Vincent Zandri's Blog - Posts Tagged "on-travel"
REAL TIME BLG: Leaving The Ground
Today begins a new adventure in northern Europe. Even though I spend a month or more in Florence every year, I haven't explored the northern mountain territory in quite some time, other than to
experience that agonizing up-and-down-bump-all-around flight from Frankfurt or Moscow over the Swiss Alps and down into Florence, a few times. Anyone who's not crazy about flying, trust me, take a train.
This time I land in Munich and train it to Innsbruck, Venice, Florence (to see friends and, well, party a little..), Rome, and some points south...
...Get the rest of the scoop at The Vincent Zandri Vox:
http://vincentzandri.blogspot.com/201...
Godchild
experience that agonizing up-and-down-bump-all-around flight from Frankfurt or Moscow over the Swiss Alps and down into Florence, a few times. Anyone who's not crazy about flying, trust me, take a train.
This time I land in Munich and train it to Innsbruck, Venice, Florence (to see friends and, well, party a little..), Rome, and some points south...
...Get the rest of the scoop at The Vincent Zandri Vox:
http://vincentzandri.blogspot.com/201...
Godchild
My Son: Chip Off the Old Block...Sort Of
The following blog is "now appearing" at The Vincent Zandri Vox: http://vincentzandri.blogspot.com/201...
Did you ever find yourself watching your teenager eat and whispering softly to yourself: did I eat that much when I was his age?
My 17 year old son, Bear, and I are now entering into week 4 of our month long stay in Italy. All has been smooth sailing as they say thus far, with our having investigated every museum, church, monestary, cathedral, catacomb, and tomb in Rome, Florence and beyond. We've seen relics like bits and pieces of the true cross, pieces of Christ's thorn of crowns, Galileo's teeth and cut off fingers, and the entire mummified body of Cosimo De' Medici (he was a tiny man for having made such a monumental impact on art and architecture). We've climbed mountains, towers and domes, and navigated narrow alleyways and tunnels. We've put in 5 miles a day running along both the Arno and the Tiber and we even found an old gym to bench press and get in some dead-lifting.
All throughout I could not have asked for a better adventure companion if I'd pre-ordered one from out of an old Montgomery Ward catalog. But I have to say, man, can that boy eat. And not just your average pasta or lasagna. True to form, Bear goes for the more exotic in order to please his palate. Snails drowned in sauce. Squid and muscles soaking in a fish brine. Whole sardines sitting in a vat of olive oil and rank fish heads...It seems there is nothing the kid doesn't like or won't try.
I don't recall being that adventurous an eater when I was his age. Pizza mostly, burgers and tacos. That was about the extent of my culinary table of contents. But not the Bear. Like he said on the plane over, he wants to experience everything he can about the life here in Florence. http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif
It's a shame I'm here to work or we might travel to some other out of the way places along the coast. But that will have to wait until I come back in just a few months. In the meantime, Bear wants me to book tickets for us to see the pyramids in Egypt. I'm sure he'll find the pyramids as breathtaking as he did climbing to the cupola atop St. Peter's Cathedral. I'm sure he'll make us ride a camel. He'll want to climb the pyramids, block by solid block. He'll want to look out over the valley and soak it all in.
Afterwards, he'll find something exotic to eat. Something goopy, fishy, rank, and entirely dramatic. Chip off the old block...Sort of.
CHECK OUT THE NEW NOVEL: MOONLIGHT RISES!!!!! Moonlight Rises
Did you ever find yourself watching your teenager eat and whispering softly to yourself: did I eat that much when I was his age?
