The Writer’s Bloc: Staten Island Writers

By Kimbra Eberly

With Xlibris, Kimbra Eberly is thrilled to have the spotlight shine on a compelling range of pieces that grew out of The Writer’s Bloc, a meetup group she founded in February 2023 at Hub17. There, writers gathered in a dynamic space to work, exchange ideas, and enhance their writing skills. Poets, scriptwriters, and storytellers – all were welcomed. Soon it became clear to her they shared a common objective: to overcome creative slowdowns and just do the work.

Kimbra then decided to set an ambitious collective goal. She informed the group that they were going to publish a book so their works could be seen by a wider audience. This anthology, with grant support and determination, came together after months of work and refinement. The collection features short stories, poems, memoirs, and scripts from the scribes of The Writer’s Bloc – ranging from emerging writers to established, award-winning authors. The stories are powerful and diverse. They explore love, joy, heartbreak, history, culture, psychology, and horror. All are captivating.

This collection includes twenty-four pieces by eleven writers, with original artwork throughout.

Kimbra is proud to present this first volume on behalf of The Writer’s Bloc. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798369406861

Kimbra Eberly

Kimbra Eberly grew up in York, Pennsylvania, and moved to New York City, where she successfully pursued a career in music. When she happened to accompany a friend on vacation, they stayed at The Lizzie Borden Bed & Breakfast/Museum. The trip kindled Kimbra’s interest in unsolved crime, and she subsequently studied at the College of Staten Island, with a concentration in forensic psychology. Kimbra worked as a researcher for the University of Chicago’s National Opinion Research Center for eight years. She travelled the country extensively and collected data for varied studies to improve government programs. She is an accomplished artist in diverse fields. You can visit her website at www.kimbraeberly.net. Kimbra lives happily in Staten Island, New York, with her partner and their two cats.

Book preview

The

Writer’s

Bloc

Staten Island Writers

Compiled by Kimbra Eberly

Edited by Margaret Chase

Original Cover Art - Copyright © 2023 - ErinKelli Kilbane

http://www.erinkellikilbane.com

Editor-in-Chief - Kimbra Eberly

Concept and Compiled by Kimbra Eberly

http://www.kimbraeberly.net

Senior Managing Editor - Margaret Chase

http://www.onwavestreet.com/margaret-chase

Forward - Craig Spector

https://www.craigspectormusic.com/

This book is made possible in part by a DCLA Premiere Grant from Staten Island Arts, with public funding from the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs.

http://statenislandarts.org

Supported by Hub17

http://www.onwavestreet.com/

Image Index/credits:

1. Eberly, Kimbra Deer in Woods 2023, acrylic on canvas, Private collection

2. Eberly, Kimbra Turkey 2023, acrylic on canvas, Private collection

3. Eberly, Kimbra Tangerine 2022, acrylic on canvas, reproduction, Private collection

4. Eberly, Kimbra Staten Island Ferry 2022, acrylic on canvas, Private collection

5. Chase, Margaret Wolf Series 2001, watercolor on posterboard, Private collection

6. Montana, J. Across Time 2023, pastel on canvas, Private collection

7. Reha, Lance J. Beach Series 2022, Private collection

8. Von Gersdorff, Hans The Wound Man reproduction 1519, Feldtbuch der Wundartzney

9. Chase, Margaret Mary Duffy 1940, graduation photograph, Private collection

10. Chase, Margaret Mary Duffy Buchko 2021, digital photograph, Private collection

11. Reha, Lance J. Bullet 2008, photograph/scene still, Director Reha, Lance J.

12. Eberly, Kimbra Porch Light 2022, acrylic on canvas, Private collection

13. Diaz, Brittany Intervention 2021, photograph/scene still, Director Diaz, Brittany

14. Eberly, Kimbra Maestro Gagliardi & Margaret Chase 2023, photocollage, Private collection

15. Spector, Craig Virginia Beach 2022, photograph, Private collection

Contributing Writers:

Margaret Chase

Brittany Diaz

Kimbra Eberly

Thomas Fucaloro

Christopher Mancuso

J. Montana

Ash Montalto

Carissa Pignatelli

Lawrence F. Schwabacher

Craig Spector

Michael Veasey

Copyright © 2023 by Kimbra Eberly. 849172

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

Rev. date: 09/14/2023

STOKING THE INNER FIRES

Forward by Craig Spector

There are people you meet along the way in life that you become friends with instantly, and in rare cases, remain friends for life. Kimbra Eberly is one of those people for me. We met as wayward teenagers way back in the early ‘70s in York, Pennsylvania, part of a tribe of young musicians, artists, performers, and fellow weirdos. We played in different bands together, and bands sometimes shared members, in the freeflow of creative energy that marked that time; Kimbra and I never ended up in a band per se, but her singing voice was so unique that I ended up inviting her to do tracks on many of my music demos, including some that I recorded at Boston’s Berklee College of Music studios in the early ‘80s, and then on into the ‘90s.

