fear grips on – i’m typing anyway

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Writing book two, it turns out, is more terrifying than writing the first in the series. It’s more terrifying as the downloads of scenes and dialogues and meaningful discoveries line up to be delivered to the page – each bigger than the last (will I be able to type that fast?). It’s more terrifying as the sense of obligation to these characters roots deeper, pushing down into the unseen well. It’s more terrifying – but also more compelling. More than the first, writing the second book is something I can’t not do.

 

After The LOOK, The POWER of Amie Martine is a non-negotiable promise to be kept. Each new page turn effects (on a personal scale) the next rotation of the earth – a pulse essential to my heart – respect for a binding agreement to have more fun, be more true, excavate something undeniably new.

 

The sun can only be seen by the light of the sun. ~image with a poem by Attar, translated by Coleman Barks

first muse

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Set in the late ‘90s, Torpor tells the story of a young man searching for his father – and coming to terms with his own identity in the process.

On the 20th anniversary since I finished the book, I opened and reTorpor - novel by Laurie Perezad a few pages and once again was hooked. Here’s to you, Peter – muse who kept me sleepless so many nights and taught me how rich the process can be when you surrender completely.

Someday I want to go back to San Felipe de Jesus and find the Jesus in that place. Someday I want to trap myself in those washboard towns, Aconchi, Magdalena; I want to meet their saints someday. I would ask them if they have ever been in love.

I don’t mean the syrup they lay on you in the media. I mean the meat of love, the hardness of it, the ice water that wakes you up into the heat of day. The Mexico of love, with rocks, pickup trucks, fat men and sugary children. Cock-sure, moonlit tequila, sweet lime, metallic bed for secret touching. Did they ever reach that side of life? Those mealy saints with their crosses on their backs, did they have enough stomach for the midnight lunch of love?

Torpor: Though the Heart is Warm

 

more

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At first it was enough that the tree was there

That something generous and wholly undemanding had appeared

An opening for wonderment in a beleaguered space

It was enough by itself — adding more too soon

Would have tipped it in the wrong direction

Trust had to bloom with it first

And then, primed and steady, they started to receive

More.

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From the working draft of book two in the Amie series: The POWER of Amie Martine.

inky bar napkins

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Notes – sitting at the bar at Ocotillo Phoenix

 

The cocktail napkins on the bar were a discouraging, stylish black. Pen in hand, I asked the bartender if he could scrounge up a scrap of paper, something more inviting to the ink. He didn’t jive – smiled and offered nothing. I sat a while contemplating skin – wouldn’t be the first time I’ve made fast notes on a forearm – but knew there was a tide coming in, needing serious shore. It took a few minutes to remember: the restroom was well-stocked in neatly folded, off-white towelettes – perfect texture for a ballpoint to roll over.

Need addressed. Resources at the ready.

Prolific tangents called ink out into open air while the ice melted in a disappearing pour of good tequila. It feels good to be in the process, driven to turn thoughts into words, words into scenes, scenes into worlds.

Nod if you’ve been there. When the muse says, “Work,” you say, “Yes.”

 

gem, unlimited

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A new bedtime tradition is taking over — it involves me improvising tales of Princess BooBoo who lives in a Bandaid box and has the most varied, spontaneous adventures. My 5-yr-old daughter, Sachi gets so tickled as I make the stories up, she demands more and wants a new one every night. Nothing written – this is strictly an oral tradition. What I love is the momentum of the story being summoned through me by her eagerness to receive it.

This is why writers need readers!

The very first reader of a book is the author herself – on behalf of the many, she opens into that state of eager innocence and from there the story begins its telling. Of all the gifts Princess BooBoo has been delivering, this pure delight in creative process is the gem for me.

Expansion-1315a

 

expansion is perpetual

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Indulging a second cup of coffee in new territory – lines, scenes, mosaics of dialogue leveraging a rare moment of unfettered solitude in the wake of a great night out… I feel the second book as palpably as I felt the first — one exists on paper, the other nags me from the ether.

novel by Laurie Perez - The LOOK of Amie Martine

Flaws, physics, mystics and lots of chilled Reyka converge in an anti-healer’s twisted path of self-discovery. Get The LOOK on amazon.

 

Once broken open
don’t endeavor to crawl back in.
Expand, raw and unscripted,
decisive and blurry in clear purpose.
Love the rise, your presence becoming.
Nothing has a hold on you, this I promise.

Supernova – quiet dream unchained – heart
awakened: let’s be stars to each other!
Where light dims, shine simply
because you remember now
what it’s like
to be
worthy.

 

predawn magic carpet: how it begins

Two years later… I’m reflecting on how it all came to be. The LOOK of Amie Martine is now a perfect-bound, cream-paper reality. So satisfying to hold the book in my hands – to feel the weight of it mixing with the levity in my heart.

:
http://www.amazon.com/LOOK-Amie-Martine-1/dp/1523664339/

Laurie Perez

Wake up in the predawn dark, allergies in bloom. Sneezing, nose running, crazy need to pee — first thing I do when I get out of bed is:

type! Because I woke with a whole conversation in my head and I’ve got to get it down before time’s up. Before my little girl and the sunrise traffic, overflowing bladder, cascading sinuses and lifelong enslavement to hot cups of coffee – before all of these and more converge on my focus to steal the words out from under me (for surely I am riding them like a magic carpet over concrete reality into the wilds of pure discovery – and I must not fall before we get there).

In the beginning of this process, I needed an alarm clock and a mental crane to lift me from the pillow. Now the characters wake me up routinely, unapologetically, with less mercy and…

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a short list

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A short list of things I’ve outgrown the need for evidence to support:

Love

Proof is in the pulsing of my heart.
This is not a foolish statement.

Your love for me is inside my love for you. Needing proof of it is like needing proof that I myself exist. If someday it turns out I don’t (by some unimaginable standard) actually exist, then and only then can you speak to me of the need to rationalize Love.

Lets-be-stars

Let’s be stars to each other. -Joybroker

 

Read my new novel, released like a valentine this month… The LOOK unravels life, love and the mysterious, precarious, perilous truths funding our existence: It’s here!

www.amazon.com/LOOK-Amie-Martine-1/dp/1523664339/

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