My 17 year old son, Bear, and I are now entering into week 4 of our month long stay in Italy. All has been smooth sailing as they say thus far, with our having investigated every museum, church, monestary, cathedral, catacomb, and tomb in Rome, Florence and beyond. We've seen relics like bits and pieces of the true cross, pieces of Christ's thorn of crowns, Galileo's teeth and cut off fingers, and the entire mummified body of Cosimo De' Medici (he was a tiny man for having made such a monumental impact on art and architecture). We've climbed mountains, towers and domes, and navigated narrow alleyways and tunnels. We've put in 5 miles a day running along both the Arno and the Tiber and we even found an old gym to bench press and get in some dead-lifting.
All throughout I could not have asked for a better adventure companion if I'd pre-ordered one from out of an old Montgomery Ward catalog. But I have to say, man, can that boy eat. And not just your average pasta or lasagna. True to form, Bear goes for the more exotic in order to please his palate. Snails drowned in sauce. Squid and muscles soaking in a fish brine. Whole sardines sitting in a vat of olive oil and rank fish heads...It seems there is nothing the kid doesn't like or won't try.
I don't recall being that adventurous an eater when I was his age. Pizza mostly, burgers and tacos. That was about the extent of my culinary table of contents. But not the Bear. Like he said on the plane over, he wants to experience everything he can about the life here in Florence. http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif
It's a shame I'm here to work or we might travel to some other out of the way places along the coast. But that will have to wait until I come back in just a few months. In the meantime, Bear wants me to book tickets for us to see the pyramids in Egypt. I'm sure he'll find the pyramids as breathtaking as he did climbing to the cupola atop St. Peter's Cathedral. I'm sure he'll make us ride a camel. He'll want to climb the pyramids, block by solid block. He'll want to look out over the valley and soak it all in.
Afterwards, he'll find something exotic to eat. Something goopy, fishy, rank, and entirely dramatic. Chip off the old block...Sort of.
CHECK OUT THE NEW NOVEL: MOONLIGHT RISES!!!!! Moonlight Rises
Chianti on a Motorbike and a Prayer
The following blog and Video is now appearing at The Vincent Zandri Vox: http://vincentzandri.blogspot.it/2012...
Yesterday I played some hookie from my new book(s) and hopped on the back of a motorcycle for a ride into the Chianti region of Italy. Chianti is about 25 or so kilometers from downtown Florence, and calling it a scenic ride doesn't remotely do it justice, as it is as close to God's country as one can get without dying and taking the high speed express to heaven.
The high speed metaphor is a discriminate since my mode of travel was a motorcycle (they call them motorbikes here which makes them sound cute and fuzzy which they are not). I rode on the back of my friend and all around fixer's bike, Francesco "Checco" Tassi. Checcho loves motorcycles and he owns a bunch of them. He races off road with a core group of like-minded crazies and sometimes will travel across entire countries like Spain on a motorcycle. So when he accelerated our bike upwards of 110 KPH, while I held on with one hand and aimed a video camera in the other, I had to believe that he knew exactly what he was doing and that if we crashed I would die as quickly as an insect goes splat against a speeding windshield.
At one point, a two-point buck jumped out in front of us and for a split second, the old life (or middle aged lives in both our cases), flashed through our brains. Instead of spilling the bike, Checco calmly decelerated and tried to ease us past the frightened deer who suddenly about-faced and made the mad dash back across the street in the direction from which he originally crossed. It was all quite the adventure, and dressed in vintage leather coat, scarf, and engineers boots, I felt like I was caught up in some 1950's adventure movie. Secret of Incas, China, or maybe The Naked Jungle. Of course a Fellini flick would have been more apropos.
One thing is for sure, when you find yourself riding on the back of a motorcycle in the middle of the most beautiful, vine and tree-covered hills imaginable, cruising a gravel-covered road with a slight rain spattering against the translucent helmet visor and dripping down your lips, you come to realize in every bit of that "Eat, Pray, Love" sort of way, that life does indeed not suck. Life is what you make of it. No one is going to make it for you. So if you're reading this on your couch today in your living room, and you want to escape so badly you think you're going to lose your mind, promise me something. Promise me you'll click off this blog and click onto the Expedia travel site (or whichever site you prefer) and book a ticket to some distant land. Doesn't matter where too or for how long, so long as it's far away, and will take some difficulty getting there. I guarantee it will change your life.
