Introducing "Lexington"

And we think America is divided now.

Back in 1775 - which really wasn't that long ago when we look at the big picture - shots were fired in a relatively obscure community near Boston, shots that would literally change the course of history. For colonists in America were turning on their leader, the King of England, essentially in order to decide for themselves how they should lead their lives. Needless to say, the fighting in Lexington that day would ring in the bloody American Revolutionary War, which would last eight years and cost untold thousands of lives. In the end, however, America would end up being a free nation no longer burdened by European imperialism.

Still, things are rarely as black and white as they first appear to be. This is particularly true in the case of major historic events, and the American Revolutionary War was no exception. For many, a great many, colonists wanted to remain under British rule. And, in truth, it must be noted that the English government was far from a bloodthirsty authority, at least as far as the colonies were concerned. What's more, many of those in the Boston area who protested British governance before the fighting started did so in unfair, and at times remarkably cruel ways.

Perhaps that's why I've chosen such a tumultuous backdrop for my next novel, Lexington. I'm fascinated not only by historic events, but by the often complex and motivational issues that lead to those events. The fighting in Lexington can be traced back, as all such shocking moments can, to individuals. And the actions of individuals can be traced back to a variety of familial, psychological, and biographical factors. 

Thomas Crawford and William Prentiss will be the main characters in Lexington. Having gone from friends to enemies, they will find themselves on opposite sides of a conflict that is about to erupt into violence. Each of these Boston natives will have his reasons for his actions, and perhaps not all of them will be honorable. Such is the stuff of life. They will, however, be decent enough souls, men with families who are navigating through an exceedingly dangerous time. 

One thing I can promise, however, is that their story will not be predictable. The reader knows what will ultimately happen in the town of Lexington, but won't know how each man will or won't be involved in the events of that morning. In other words, don't expect a final "battlefield confrontation." Don't expect cardboard characters, either. Thomas and William are strong men trying to do right by their families...and by their equally strong wives, who may or may not disagree with their decisions.

They say there was a "shot heard round the world" that morning in Lexington. There were, however, many factors, personal as well as social and political, that led to that simple, explosive moment. 

With all that being said, it takes a good amount of time to pen a novel worth publishing, and I'm just far enough along on Lexington to comfortably announce its presence. I'll be sure make regular posts throughout the creative process, however, in order to keep everyone abreast on the book's progress. In the meantime, be sure to pick up one of my published novels by clicking on the links below.

Happy New Year!

Click here for American Socialite: https://www.amazon.com/American-Socialite-Sean-Crose/dp/B08C8RW7N4/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

Click here for The Regulator: https://www.amazon.com/Regulator-Sean-Crose/dp/1097223299/ref=pd_bxgy_img_2/140-4411494-9635762?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=1097223299&pd_rd_r=234b5c5e-df6b-4357-9403-cced39f1877e&pd_rd_w=v1OKn&pd_rd_wg=lOHdE&pf_rd_p=f325d01c-4658-4593-be83-3e12ca663f0e&pf_rd_r=JSCZ9HBJE0AYKG2BFKP7&psc=1&refRID=JSCZ9HBJE0AYKG2BFKP7

Heading Towards Christmas - Some Thoughts On Jesus

                                                         

And so we're at the time of year where many celebrate the birth of Jesus. Fewer and fewer of us believe in the divinity of Christ around here these days. Those of us who do are a shrinking and unfashionable demographic. Still, I think there's some things about Jesus worth considering. You don't have to believe Jesus is God in order to give the matter some thought, either. This a documented historical figure we're talking about, after all.

At any rate, it's occurred to me that if Jesus were walking the earth today, he would rub a lot of people the wrong way, just like he did during his own lifetime. Back then, Jesus offended those in power. Today he would offend occupants of social media. For Jesus told people to love their neighbors as they love themselves. And that just doesn't wash here in the 21st century. 

