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Mary Flynn
Apopka, Florida
(Central Florida, Orlando area)
USA
Good morning, Mary, and welcome to Vision and Verse, the site for art and authors, and those who love them. Can you tell us a little about what you've written?
I started out as a full-time staff writer for Hallmark Cards in Kansas City, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Later on, while employed by the leader in guided reading materials used in the U.S. public school system, I discovered I enjoyed writing observational humor and had some success with it, being featured in The Sunday New York Times and other dailies and magazines. Later on, I moved into illustrated children’s books, which have been successful in large part because I have a great illustrator in Donna Craft.
I always intended to become a novelist, but first a series of short stories, some of which have won awards, and one of which is published in The Saturday Evening Post Anthology of Great Fiction. Then, a middle grade novella. Since I’m also a poet, I published my book of poems and, finally, my first novel, “Margaret Ferry,” which went on to win a gold medal in fiction, a silver medal in Christian writing and a silver medal in religious writing.
I have just released my second novel, “The Flower Cottage” in the same vein, although the slant is more about faith than doctrine.
I am dedicated to writing compelling fiction without vulgarity, foul language or gratuitous violence. I like to set my stories in 1950s Brooklyn, a time before technology took over and people could not rely on easily reaching each other. My sub-genre is magical realism, which is not to be confused with Sci-fi or Fantasy. I liken it to the movie “It’s a Wonderful Life,” in which all of the characters experience real-life dreams, challenges and failures…but there is one element that changes everything, the angel. I love twists and turns, surprises and miracles.
What is your favorite genre to write?
I have a hard time picking favorites with regard to almost anything. I enjoy too many possibilities. But if I must choose, I would say the novel, general fiction.
Favorite food?
Depends on what I’m hungry for, but my Mother’s linguine with crab sauce and whole blue claw crabs I could eat any day of the week.
Tea or coffee?
Funny for someone who did not drink coffee until I was in my forties, but I love one cup of Café Bustelo Cuban espresso in the morning.
Pizza or ice cream?
Pizza, as long as it really is true New York pizza with a thin, crispy crust and a bit of oil that could drip down your arm if you weren’t careful. Ha.
Wine or beer?
Beer. But I usually can’t finish an entire glassful.
Where would you like to visit?
I’ve been blessed to have visited many parts of the world, and to have lived overseas, but right now it’s all about the Adirondacks. I love the north woods. And although I never thought of myself as having a bucket list, I can’t think of anything I would enjoy more than riding in a horse-drawn sleigh at night in the snowy woods.
Favorite musical artist?
Guitarist Jesse Cook.
Do you listen to music when you write? What?
That’s impossible for me. I would make images of the songs I’m hearing. I’d be dancing in my head, summoning memories, and so on. Just couldn’t concentrate. Instead, I sometimes play forest sounds – birds and waterfalls. Love that.
What makes you laugh?
Verbal horse-play with friends. Silly talk. People who do funny things, sometimes even when they didn’t mean to be funny. Hamming it up. Never laugh at people, however. That’s a sin. So, I never thought popular shows like those awful videos in which people were dangerously hurt even had an ounce of humor in them. Neither do vulgar comedies, in my book. Outgrew Abbott and Costello and Martin and Lewis, but Victor Borge’s humor seems timeless to me and still makes me laugh – “A woman got run over by a steam roller. She’s in the hospital in rooms ten through eighteen.” What can I say?
Favorite work of art or sculpture?
My father was in charge of protection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. So, I spent many wonderful days there over many years. My first love was Rembrandt. Couldn’t get over the way the light and dark looked (I later learned it was called Chiaroscuro). And when I visited the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam and saw the full-wall Rembrandts, I found them overpowering and unforgettable. I love Edward Hopper’s “Early Sunday Morning.” I also like a more obscure artist by the name of Edouard Vuillard, whose garden scenes captivate me.
As for sculptures, there are so many amazing ones and they are not necessarily famous. So, while I think Michelangelo’s David is extraordinary, I stop every time I go to the Leesburg Public Library and see the bronze sculpture of a man reading to a child on a bench outside the building. How does one pick?
How old were you when you started writing?