Until next time...
WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM
THE INNOCENT, the No. 1 Bestselling, Amazon Kindle is FREE all day, Sunday, 25 March, 2012...Nab it for your travels!!
The Innocent
Yesterday I played some hookie from my new book(s) and hopped on the back of a motorcycle for a ride into the Chianti region of Italy. Chianti is about 25 or so kilometers from downtown Florence, and calling it a scenic ride doesn't remotely do it justice, as it is as close to God's country as one can get without dying and taking the high speed express to heaven.
The high speed metaphor is a discriminate since my mode of travel was a motorcycle (they call them motorbikes here which makes them sound cute and fuzzy which they are not). I rode on the back of my friend and all around fixer's bike, Francesco "Checco" Tassi. Checcho loves motorcycles and he owns a bunch of them. He races off road with a core group of like-minded crazies and sometimes will travel across entire countries like Spain on a motorcycle. So when he accelerated our bike upwards of 110 KPH, while I held on with one hand and aimed a video camera in the other, I had to believe that he knew exactly what he was doing and that if we crashed I would die as quickly as an insect goes splat against a speeding windshield.
At one point, a two-point buck jumped out in front of us and for a split second, the old life (or middle aged lives in both our cases), flashed through our brains. Instead of spilling the bike, Checco calmly decelerated and tried to ease us past the frightened deer who suddenly about-faced and made the mad dash back across the street in the direction from which he originally crossed. It was all quite the adventure, and dressed in vintage leather coat, scarf, and engineers boots, I felt like I was caught up in some 1950's adventure movie. Secret of Incas, China, or maybe The Naked Jungle. Of course a Fellini flick would have been more apropos.
One thing is for sure, when you find yourself riding on the back of a motorcycle in the middle of the most beautiful, vine and tree-covered hills imaginable, cruising a gravel-covered road with a slight rain spattering against the translucent helmet visor and dripping down your lips, you come to realize in every bit of that "Eat, Pray, Love" sort of way, that life does indeed not suck. Life is what you make of it. No one is going to make it for you. So if you're reading this on your couch today in your living room, and you want to escape so badly you think you're going to lose your mind, promise me something. Promise me you'll click off this blog and click onto the Expedia travel site (or whichever site you prefer) and book a ticket to some distant land. Doesn't matter where too or for how long, so long as it's far away, and will take some difficulty getting there. I guarantee it will change your life.
Until next time...
WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM
THE INNOCENT, the No. 1 Bestselling, Amazon Kindle is FREE all day, Sunday, 25 March, 2012...Nab it for your travels!!
The Innocent
Pigs On a Leash and a Writer Nearly Breaks His Neck
The following blog and live action Video is "now appearing" in slightly different form at The Vincent Zandri Vox: http://vincentzandri.blogspot.it/2012...
Maybe it's got something to do with April Fools day, but while jogging this morning along the Arno, I passed a grown man walking a pig on a leash. It was a big black pig (as opposed to a small black pig), and the man was walking him/her on a red lease like the pig was your garden variety golden retriever. It sort of made me feel like I was caught up in one of those trippy psychedelic music promos from the late 60s that the Beatles would put out. "I am the Walrus...Goo Goo G'Joob."
I'm nearing the end of a near month long stay in Italy to write, research and just generally have fun. I've jogged around 150 miles, walked more than that, contracted a nasty case of bronchitis, motorcycled the Tuscan mountains, sneaked a peak at a lost Da Vinci, written nearly 100 pages of a new Moonlight book, and rewritten sixty pages of Aziz, plus numerous small articles and blogs.
On Wednesday I fly to Paris for a week of more writing, thinking, eating, and running. Paris is a more or less gift to myself. A place where I can do more research and work while spending some of my T&M advance dough on French food and wines. There's something about walking the river in Paris, especially when it rains. I'm hoping for some rain.