For we in the here and now are into hating our neighbors. What's more, we like hating our neighbors. We think it's good to hate our neighbors. We're proud of hating our neighbors. We're convinced our neighbors engage in fear mongering, hatred, and oppression. We want these people cancelled - if not as thoroughly as Jesus was, then as thoroughly and conveniently as possible (we're really into convenience these days). So no, we have no interest in that love your neighbor thing Jesus was all about. 

We also don't like that whole forgiveness business Jesus taught, either. As far as we're concerned, our neighbors don't deserve forgiveness. What's more, we deserve to enjoy their comeuppance. The more degrading and thorough the comeuppance, the better. To us, it's only fair. Jesus just wasn't into that way of thinking, so frankly we're not all that into Jesus.  

It's not like we're exactly happy in the here and now, though. Truth be told, we're completely miserable. Maybe, just maybe, it's possible someone who walked the earth thousands of years before the age of Google might have actually made some valid points. 

Merry Christmas. 

Ozymandias In The Basement Flat

 

If you were able to step back and look at it all objectively now, you might realize that your great enemy was the belief that there are rules to be followed in life. That simple idea was something you could never abide by, after all – not in the military, not in your relationships, not even while backing up the Isleys. Your abhorrence of rules, of structure, had, frankly, been your greatest asset in many ways. Now, though, as you’re suffocating to death, it’s proven to be your greatest enemy.

No one on earth can intake nearly two grams of a barbiturate in as short an amount of time as you just did. Combine that with a day’s worth of wine and cannabis and it’s no surprise that you’re lying in the bed of a basement flat right now drowning in your own vomit. People are going to wonder what were you thinking when you kept popping those pills, anyway. They were Vesparax, right? People are going to say you were suicidal, that those lawsuits – or even Monika - drove you to do it.

You know better, though. You know it’s your own sense of specialness that has led you to where you are right now. People who have suffered as you have are somehow gifted, you’ve always thought, with a differentness that magically makes the boundaries everyday individuals must adhere to null and void. Hence your personal biography.

Remember how you told that interviewer you didn’t practice so much as try to attain new heights? You admitted such a set of priorities led to mistakes in your playing, but you also knew full well they took you’re playing in unique directions. Indeed, you did some amazing things.

And you couldn’t even read music. Astonishing, really.

You won’t be creating anything new now, though. Those days are officially over. By the time Monika calls for help it will be too late. Maybe you’ll die after the paramedics get you to St. Mary Abbott’s. Or maybe you’ll be dead before the paramedics even arrive. Harsh as it may seem, none of it matters. For your life’s work has already started its journey towards that place where the lone and level sands stretch far away.

How the mighty once looked upon that work and despaired, though! Punching Paul after your house was broken into. Smashing Carmen in the face with that bottle during a drunken rage. Busting up the Opalen during that fight.  How everyone had to tame their impulses in the face of such actions. The work was your Berlin wall. You were impenetrable.

Yet now those actions, or rather the behavior which led to them, will be as much a part of your legacy as your talent will be. The humility you showed during that interview will, on the other hand, be largely forgotten. This is unfortunate, of course, though there’s no changing things at this point.

For yours is a story of appetites. Shoes. Clothes. Women. Booze. Drugs. Music. You have been a vacuum, a vacuum which has now exploded upon consuming too much. Little will be remembered of the child whose mother had left him. Little will be remembered of that driving seriousness.  Such things will remain hidden treasures, passed over by travelers through your antique land.

Thanksgiving And "American Socialite"

Poor Betsy Bonaparte doesn't have it easy. That's as true in my novel, American Socialite as it is in the historical record. Abandoned by a lout of a husband, she's literally left stranded far from home in Europe. Betsy expresses anger and resentment throughout American Socialite and, in a sense, she has good reason to. She's been promised a life that she's ultimately not allowed to live. Such things are hard on the psyche - very hard.

