from countless pages urging me to pray for my part in the whole thing. That is why I wrote this book-perhaps that is why I will continue writing, but I had better hurry up and say what I need to say because there ain't no other 30 years left on this lunch card.
Gerasimos
Why would anyone spend three decades writing a book about a series of events in life?
Everyone's existence is filled with special stories. But my life is my story; an amazing journey, a bouncing steel ball in a living pinball machine flying through the molecules and empty spaces of primal experience. Those empty spaces needed filling, demanded filling and my job was to keep it all moving.
This last week I found out that my once upon a time literary agent Carl Brandt of New York had passed away. I wondered why he had not responded to the copy of "Tears on the Equator," I sent him in the mail and I was touched by that intuition…is he still with us?
"I'm so sorry to be the one to have to tell you," Mr. Thayer his longtime associate and friend said, "Carl passed away last summer," I held the phone a little tighter, took a breath and slowly let it out. Carl was one of the great agents of America. I met him after a quick intro from Tom Smith at National Geographic. "You've got a book here," I want you to get on a plane in a hour and meet Carl for lunch." Amazing. We sat in a Manhattan deli. I ate smoked Pastrami, with a side order of fries with vinegar. Carl had a salad. We talked, rather I talked and he listened asking a question now and again. After lunch he made a phone call and sent me over to Random House.
"Heh folks," my new editor said-"we have ourselves a writer!" I can't remember his name today, but he said the words.
"We have ourselves a writer." A strange looking black robed long bearded writer, where better than New York? Most people couldn't tell whether I was a Hassidic Jew or some strange cultic Christian. My Priest's cross was the great confuser. The new writer smiled. What I didn't know that fall day in New York City, so many decades ago, was that the Ugandan, boots on the ground chapter of my life was in its death throes, an undesired event which would somehow mystically morph in my belly giving birth to the thousands of pages I would churn out about our families struggle in Africa.
I am a writer and so I wrote. Carl Brandt was my mentor, a few words here, a few words there-"I can't sell your book but I encourage you to keep at it, because it is a story which must be told." So when you ask me why did I write this book or what my motivation was or what images moved me forward and what is my idea of success for this work, it all had to do with the words of others and the experiences of my soul filtered through my passions and prayers and the hope--perhaps a vain hope-- of winning some major literary prize, because 60 years ago, a teacher stuck a barb into me with her words, "you'll never be able to write."
To write is to create, to create is to resist the forces of tyranny and oppression which I faced and hear my mind-speak to me from countless pages urging me to pray for my part in the whole thing. That is why I wrote this book-perhaps that is why I will continue writing, but I had better hurry up and say what I need to say because there ain't no other 30 years left on this lunch card.
Gerasimos
Q2 I am writing from 700 nautical miles from shore. The book was very emotional. Your character was very similar to mine. My question is, with all of the trials and tribulations you and your family went through why did you not see those many, many circumstances as signs from God to leave? Why did you keep praying for strength from instead of heeding his potential warning? Please remember that I am not a religious person or a man of faith, I am just looking at it from my position and experiences. Thanks. - Tyler St John
Thank you for your question.
In fact, we left when the Lord opened the door for the government to throw us out.
However, while we were in the midst of the labor, providing education, medicine, orthodox Church community, our hearts were filled with the history of so many who had suffered for the sake of Christ.
Toward the very end, someone sent me an article taken from an Orthodox Newspaper and this article said,"when the field no longer yields fruit, it is time to move." We were not thinking--this is difficult--let us depart, but rather, this is extremely difficult --let us pray more for strength to endure, for he who endures until the end will be saved.
That is not to say we did not wonder about our situation. It was very difficult to abandon the garden of our labors--so many relied on us, and we on them, for we had become a community, one mind, one body, one soul in Christ.
May your seas be calm.
Gerasimos
Thank you for your question.
In fact, we left when the Lord opened the door for the government to throw us out.
However, while we were in the midst of the labor, providing education, medicine, orthodox Church community, our hearts were filled with the history of so many who had suffered for the sake of Christ.
Toward the very end, someone sent me an article taken from an Orthodox Newspaper and this article said,"when the field no longer yields fruit, it is time to move." We were not thinking--this is difficult--let us depart, but rather, this is extremely difficult --let us pray more for strength to endure, for he who endures until the end will be saved.
That is not to say we did not wonder about our situation. It was very difficult to abandon the garden of our labors--so many relied on us, and we on them, for we had become a community, one mind, one body, one soul in Christ.
May your seas be calm.
Gerasimos
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Who is your favourite author and why? Ernest Hemmingway. He was able to paint portraits with his words, make his characters fly, draw his plot lines together and make me weep and rejoice. I first read The Old Man and the Sea when I was ten. I still think it is the finest book ever written. |