On April 11, I'll fly to New York then directly on to San Fransisco, where I'll meet up with my sig other, L. We'll see some special old friends, run on the beach and, if I have my way, take a boat to Alcatraz. I'll also meet up with an old college buddy to plan out a late Fall excursion to South East Asia. Mostly I'm excited to see L.
There's baby crying outside my open window right now, and the smells of roasting garlic, olive oil, and tomato sauce is permeating the air like a perfume fragrance from newly spread rose petals. It's just as seductive. Sexy even. Food sex....
See you all upon my arrival in Paris....
WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM
The Remains
Maybe it's got something to do with April Fools day, but while jogging this morning along the Arno, I passed a grown man walking a pig on a leash. It was a big black pig (as opposed to a small black pig), and the man was walking him/her on a red lease like the pig was your garden variety golden retriever. It sort of made me feel like I was caught up in one of those trippy psychedelic music promos from the late 60s that the Beatles would put out. "I am the Walrus...Goo Goo G'Joob."
I'm nearing the end of a near month long stay in Italy to write, research and just generally have fun. I've jogged around 150 miles, walked more than that, contracted a nasty case of bronchitis, motorcycled the Tuscan mountains, sneaked a peak at a lost Da Vinci, written nearly 100 pages of a new Moonlight book, and rewritten sixty pages of Aziz, plus numerous small articles and blogs.
On Wednesday I fly to Paris for a week of more writing, thinking, eating, and running. Paris is a more or less gift to myself. A place where I can do more research and work while spending some of my T&M advance dough on French food and wines. There's something about walking the river in Paris, especially when it rains. I'm hoping for some rain.
On April 11, I'll fly to New York then directly on to San Fransisco, where I'll meet up with my sig other, L. We'll see some special old friends, run on the beach and, if I have my way, take a boat to Alcatraz. I'll also meet up with an old college buddy to plan out a late Fall excursion to South East Asia. Mostly I'm excited to see L.
There's baby crying outside my open window right now, and the smells of roasting garlic, olive oil, and tomato sauce is permeating the air like a perfume fragrance from newly spread rose petals. It's just as seductive. Sexy even. Food sex....
See you all upon my arrival in Paris....
WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM
The Remains
Kathmandu's Cavalcade
The following blog is now appearing at The Vincent Zandri Vox: http://vincentzandri.blogspot.com/201...
For the life of you, do not attempt to travel half way around the world by flying three different, back to back flights. No matter how good a flier you are, you will find yourself exhausted from lack of sleep. Your eyes will sting from lack of moisture. Your stomach will distend and cramp from too much gas buildup, and the interior mucous membranes in your nasal cavities will crack and bleed. If you insist on flying to four different countries on three different continents over the course of 2.5 days to make for a total of 26 hours in the air, make sure you break the trip up. And don't fly over the Bay of Bengal during a severe thunderstorm...It will scare the crap out of you. Unless of course, you're 19 and don't give a shit.
But the ill effects of three sleepless days and nights were quickly forgotten upon landing in Kathmandu, Nepal. Sure this is the home of Everest and expert climbers from all over the world who come here to scale the tallest mountain in the world (I know this debatable, but it's my blog so bear with me). However, Nepal's capital city of Kathmandu is a vibrant, ancient metropolis congested with people, young and old, who all seem to be moving rather quickly to some unknown destination. The bazaar itself is made up of narrow roads connected at odd angles as if no planning went into them. The roads are boarded with crumbling ancient architecture interspersed with Buddhist and Hindu temples. The smog pervades the air to the degree that, like in many Chinese cities, the locals don masks over their faces to filter the pollution. Some of these masks are made by famous clothing designers. The masks might match a woman's outfit and I imagine they cost a lot.