After living years in New York City (and Staten Island, yo St. George!) and working as a published novelist and anthology editor, I eventually made my way west to Los Angeles and Hollywood, where I became a screenwriter for feature film and television. But Kimbra and I always kept in touch through long phone calls, discussing life and art and creativity. When she decided that she wanted to become an independent TV producer at CTV Studios, I encouraged her as much as possible and then marveled at her grit and determination, which underscored her natural talents and helped fuel her ambitions to create, to achieve, and to constantly expand her world.

As the years progressed into the 21st century, and indeed around the time that many people think of slowing down in life, Kimbra became a multiple award-winning producer at CTV, an expert on the infamous Lizzie Borden, a talented indie film producer and director, and an equally talented painter, pioneering a style I call Urban Folk Art. Her thirst for research led to her fabulous and often hilarious performances in the style of the 19th century French Grand Guignol Theater, mixing horror and humor, and (together with her life partner and fellow CTV-TV producer Kenny Graham) ultimately created HUB 17, a central meeting place for Staten Island artists, musicians, performers, and creatives, a stone’s throw from the St. George Ferry Terminal.

It is there that Kimbra started a group called The Writer’s Bloc, a HUB 17 meeting place for SINY novelist and short story writers, poets, and screen and theatrical scribes. In Kimbra’s innate style, older professionals and newcomers alike meet and share their experiences, refreshingly free of the hierarchical vibe that often accompanies such events. And The Writer’s Bloc became the launching ground for this anthology, a collection of poetry and verse, short fiction, screenplays for short indie films, and original paintings and art.

The creativity displayed in THE WRITER’S BLOC: A Collection of Works by Staten Island Writers is fascinating and expansive, and altogether intensely human, in the best possible ways — filled with love and pain, humor and horror, fiercely intimate honesty, and a whole lot of heart.

Kinda just like Kimbra: a creative force of nature, and a good friend to have in this crazy world. I’m happy to be a part of it, and to welcome you aboard.

Cheers,

Craig Spector May 2023

Table of Contents

1.jpg

Lelantos, the son of Coeus and Phoebe, is the god of air and the hunter’s skill of stalking prey.

His name is derived from the Greek words ‘lentho’ or ‘lanthano’, which means ‘to move unseen’ or ‘to escape unnoticed’. The etymology of this name implies that as the god of the air, he also presided over the breeze and the wind.

Lelantos felt the power of the fifty-pound draw-weight as he struggled to pull back the bowstring. This compound bow has enough kinetic energy to bring down any deer, Joe said, reaching for the instruction booklet. You just have to practice. I suggest aluminum or carbon arrows. Lelantos smirked. You don’t have to sell me on it. I’ll take all of it and that cool deer target over there, as he dug into his pocket for his last bit of cash.

The drive home was long and silent. The horrors of the pandemic cycled through his mind. His life had been transformed. The city was on a mandatory shutdown and his employer had laid off everyone. It was supposed to be temporary until the virus was brought under control. But six months had passed, and the uncertainty left him with worry and panic. The harsh reality was that the economy had ground to a halt, leaving millions without jobs. "How much more?" drummed inside his head. His emergency funds were dwindling as his household hit pause on all nonessential spending. His wife, Sarah, looked for sales and made adjustments. No more gym, movies, hair appointments, or trips to the mall. The pricey health coverage was now his sole responsibility. He never thought he would have difficulty with the bills. It was just the two of them. But Sarah was on disability and being without work took its toll. Money was now a major stress factor, and he urgently needed a strategy to move forward.

Even though there was an argument raging over the morality of hunting in America, he believed that bringing down a deer could be a viable choice. "Native tribes of North America thought that a deer was a messenger of power, and a totem representing good fortune. They honored the slain animal because it proudly gave its life so that others could live. In Lelanto’s case as well, it could put food on the table. He learned that venison was tasty, if prepared correctly. Burgers, sausages, jerky, pot roast, brisket, and dry roasts, even kabobs and boloney could all come from one kill. The trick was to trim the fat or the meat would have a nasty sour taste. Selecting a good butcher is key," he thought as he pulled into the driveway.

Lelantos lifted the big box off the back seat and dragged it across the lawn. He set up the target in front of the gigantic weeping willow tree, now thirty years old. The willow was robust and had weathered many storms with ferocious winds through which it swayed, but always maintained its position. He had bought and planted the tree because it represented stability, hope, and healing. He now prayed to God for this to be true in his life. His eyes fixed on the life-sized whitetail buck target, as he moved back 35 yards. It seemed so far away.