Yet Betsy's biggest problem in American Socialite is her insatiable set of expectations. Rather than accepting her situation at some point and simply being thankful for the life she has - and it's a luxurious life, indeed - Betsy instead chooses to pine for what cannot be. It ends up being an exhaustive waste of time. As frustrating as her situation is, one wishes Betsy could simply make the best of it. 

Her son, Bo, however, doesn't end up having Betsy's expectations. He's happy with what he has. Even when  a "greater" life than the one he leads is dangled before him, Bo doesn't get overly excited. In truth, he'd rather not live a "greater" life at all. He prefers the life of a successful American businessman to that of a member of royalty . Although he's not perfect, Bo certainly has a more balanced outlook than his mother.

None of this is to suggest Betsy is a villain. To the contrast, the woman is unquestionably a victim. As we head into Thanksgiving, though, it's good to note the importance of focusing on what we have, rather than what we don't. That's a lesson Betsy could learn, but so could the rest of us. We all get overwhelmed by our expectations, after all. Betsy certainly isn't the only one guilty of that shortcoming.

*To pick up a copy of American Socialite, simply click on the link below.

https://www.amazon.com/American-Socialite-Sean-Crose/dp/B08C8RW7N4/?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_w=GSZ5q&pf_rd_p=07442e57-5bbc-4b36-bdb2-92a549250cee&pf_rd_r=52D1NRN2XHTVZF59CEHF&pd_rd_r=5196d49b-9598-4479-85fb-fd9607e91925&pd_rd_wg=7eCzd&ref_=pd_gw_ci_mcx_mr_hp_d

The Night Of Ellen Barbosa

 

       I was working on my thesis when the results started coming in. Within five minutes of intently watching cable news, everything else I was doing started seeming small and irrelevant. Sure, the waning influence of postmodernism may have been more challenging than glad handing on a daily basis, but Rob was clearly on his way to being elected to the United States Senate. Shots of his campaign headquarters periodically flashed across the screen, where many young, bright eyed individuals partied and waited patiently to bask in the glow of Rob’s sunshine. After half an hour, I logged off my laptop, knowing I would be unable to work for the rest of the evening.

         Still, I couldn’t abide sitting there in front of the idiot box, either. I had been alone since the divorce, after all. I hadn’t even dated. Now I just wasn’t capable of bringing myself to witness Rob’s nightlong moment of glory from the confines of my dark condo. Rob had some good reasons for leaving me, to be sure, but there were lots of not so good reasons, too – up to and including his ambition and his current wife, Kelly. In truth, I didn’t want to put myself through what I essentially saw as an entire awards ceremony Rob had garnered by virtue of leaving me. Yet I couldn’t turn the television off entirely, either. Who knows why (and the truth is that I really don’t want to know why), but I decided to keep it on with the sound off.

        It was from within this limbo state that I finally decided to take a bath. I couldn’t unload on Erica, after all. She was with her father at the moment, along with Kelly and her own two beautiful children that she had with Rob (actually, Kelly’s kids weren’t exactly beautiful…I just like to throw the word in there for effect). Surely Erica wouldn’t want to have an important evening spoiled by my telling her how down and out and second best and irrelevant her mother felt.  I wondered, however, if Erica might feel second best herself as the results poured in. No doubt she did – at least a little.

         As the water ran in the tub I began to ask myself if I could endure watching the victory speech. The truth was, I couldn’t. There Rob would be, standing with perfect Kelly and their children, adored, cheered and celebrated, while Erica would be somewhere slightly back and to the left. The thought sickened me to my core. Yet I also knew Erica would want me watching her. Sliding inside the tub, I told myself it wasn’t easy being a mother. I wished there was someone else I could share that nugget with, but there wasn’t. Actually, there was, but I didn’t want my friends thinking I was spending the evening choking on sour grapes.

         Ultimately, however, I decided to go to bed. I had my own psyche to worry about. Growing up, my mother had told me to always ask myself what Jesus would do. Needless to say, I couldn’t see Jesus condemning me for calling it an early night. I could watch Erica up there on a replay, after all, after the pain and bitterness had somewhat subsided. And so I slipped under the sheets at around ten, convinced I had done the right thing.