Cows and rickshaws share the roads with cars and motorcycles, the latter combustion engine-powered machines forever somehow competing for the finite space that exists on the byways but miraculously never smashing into one another or running anyone down. Drivers honk horns relentlessly and at times, you find it impossible to know who is honking the horn at who.
The night life is vibrant to say the least. Kathmandu is a musician's paradise with the rattle and hum of live bands competing with one another from the many bars and eateries that exist within the bazaar. Last night I enjoyed a couple of beers while listening to a middle-aged man play trombone not to an accompanying band but instead to digitally pre-recorded tracks. This is 2014 after all, even if the Kathmandu of today could easily fill in for the Kathmandu of 1970, or 1935 for that matter. He was dressed in a long tunic over pantaloons that looked like pajamas. His feet were bare and he wore a long gray/black beard and even longer gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. I took him for a SoCal transplant, circa 1985, who came to find something to smoke and never left.
I could tell you about the food and how fresh it is ... nan prepared over a stone fire...chicken and beef drowned in savory curries...cool and crisp vegetables cut up in chunks...but I need to head back out to explore more in this city of adventurers and ancient history.
WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM
The Remains
For the life of you, do not attempt to travel half way around the world by flying three different, back to back flights. No matter how good a flier you are, you will find yourself exhausted from lack of sleep. Your eyes will sting from lack of moisture. Your stomach will distend and cramp from too much gas buildup, and the interior mucous membranes in your nasal cavities will crack and bleed. If you insist on flying to four different countries on three different continents over the course of 2.5 days to make for a total of 26 hours in the air, make sure you break the trip up. And don't fly over the Bay of Bengal during a severe thunderstorm...It will scare the crap out of you. Unless of course, you're 19 and don't give a shit.
But the ill effects of three sleepless days and nights were quickly forgotten upon landing in Kathmandu, Nepal. Sure this is the home of Everest and expert climbers from all over the world who come here to scale the tallest mountain in the world (I know this debatable, but it's my blog so bear with me). However, Nepal's capital city of Kathmandu is a vibrant, ancient metropolis congested with people, young and old, who all seem to be moving rather quickly to some unknown destination. The bazaar itself is made up of narrow roads connected at odd angles as if no planning went into them. The roads are boarded with crumbling ancient architecture interspersed with Buddhist and Hindu temples. The smog pervades the air to the degree that, like in many Chinese cities, the locals don masks over their faces to filter the pollution. Some of these masks are made by famous clothing designers. The masks might match a woman's outfit and I imagine they cost a lot.
Cows and rickshaws share the roads with cars and motorcycles, the latter combustion engine-powered machines forever somehow competing for the finite space that exists on the byways but miraculously never smashing into one another or running anyone down. Drivers honk horns relentlessly and at times, you find it impossible to know who is honking the horn at who.
The night life is vibrant to say the least. Kathmandu is a musician's paradise with the rattle and hum of live bands competing with one another from the many bars and eateries that exist within the bazaar. Last night I enjoyed a couple of beers while listening to a middle-aged man play trombone not to an accompanying band but instead to digitally pre-recorded tracks. This is 2014 after all, even if the Kathmandu of today could easily fill in for the Kathmandu of 1970, or 1935 for that matter. He was dressed in a long tunic over pantaloons that looked like pajamas. His feet were bare and he wore a long gray/black beard and even longer gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. I took him for a SoCal transplant, circa 1985, who came to find something to smoke and never left.
I could tell you about the food and how fresh it is ... nan prepared over a stone fire...chicken and beef drowned in savory curries...cool and crisp vegetables cut up in chunks...but I need to head back out to explore more in this city of adventurers and ancient history.
WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM
The Remains
Curious Conversation About 'Eat, Pray, Love'
The following essay is now appearing at The Vincent Zandri Vox: http://vincentzandri.blogspot.com/201...