As I recall, likely around eight years old. I remember the joy I had when there was a blizzard, which meant no school, and I would take my Big Chief writing tablet and my Ticonderoga number 2 pencil into the living room and cozy up with some idea about a dark and stormy night. I was also very fortunate to have gone to Catholic school where the nuns taught nothing about atoms and molecules but made sure we were equipped to write for The New York Times before we reached the age of twelve.
Do you plan out your book with outlines and notecards? Or just write?
I had to come to terms with the fact that my mind does not accept the structure of outlines and notecards. I just make sure that I have a list of all the characters and all the details of their lives, even if they have a secondary role. Their dates of birth, etc. When I’m ready to write, I rely on a paragraph typed in red at the top of the chapter, telling what I want to be sure to include in that chapter any why. I never just write. I always do my back-of-the-head work first.
Where do you get your inspiration?
Ideas might come from a single word, phrase, look, thought, memory or piece of one. A single moment or feeling. I believe the important thing is awareness—to pay attention. As with most authors, I’m often occupied by what is possible – the world of “what if.” Then, I trust in divine inspiration. I don’t have to know everything at once. I just allow the creative process to play out. But I do engage in a practice of trying to think a brand new thought every day.
Describe the perfect evening.
I have a casual lifestyle. A meal with friends whether at home or out at a favorite place. Love having friends in for “Movie Night.” Love the 1940s gangster movies…although I usually watch those early in the morning because I don’t like anything heavy before bed. I enjoy solitude, but good friends and conversation over a meal are always a pleasure.
Well, I don’t believe in writer’s block. Firstly, I never sit down and expect to come up with an idea just by looking at a blank screen. I may not put a word on paper for a week, but it’s all playing out in my mind--as I said earlier, the back-of-the-head work. The author John Hersey used to go fishing to do his back-of-the-head work. Ideas have to incubate. Just because I have a lot of yummy ingredients, doesn’t mean it’s soup yet, and I certainly wouldn’t be disturbed by it.
Who is your favorite author?
Currently, Adriana Trigiani.
I love her! Big Stone Gap! Big Cherry Holler! Lucia, Lucia!
Best book you ever read.
“Power vs. Force” by David R. Hawkins. And, of course, The Bible.
Last book you read. I’m finishing up “The Gift,” by Lewis Hyde. It was recommended by author Margaret Atwood. About how the Creative Spirit transforms the world. The cover quote reads: “…if you want to write, paint, sing, compose, act, or make films, read The Gift.”
What would you do for a living if you weren’t a writer?
I would hope to be a baseball broadcast announcer, calling play-by-play or doing color. I’m from Brooklyn, so baseball is in my DNA. Ha. I love living in Central Florida where I can enjoy Tampa Bay Rays baseball. I enjoy the announcers as much as the game.
Who is the one person who has influenced your personal life the most and why?
Well, look, I’m a devout Catholic, so I have to say Christ. After all, I try my best…with hits and misses, for sure…to live a good and worthy life. Then, of course, aside from my father who taught me the practical side of life, my mother influenced me tremendously, not only by her own talents and success about which she was very humble, but for impressing upon me that I was capable of accomplishing whatever I set out to do. The only thing she ever asked me please not to do was to take flying lessons when I turned eighteen. I honored her wishes.
If you could sit down and have a conversation with ONE person, living or dead, real or fictional, who would it be and why?
By now, you can understand why I would have to say Christ. Next, I would say Walt Disney because he had the most rare and remarkable skill of allowing his passion for what he believed in and his unrivaled imagination to overcome every crisis he faced, while continuing to create.
What advice would you give someone who aspired to be a writer? Write, and keep at it. Find a local writers/critique group in which you feel the people are kind but honest, and submit to their feedback. Enter contests. And, importantly, finish the piece you start. I have known writers who write part of many stories, then abandon them. This will do you no good. Stick with it, finish, then and only then, move on and start again. Eventually, you will get traction.
Do you have some links for us to follow you?
My website, maryflynnwrites.com - Home :: Mary Flynn » (maryflynnwrites.com);
My recent release on Amazon, “The Flower Cottage”
- Amazon.com : The Flower Cottage by Mary Flynn
My Facebook page - (14) Mary Flynn | Facebook
VISIONANDVERSEDISCLAIMER:
Note:
Vision and Verse does not store any personal information like email addresses, home addresses, etc. We do not give any information to third parties. And cookies? We eat cookies.