         At around three in the morning, I was awoken by Sandy, who seemed to be having some kind of Golden Retriever nightmare at the foot of the bed. She settled down after a few, but by then I had suddenly found myself wanting, no, NEEDING, to know about Rob’s victory. Call me a masochist, but my curiosity demanded I see a headline, a picture, something. Giving into temptation, I took hold of my iPhone from the nightstand.

         Rob had lost by over ten thousand votes to Ellen Barbosa. The western part of the state, which wasn’t counted until last, had rallied behind her. It was, to be sure, an upset. Needless to say, that was one of the happiest moments of my life, one I remain guilty for cherishing, why, I’m still not sure. Perhaps it’s because Kelly’s kids looked so despondent up there on stage during Rob’s concession speech. You can tell the little squirts had expected so much.

         That was Rob for you.

American Socialite Characters - Bo Bonaparte: The Renegade Son

The man himself.

One of the more interesting things about writing American Socialite was discovering the paradoxes that surrounded Betsy Bonaparte. Both in the historical record and in the pages of my novel, Betsy often comes across as a walking contradiction. For instance, her husband Jerome abandons her and her  son because she's not royalty, yet she goes on to insist later in the book that her son only marry a member of royalty himself. When her son, named Bo, decides to marry a commoner instead, Betsy's entire world falls apart on her. For Betsy, whatever her charms and fine qualities might be, simply cannot see beyond the expectations she has set for herself and others.

 Bo, on the other hand, doesn't long for what Betsy does. A royal marriage simply isn't something that interests him, at least not enough to keep him from marrying Baltimore heiress Susan May Williams. Although being an heiress might not be enough for Betsy, Bo wants the person he wants, regardless of social stature. Not that it's easy to for him to arrive at that conclusion. Betsy isn't the sort of person you want to cross. This is particularly true if you are her own offspring. Still, Bo decides, underhandedly at first, to choose his own path. 

 This ends up being the final blow for Betsy in the novel. First her husband abandoned her, now her son has disappointed her. She lives a life of elegance, luxury, and prestige, and associates with royalty,  intellectuals, and the great movers and shakers of her day, but her world has crumbled around her. Bo's decision to marry the woman he loves rather than someone his mother might approve of triggers in Betsy a long decline which ultimately leads to the realization that her expectations are no longer worth being enslaved to. Not that Bo is an angel throughout the proceedings. He shamefully keeps Betsy in the dark about his marriage, then has to be convinced to reach out to her by his wife - the same wife who Betsy has rejected.

 What's striking to me about both the real and fictional Bo is the fact that he's not a bad person. In fact, he's a refreshingly independent person. Even his unwillingness to confront his mother head on comes from a place of fearfulness rather than a place of genuine disrespect. Betsy is formidable in her quest to see her expectations come to fruition. She is, ironically enough, as rigid in her expectations as Napoleon, the man who caused her marriage to evaporate, was. Little wonder Bo is hesitant to challenge Betsy's expectations in an upfront manner. The fact that he gets around to doing the right thing - albeit belatedly - tells the reader something about the man's character. 

To buy American Socialite, simply click on the link below:

https://www.amazon.com/American-Socialite-Sean-Crose/dp/B08C8RW7N4

American Socialite Characters - Jerome Bonaparte: The Rogue Husband

 

I always try to be fair when I write. I feel we live in an era where so many writers are so consumed with "telling it like it is" that they ignore their own unfairness and biases. Still, it was hard for me to be fair to Jerome Bonaparte, the man who married Betsy Patterson, then abandoned her and their soon to be born son for a life of Imperial glory. Such people are hard to like by their very nature. Both in my novel, American Socialite, and in the historical record, Napoleon's younger brother is a rogue. There's simply no other way to put it. 