The other day someone asked me what immediately comes to mind when I imagine my life from this day forward (I'm not going to get into the circumstances of who asked me and why, so just bear with me). I immediately responded by saying something along the lines of, "writing, traveling, eating, drinking...At the end of the day, my sig other and I head out for some red wine and a nice dinner under a moonlit night somewhere in Italy, or France, or South America, or..." well, you get the picture.
The woman who asked me the question assumed a kind of sour puss, shook her head, said, "Eat, Pray, Love...That's you. I hated that book."
I said, "I read it, and I liked it." Me, smiling, like, lighten up already.
She said, "Selfish. The writer of that book gave up everything so she could pursue only what she wanted in life."
I said, "But it's her life. The only one she's got. Maybe she gave up what she didn't want anymore, so that she could gain the world."
The woman shook her head once more, checked the time on her wristwatch, then quickly changed the subject.
___
THE SHROUD KEY is fast approaching its first 10K sold. Get yours now!
WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM
The Shroud KeyVincent Zandri
The other day someone asked me what immediately comes to mind when I imagine my life from this day forward (I'm not going to get into the circumstances of who asked me and why, so just bear with me). I immediately responded by saying something along the lines of, "writing, traveling, eating, drinking...At the end of the day, my sig other and I head out for some red wine and a nice dinner under a moonlit night somewhere in Italy, or France, or South America, or..." well, you get the picture.
The woman who asked me the question assumed a kind of sour puss, shook her head, said, "Eat, Pray, Love...That's you. I hated that book."
I said, "I read it, and I liked it." Me, smiling, like, lighten up already.
She said, "Selfish. The writer of that book gave up everything so she could pursue only what she wanted in life."
I said, "But it's her life. The only one she's got. Maybe she gave up what she didn't want anymore, so that she could gain the world."
The woman shook her head once more, checked the time on her wristwatch, then quickly changed the subject.
___
THE SHROUD KEY is fast approaching its first 10K sold. Get yours now!
WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM
The Shroud KeyVincent Zandri
An Affair in Italy
The following essay is now appearing in slightly different form at The Vincent Zandri Vox: http://vincentzandri.blogspot.it/2014...
He's been coming to Italy to work alone for six years now.
The first year he came, he hardly worked at all. He was suffering from the pangs of lost love, and a career on hold, and he barely had enough work to keep him going, much less a novel in the works. He was also broke. He brooded as he walked the cobbled streets of Florence in his black leather coat in the rain, wondering where things in his life had gone wrong.
The next year he was a different man. He'd pulled himself out of his funk, and he reinvented himself once again as a freelance journalist who traveled to places like West Africa and Moscow writing for global news outlets such as RT. He was taking pictures and writing articles and essays as fast as he could while working under deadline. He came to crave the rush of dispatching a story written up on the fourth floor of a Florence guest house to Moscow, and then an hour later seeing it as a top-of-the-hour story in Europe. He was a foreign correspondent and life abroad was thrilling.
The year after that he was still a journalist but now he was back to writing fiction with a vengeance and it was wonderful to come to Florence be alone and walk the streets and think up plots. He had some scratch in the bank now and he could afford a real apartment. He would wonder about people he knew or had known, and women he had loved for a short time or a long time, who were going to make it as characters in his newest novel. People were drama and drama, although painful, was sometimes fun. It was also fun to play God in a place where almost no one knew him.
These days he's no longer unknown, and he's working on at least three books (and novellas) at once for three different publishers, plus a book for his own label. He's still a journalist (he knows this because he just paid his SPJ dues), only the fiction is trying to shove it out the door like the beautiful, young, brunette-haired affair who's angrily had enough of the wife. It's a violent and emotionally heartbreaking conflict. He forces himself between the two beauties wishing absurdly and selfishly that they could somehow get along and coexist peacefully.
"I need you both," he pleads.
But they both stare him down.
"Soon, you must choose between one or the other," says the affair.