VISIONANDVERSEDISCLAIMER:
Note:
Vision and Verse does not store any personal information like email addresses, home addresses, etc. We do not give any information to third parties. And cookies? We eat cookies.
VISIONANDVERSEDISCLAIMER:
Note:
Vision and Verse does not store any personal information like email addresses, home addresses, etc. We do not give any information to third parties. And cookies? We eat cookies.
by Carol Ann Kauffman
Dr. Laura Martin, Chief Extraterrestrial Life Scientist at The Touchstone Institute of Oceanographic Research, noticed troubling but subtle changes in the Atlantic Ocean. Before she could make sense of it all, her longtime assistant abruptly walked out. Laura hired young, handsome Scott Conner to be her personal assistant. Mayhem ensued, mainly because of Zara, the mermaid/siren/monster in the basement of the Touchstone Institute, who eyed on Scott as her possible mate in a plot for total domination of planet Earth.
“The Touchstone Institute of Oceanographic Research is the most fantastic, exhilarating place on the planet to work. It is high energy, exciting, sometimes maddening, often frightening, heart pounding work. It’s not a job. It’s a lifetime commitment. It gets in your blood. It grabs you by the throat and possesses you, body and soul. And it is work. If you’re not prepared to work your ass off day in and day out, weekends, holidays, your birthday, and your mamma’s birthday, leave now.”
Available in paperback and kindle formats
Amazon Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00XK6DUNA/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_tkin_p2_i1
But, wait! Read an excerpt first:
“If there is magic on this planet,
it is contained in the water.”
-Loren Eiseley
Chapter Three
Thank You for Your Interest in the Touchstone Institute, but…
Scott walked into work a little early, only to find Mary Lou Hughes and Ann Dennison sitting down with Dr. Sylvia Washington, filling out new employee papers.
“Scott, did you get any mail yesterday? Didn’t you get, uh, a letter?”
“A letter? A ‘thank you for your interest in the Touchstone Institute, but’ letter? No. NO!”
“Yes, Scott. I’m sorry. Dr. Martin hired Mary Lou and Ann this morning. I’m sorry.”
“She hired them both? And not me?”
“Yes. Ann will be the new general receptionist at the front desk.”
“That’s Jaime’s job,” said Scott.
“Jaime quit. And Mary Lou, uh, will be Dr. Martin’s personal assistant.
“Is Dr. Martin here? I’d like a word with her,” he said, taking his BIK card off the wall and heading down the stairs.
“She’s very busy,” called Sylvia.
Scott ignored her and walked down the stairs to Laura’s office.
“Dr. Martin,” Sylvia buzzed Laura’s office, “Dr. Conner is on his way down. Do you want me to call Security?”
“No, of course not. I should have done this in person in the first place. He deserves to hear it from me instead of…” Laura turned to find Scott staring at her, eyes big and wet. She moved closer to him.
“Scott,” she said softly, “go home.”
“What?”
“I said… go home. Your services are no longer needed.”
“What? Why? Will you just tell me why? Please!”
“You’re extremely over-qualified. You have a doctorate. These two positions don’t even require a bachelor’s degree. A high school diploma is all that was needed. You deserve… something better than this. It was a fantastic unpaid internship, Scott. I’ll write you the most glowing letter of recommendation you’ve ever seen.”
“I don’t want something better. I don’t want a letter of commendation. I want this! Was the quality of my work ever deficient in any way?”
“No. No, everything you did was… perfect.”
“Then, was the quantity of my work deficient?”
“No, you churned out excellent work day and night, and took work home with you.”
“I did everything I could to show you how much I wanted this job. I worked hard to streamline your schedule. I made sure you ate, took your vitamins, and drank enough water when I saw you were getting tired. I took as much pressure off of you as I could so that you could concentrate on the important issues at hand in here. I assisted you in every way I could. I anticipated your needs and prepared for them, like getting your car for you so you didn’t have to walk in the dark parking deck by yourself, dealing with deliveries and invoices, and the tank spills, anything, everything else I could. I don’t understand what I did wrong.”
“Nothing. You did nothing wrong. You were… amazing, wonderful.”
“Then… why?”