The historical Jerome abandoned his responsibilities as a French naval officer, married Betsy, a young American girl from a wealthy family, got her pregnant, then left her high and dry with their child because Napoleon, his French Emperor brother, preferred him to marry into royalty. Jerome did indeed wed again, while he was still legally married to Betsy, in fact. This time his wife was a princess, someone more to Napoleon's liking. Jerome went on to have five or six more children - some with his second wife and some with other women - and continued to find himself in positions of power long after his notorious older brother was sent off into exile and died.  Needless to say, history has not looked kindly on the man. 

Still, people are not made up entirely of their flaws. Jerome's letters to Jerome Junior, who was his son with Betsy, exude genuine warmth and even concern for the future of the young man, who was known as "Bo." This can't be denied. It's also worth noting that Jerome is reported to have been valiant on the battlefield. That's no small thing, especially when one has soldiers under one's command, as Jerome did. For these reasons - as well as the fact that I don't believe any one person is all good or all bad - I've tried to present Jerome as even handedly as possible in American Socialite.

The Jerome in my novel is actually not a bad man - he's simply a weak man thoroughly helpless in the face of his desire to lead the good life. Jerome does indeed have pangs of conscience in American Socialite. Those pangs, though, aren't as strong as his personal desires. Weakness defines him. Jerome would be a tragic figure if there weren't so much familial damage left in his wake. His wife, Betsy, is abandoned while his son, Bo, is left without a father. Rogues can be charming, but they're ultimately quite destructive. 

To order a copy of American Socialite, simply click on the link below:

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08C8RW7N4?pf_rd_r=R2GDB8SF22VS9D6PSCND&pf_rd_p=edaba0ee-c2fe-4124-9f5d-b31d6b1bfbee     

American Socialite Characters - Napoleon: The Most Feared Person On Earth

In American Socialite, Betsy is thrilled at the thought of being married to a Bonaparte. The Bonaparte family, after all, is arguably the most prestigious family on earth. Not only are the Bonaparte's royalty, the most notable Bonaparte, Napoleon, is the single most powerful person on the planet. The man is a military genius - and a political genius, to boot. The fact that she is about to marry Napoleon's younger brother Jerome convinces Betsy that she's about to live a life beyond anything she could imagine. 

What Betsy learns all too soon is that Napoleon, despite whatever positive characteristics he may have, is not a nice guy. The same could well be said of Napoleon in real life. He may have been brilliant, but Napoleon was in the business of taking what wasn't his. He became the leader of France courtesy of a coup. As if that weren't enough, the man ended up conquering large swaths of Europe and beyond. What's more, Napoleon's will and craving for power, coupled with his obvious talents, meant that he always seemed to want more. The guy was indeed the most frightening person on earth. 

By the time Betsy - both in real life and in the pages of American Socialite - married Jerome, Napoleon had his eyes set on conquering England. He wasn't able to pull that stunt off, so he then set his sights on Russia. He wasn't able to pull that stunt off, either. Napoleon, however, was simply not a man to be deterred. After being sent by his enemies into exile, Napoleon escaped, returned to France, and set the world back into turmoil again. It wasn't until his final defeat at the Battle of Waterloo that Napoleon was stopped once and for all. 

My portrayal of Napoleon in American Socialite probably can't be considered flattering, though I do try to be fair to the man. Ultimately, I think it's worth asking ourselves what it is about people like Napoleon that allow them to become the menaces they inevitably do. Perhaps it's the promise they exude, the belief that those who join them can somehow partake of a truly special moment in time. Or perhaps it's just a desire to be a part of a winning movement (look no further than those sports fans who suddenly start adoring a recently successful team).

One thing that's certain is Betsy, both in the historical record and in American Socialite, is enthralled with what Napoleon represents. I've presented her in my novel as a person so overwhelmed by her personal desire and ambition that she's blind to all other matters (just like Napoleon). Bad choices, however, can lead to personal growth. The question in American Socialite is whether or not Betsy will allow herself that growth. 