But he will never choose. He wants them both. So, he just keeps on working as best he can, no matter what happens in his life, no matter what goes on in the world. The work: She is his most reliable friend, his most trusted lover, his affair, and his wife. She is ageless and her beauty only improves with the years, like ancient green-white marble that glistens and radiates in the Tuscan rain. She might resist him sometimes. She might pretend to be elusive, but in the end, she always sheds her clothing and slips into bed with him.
The work ... He comes to Italy to be with her, alone.
WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM
The Remains
Vincent Zandri
He's been coming to Italy to work alone for six years now.
The first year he came, he hardly worked at all. He was suffering from the pangs of lost love, and a career on hold, and he barely had enough work to keep him going, much less a novel in the works. He was also broke. He brooded as he walked the cobbled streets of Florence in his black leather coat in the rain, wondering where things in his life had gone wrong.
The next year he was a different man. He'd pulled himself out of his funk, and he reinvented himself once again as a freelance journalist who traveled to places like West Africa and Moscow writing for global news outlets such as RT. He was taking pictures and writing articles and essays as fast as he could while working under deadline. He came to crave the rush of dispatching a story written up on the fourth floor of a Florence guest house to Moscow, and then an hour later seeing it as a top-of-the-hour story in Europe. He was a foreign correspondent and life abroad was thrilling.
The year after that he was still a journalist but now he was back to writing fiction with a vengeance and it was wonderful to come to Florence be alone and walk the streets and think up plots. He had some scratch in the bank now and he could afford a real apartment. He would wonder about people he knew or had known, and women he had loved for a short time or a long time, who were going to make it as characters in his newest novel. People were drama and drama, although painful, was sometimes fun. It was also fun to play God in a place where almost no one knew him.
These days he's no longer unknown, and he's working on at least three books (and novellas) at once for three different publishers, plus a book for his own label. He's still a journalist (he knows this because he just paid his SPJ dues), only the fiction is trying to shove it out the door like the beautiful, young, brunette-haired affair who's angrily had enough of the wife. It's a violent and emotionally heartbreaking conflict. He forces himself between the two beauties wishing absurdly and selfishly that they could somehow get along and coexist peacefully.
"I need you both," he pleads.
But they both stare him down.
"Soon, you must choose between one or the other," says the affair.
But he will never choose. He wants them both. So, he just keeps on working as best he can, no matter what happens in his life, no matter what goes on in the world. The work: She is his most reliable friend, his most trusted lover, his affair, and his wife. She is ageless and her beauty only improves with the years, like ancient green-white marble that glistens and radiates in the Tuscan rain. She might resist him sometimes. She might pretend to be elusive, but in the end, she always sheds her clothing and slips into bed with him.
The work ... He comes to Italy to be with her, alone.
WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM
The Remains
Vincent Zandri
JFK International Airport
Vince is travelling again, and he's scraping off the rust.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jU5-0...
Expect more posts after he crosses the ocean...
Grab a FREE thriller at www.vinzandri.com
Also grab the new thriller, Paradox Lake...
Vincent Zandri
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jU5-0...
Expect more posts after he crosses the ocean...
Grab a FREE thriller at www.vinzandri.com
Also grab the new thriller, Paradox Lake...
Vincent Zandri
The Writer Back in Rome
When in Rome...
Vince is back in Italy for a month where he'll be headed back up to Florence. He'll be writing up a storm while he's there, since writers can work from anywhere in the world.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5y1kg...
Grab a FREE copy of MOONLIGHT FALLS at WWW.VINZANDRI.COM
Subscribe and smash that LIKE button:)
Vincent Zandri
Vince is back in Italy for a month where he'll be headed back up to Florence. He'll be writing up a storm while he's there, since writers can work from anywhere in the world.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5y1kg...
Grab a FREE copy of MOONLIGHT FALLS at WWW.VINZANDRI.COM
Subscribe and smash that LIKE button:)
Vincent Zandri