“I told you. You deserve more than a personal assistant position. I tried to get them to add another position for you, something more in line with your qualifications. I was sure I had talked Admiral Torres into it. But…”
“I don’t care.”
“I care. It’s unfair to you. I’m sorry.”
“I can’t understand this.”
“I know. Scott, go home. Leave your key card at the front desk. And, thank you. You were… outstanding.”
Laura turned and walked away from him. She didn’t want him to see how upset she was. She had every intention of releasing him when she allowed him to wiggle his way in. But, now, today, it was harder than she thought it would be to let him go.
“Dr. Martin? No!” She kept on walking. “Laura?” he whispered. She disappeared into the Operating Room corridor and closed the door, holding in the tears.
A broken-hearted Scott dragged himself to his apartment, dejected. He poured himself a double scotch and flopped on the couch.
There was a brisk, loud knock on the door. Scott ignored it. A few minutes later, another knock at the door, this time a softer, gentler knock.
“Go away.” Another knock on the door. “GO THE HELL AWAY!” Another knock. He got up from the couch, wanting to throttle whoever was at the door. He opened it to find his very sweet, elderly landlady.
“Oh, Mrs. Mahalick! What is it, dear?”
“Scott, I signed for this registered letter for you from a military man just a few minutes ago. He said it was extremely important. He said I had to hand it to you personally. It’s from the federal government. You aren’t in any trouble, are you? Is everything okay?”
“Yes, Mrs. Mahalick, everything is fine. No trouble. The letter is job-related. I’m just tired. Thank you.”
Scott went back to the couch and the scotch. He fingered the envelope. So, this was it, his ‘thank you for your interest in the Touchstone Institute, but…’ letter. He thought back on the last sixteen days, the best sixteen days of his life. And now, it was all over. He poured himself another double.
“Damn you, Laura Martin. Why did you have to be so fantastic? Why couldn’t you have been an absolute beast to work with? Why couldn’t you be some impossible, arrogant, full-of-herself, narcissistic, mean little bitch? Why did you have to be so caring, so sweet, and so, so lovable? Why did you tell me I was a kind and gentle soul with a good heart? And why, when you said my name did it feel like a caress, a genuine embrace? Why did you make me feel like I could accomplish anything if you were by my side? Why, when you finally, finally smiled at me, did it thrill me and make me feel like king of the world? Why?” He drained his glass and poured himself another. Hours passed, bottle drained, Scott conked out on the couch.
Laura was locked in her office in a foul mood when she heard the news.
“Dr. Martin, a call just came in from Admiral Torres’ office,” said Sylvia. “Your request for a project manager has been approved, as of today. The Admiral’s office sent Dr. Conner a letter by military courier. According to this, he should have received it by now.”
“That’s terrific news! That’s what I was hoping for,” she said. “Oh, how I wish it would have come in last night or early this morning. It could have saved both Scott and me some unnecessary anguish.”
“Then he should be here soon,” said Sylvia.
One hour passed. Two hours. Three hours more. No Scott.
“Okay, where’s Scott?” Laura asked.
“He hasn’t come in yet,” said Sylvia.
“That’s strange. I would’ve thought he’d come bouncing back here within minutes of getting his new assignment,” said Laura.
“Yes, me, too, said Sylvia.”
“Vanna, I have to run an errand. I’ll be back in a half an hour. Tell anyone who asks I’m in a meeting.”
“Sure, Laura. Take your time. Is Scott coming in today?”
“Yes, he’ll be here any minute.”
Laura went outside and into Scott’s apartment building. She knocked on his door. No answer. An elderly woman walked toward her.
“Excuse me, I’m Scott Conner’s co-worker. He didn’t come in today and I’m worried about him. He didn’t call in. He doesn’t answer his phone. He doesn’t answer his door.”
“I’m his landlady, Ellie Mihalick. I saw him earlier today. He wasn’t himself. Do you think he’s ill? The flu is going around.”
“It could be. He might be really sick. And he might need help. What should we do?”
“Let me try to get him to answer the door.” She knocked.
“Scott? Scott? It’s Mrs. Mihalick. Answer the door, Scott.” No answer.
“Okay, now I’m definitely worried. Let’s open the door. You have a key, don’t you?” asked Laura. Mrs. Mihalick thought about it for a while.