Lelantos practiced daily, and diligently. Follow a routine, examine your arrows for cracks, become accustomed to the trigger, use a breathing technique when taking aim, draw the bowstring while inhaling, and then launch it without shifting while expelling air. One move and you will miss the target. You must understand your trajectory pattern. This was difficult and he had trouble at first, but over time he progressed. He practiced shooting from a kneeling position and then a sitting position. He climbed a tree and shot from up high. One early morning he hit the bull’s eye and then again. "I’ll be damned," he thought, mentally celebrating his victory.

Hunting requires a license and completion of an online safety course. He learned that hunting is prohibited near schools, churches, farms, or populated structures and areas. Tracking deer from an automobile or from any public highway with the assistance of the headlights is not permitted. A crossbow with a mechanical device or explosive arrows designed to deliver drugs to an animal are illegal. Baiting deer with a salt block may not be done. There are also designated places and times when hunting is allowed. He immersed himself in the many rules.

Selecting and gaining good access to a hunting spot was as difficult as learning how to shoot. Lelantos spent days considering potential hunting grounds. He studied maps and scouted locations. Then, he found a promising spot, while searching the internet.

Green Ridge State Forest was the largest block of public land in Maryland. Part of the Appalachian Mountains, its thick natural forest was home to abundant white-tailed deer. It would be the perfect location. Content, he crawled into bed. Sarah was fast asleep. His loud snoring kept her from sleeping, so he waited for her to fall asleep first. This was their routine.

As he lay trying to relax, sadness rolled in, as it often did. This was mild compared to the more passionate feelings and disruptive ideas that sometimes overtook his mind. The trauma rushed in and over him, triggered by the simplest of things; a door slamming, a random siren, a child’s scream of laughter, all could make him jump and he would re-live the horrible sights and sounds of war all over again. His doctor called it post-traumatic stress syndrome. He didn’t understand the symptoms, but without treatment, it worsened. He tried to brush off the frightening images that swelled in his dreams. Weird shapes, ghostly figures, smoke rising, and the stench of napalm. Monkeys swinging in the trees, shouting in the distance, and the dread of being detected by the enemy. His night visions were so intense that once he catapulted onto the floor next to the bed, dripping with sweat, completely drained. "My life isn’t safe at all," he thought.

Lelantos looked at the clock: 1:20am. He rose from the bed and gazed out the window. A gust of wind swept in as light rain fell. He looked at his backyard, at the deer target, at the barbecue, at the fishpond and at the weeping willow branches shivering in the breeze. Rays of moonlight crisscrossed the treetops that disappeared when the wind drove clouds over the moon, obscuring its silvery light. He closed the window and went into the living room. He settled in on the couch and flipped through the television channels, tuning in to the weather report and the news channel with the election results. Nothing interested him. He told himself, Other people have it worse as he drifted back to sleep.

Lelantos was a patriot and had served his country. As a Marine in Vietnam, he knew what war looked like. For a millisecond, he was back in the jungle. His eyes were still as he remembered his distant past. A movie played, a dark cloud that ripped out, shredded, and destroyed human flesh. Jungle trekking was arduous and boiling hot. The foreign terrain had thick foliage and long twining plants known as the wait-a-minute vines. Snakelike, they almost immediately constricted an arm or leg when touched. The rain pounded, then stopped suddenly. Afterwards, a blanket of humidity would descend and with it the red ants. He’d wrap a scarf around his neck to keep the insects from going down his shirt. Wet and muddy, he would sit for hours with his back up against a tree. Waiting and waiting. He would hear explosions in the distance. Sleep was fitful for a man on patrol. His platoon took turns napping. Often in those days, his mind drifted to thoughts of home.

When the enemy showed, his first impulse was to stay hidden as the intruder passed. But he was there for a job. They were there to neutralize, and if necessary, kill the enemy. He was well trained and prepared. He carried his greased-up extra knife securely strapped in its sleeve. He had a loaded pistol and his M16 rifle with a twenty-round magazine and three hand grenades on his belt. A first aid pouch, a canteen, a compass, and a spirit lamp for light completed the load.

The Viet Cong had haunted the jungles setting devilish traps, some with razor-sharp pieces of bamboo embedded in the ground, designed to pierce. Other deadly snares, well-hidden and covered with branches, would hoist the unsuspecting victim thirty feet in the air if stepped on. The time he spent as a marine on patrol in the jungle had been terrifying and was seared into his memory. But it was long ago, and he had survived. Today, the forest offered him something different.

Before hunting season started, Joe had suggested that he survey the location first. So, in late March, Lelantos drove for three hours and turned his jeep onto a dirt road