To order a copy of American Socialite, simply click on the link below:

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08C8RW7N4?pf_rd_r=R2GDB8SF22VS9D6PSCND&pf_rd_p=edaba0ee-c2fe-4124-9f5d-b31d6b1bfbee     

Hypocrisy In American Socialite...And In Our Everyday Lives

So, as I toil away here in the very early planning stages of my new novel, it's occurred to me that one of my characters - the guy doesn't even have a name yet - feels that his success in life is simply part of the natural order of things. He's supposed to have money, respect and prestige because of the social class he's been born into. Or so he thinks. Without going into too much detail, my novel will deal with a society spiraling towards a violent collapse. Which means my character will feel exceedingly threatened. 

The more I think about it, though, the more I realize we're all at least somewhat like this character I've yet to fully create. We live in bubbles, real or imagined, and are uncomfortable when someone arrives who we think might disrupt what we feel is the right and natural order of things. We don't have to live in the upper echelon of society to feel this way, though being a part of an elite circle certainly can give us the power to battle what we feel threatened by. 

For example, in my novel American Socialite (as well as in the historical record) French Emperor Napoleon muscles his brother Jerome into divorcing Betsy Bonaparte. Napoleon is of royal blood, while Betsy is an American commoner, one from a wealthy family to be sure, but a commoner nonetheless. She is, in other words, a threat to the world Napoleon wishes to maintain and expand. What makes the whole thing so ironic is that Betsy essentially sees the world the same way Napoleon does. She believes there is a natural order to things, which is why she goes on to want the son she had with Jerome to only marry a member of royalty. After all, she reasons, Jerome is of royal blood. Therefore, it's only natural that Jerome's son would marry accordingly.

This line of thinking rightfully strikes the contemporary reader as idiotic in the extreme. One is not superior or inferior to anyone else by virtue of birth. Yet it's worth wondering how we ourselves are like Betsy in our own unique ways. A reader of American Socialite informed me that he felt Betsy was a hypocrite. That was a valid argument. For Betsy bitterly reacts to Napoleon's defense of his bubble when he causes Jerome to abandon her, but she also eventually expects her own son to adhere to the same worldview that drove Napoleon.

Aren't each of us, though, often guilty of such hypocrisy, albeit not on such a grand scale? How many times have we felt the pain of rejection from a group while also being guilty of wanting others excluded from groups we ourselves belong to? Human nature can be an inconsistent thing, be it in the world of Betsy Bonaparte or the less glamorous world we ourselves live in every day. 

To order a copy of American Socialite, simply click on the link below:

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08C8RW7N4?pf_rd_r=R2GDB8SF22VS9D6PSCND&pf_rd_p=edaba0ee-c2fe-4124-9f5d-b31d6b1bfbee     

How Deep Research Helps Me Write

And so I've begun work on a new novel. Upon publication of American Socialite, I decided to take the rest of the summer off after a blast of grassroots marketing. Of course, the marketing will continue, but now the creative part of my mind is focused on my next book. That means I'm doing research. Not just any kind of research, but what I like to call Deep Research. I prefer to go beyond the normal bounds of learning about the subjects I use in my fiction. I like to reach the point of absorption. It's similar to method acting, only there's no acting involved and I obsess on the task before me on a complete 24/7 cycle. 

I started doing this kind of detective work back when I worked on a screenplay about my hero, Joan of Arc. My Deep Research for that project took me everywhere from New York City to France, and led to my studying everything from Renaissance courtrooms to 15th century shoes, to what kind of flowers people back in Joan's own era cultivated. Since that time, I've felt I've cheated when I didn't dive head first into the far end of the research pool for a project. For American Socialite, I read Betsy Bonaparte's own letters, got information on the obscure names she mentioned in them, studied the layout of Baltimore at the time, and even taught myself about the fine dining practices of the era. And that was just for starters. 