“He didn’t look well when I talked to him earlier. Okay.” She opened the door. Laura’s heart stopped when she saw Scott’s body sprawled out half on the couch, half on the floor, in the most unnatural position.
“Scott!” Laura ran to him and cradled his head in her arms. She checked for a pulse. “Well, he’s alive.”
“Do you think it’s the flu?” asked Mrs. Mihalick, hanging back at the door.
Laura pushed the empty scotch bottle under the couch with her foot. “Yes, my guess is it’s the flu.”
“I don’t want to get too close. That flu can kill an old lady like me.”
“I understand, Ellie. I’ll take it from here. Thank you.”
Ellie backed out and closed the door.
Laura saw the letter unopened on the coffee table.
“So… you never opened the envelope. Damn. Now what do I do with you?”
She went into the bathroom and ran tepid water into the tub. “Okay, let’s get you out of your clothes and into the tub.” She took off his shirt. She unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers. She pulled them off, along with his socks and underwear.
“Okay, Big Guy, let’s get you into the bathtub. I don’t know if it’ll help you, but I’m much more comfortable with lifeforms in the water.” She put one of his legs in the tub, then shifted his weight to the other leg. He wobbled. She held on to him tightly and maneuvered him into the tub and sat him down.
“Laura,” he mumbled.
It surprised her. She didn’t think he was aware of her presence. She pushed his head down under the water and then pulled him back up.
“Laura?”
“Yes, Scott. I’m right here. Can you hear me?”
“Yes” he slurred. “Why?”
“Why did I put you in the bathtub? I’m trying to sober you up. You came back to your apartment and polished off a fifth of scotch, I’m guessing by the smell of you and the empty bottle on the floor.”
She pushed him under the water again and pulled him back up. He gasped and burped.
“Oh, you’re just a charmer.”
“Thank you. Laura?”
“Yes, Scott?”
“Where are we? Are we in a tank?”
“Yes,” she stifled a giggle. “We’re in a big tank with… with a giant alien squid-like creature… and we have to get a tissue sample… and he isn’t in a particularly giving mood.”
“Stand back,” he held his arm out, “I’ll take care of this for you. I’ll do it.”
“Scott! Here comes the giant squid.” She pushed his head under the water and pulled him up again.
“Laura!” he shouted, spitting out some water. “Watch out… he’s a killer.” He grabbed her. “He’s dangerous. But don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”
She gently leaned him back against the wall and trickled water over his head from a washcloth. He grinned.
“What are you doing to me? You’re making me crazy.”
“Oh, no, I can’t take credit for that crazy part of you. You had it when I met you. I’m trying to… calm you down after our harrowing experience with the giant alien squid. You were wonderful, so brave.”
“Did I get the tissue sample for you?” He grinned an out of focus smile at her.
“Yes, you did. You were just marvelous.”
“Thank you. I try,” he blushed. She trickled more water over his head.
“Laura?”
“Yes, Scott.”
“I want my job back. You can let Mary Lou do all the paperwork if you want. But let me take care of you. You don’t even have to pay me.”
“Okay.”
“Really?” He sat up and blinked, looking momentarily sober. “Do you mean it?”
“Yes, I mean it. Let’s get out of this tank and maybe you could take a little nap.” She helped him out of the tub. He dried himself off somewhat, and she helped him into bed. She laid him on his stomach just in case he got sick. She put his wastebasket on that side of his bed and pulled a chair to his bedside. She dried his hair with a towel.
“Sleep a little, Scott. And when you wake up, you’ll feel much better. I’ll see you at work.”
“Okay, Laura.”
She gently rubbed his back until he fell asleep smiling. She covered him up with a blanket she found on the floor. She took a pen from her handbag and wrote on the letter front, “Scott, open this immediately! Laura” and propped it up on the counter where he was sure to see it. She left and went back to work.
VISIONANDVERSEDISCLAIMER:
Note:
Vision and Verse does not store any personal information like email addresses, home addresses, etc. We do not give any information to third parties. And cookies? We eat cookies.
VISIONANDVERSEDISCLAIMER:
Note:
Vision and Verse does not store any personal information like email addresses, home addresses, etc. We do not give any information to third parties. And cookies? We eat cookies.