I feel this kind of work puts the reader in the world better than a cursory examination of people and places will. Deep Research also allows my to really understand the world of my characters. What's more, it provides me with a sound foundation whereupon I can decide what real life material to keep and what to fictionalize for the overriding and all important good of the story. To me, research isn't homework. It's a month's and sometimes year's long vacation of the mind. If I'm not living in the background of my work in progress, then I'm not doing my job properly. I'm also not getting everything out of what should be the most entertaining aspect of the book writing process. Research, believe it or not, is captivating and can be intensely fun. 

Unlike my first two novels, my new novel won't be centered in the 1700's or 1800's. Instead, it will largely take place in the pop art culture of the 1960's. That's such a jump in time that my new novel will barely even qualify as being historical. Still, I'm engaging in Deep Research yet again, for I need to absorb everything I should about the people and world I'm going to write of. Everything. Otherwise, I won't be doing my job. 

To grab a copy of my latest novel, American Socialite, just click on the link below:

 https://www.amazon.com/American-Socialite-Sean-Crose/dp/B08C8RW7N4/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

Betsy Bonaparte And The "It Factor"

I think it's safe to say we all wish we had it at some time or other - even though we probably can't even define it. I'm talking about the "It Factor," which to me is that ethereal, illusive something that draws people to an individual. I've read that the It Factor has to do with talent and ability, but to me it has more to do with personality. Ability and talent are important, of course, but all things being equal, a person with the It Factor has a leg up on the competition. Like most people, I know what the It Factor is when I see it, but am perfectly unable to define it. 

Perhaps the It Factor is best put as something unique about an individual that elevates that person to be more attractive than the rest of us. Strangely enough, the attractiveness doesn't have to be physical. There may be beautiful stars, co-workers, friends, and family members who have the It Factor, but many do not. The one person I know of who most certainly possesses the It Factor is neither young nor attractive. He gets preferential treatment, however, wherever he goes. And if he finds himself somewhere where people aren't particularly impressed, he simply moves on to somewhere else where most people will be. 

Betsy Bonaparte, the subject of my novel America Socialite, most certainly has the It Factor. Jerome Bonaparte, the brother of the feared and powerful French conqueror Napoleon, asks her to be his wife even though he could probably choose countless other woman on earth. And even when her marriage disastrously and suddenly falls apart ("explodes" might be a better way of putting it), Betsy, an American commoner, is still taken in, beloved and helped by those of the upper echelon of European society. Just how much of an It Factor does Betsy have? Enough to say no to a king's invitation.

Yet Betsy is not entirely happy. Nor is she entirely successful in achieving her dreams. Perhaps having the It Factor leads to a set of expectations that can never be fully realized. American Socialite is ultimately a novel about expectations, how they can negatively impact us, even when it appears we're operating miles above the rest of the world. Could it be that too-high expectations are a great equalizer, as even the It Factor can't seem to prevent their destructive impact? Maybe. Then again...

You can pick up American Socialite by clicking on the link below:

https://www.amazon.com/American-Socialite-Sean-Crose/dp/B08C8RW7N4/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr= 

How An Obscure, 20-Plus Year Old Article Led To The Creation Of My Novel

"How long did it take you to write it?"

It's a question I get all the time since my novel American Socialite was published this summer. The answer is harder to give than it seems. Although I started writing American Socialite in December of 2018 and finished my final revision in June of 2020, there's a lot more to the story. For the publication of American Socialite marked the end of a journey that began in November of 1997. That may have been a long time ago - who am I kidding, it was - but to me it still seems like yesterday. 

It was right around Thanksgiving. Princess Diana had died a few months earlier and the Lewinsky Scandal was a few months away from exploding. I remember it as being a period of brief respite from a deep depression I was in, a time of impending holidays, Jamiroquai, and rumors that James Cameron's upcoming historical film about an ill fated voyage was about to become a box office bomb (so much for the accuracy of box office predictions). Overall, however, I look back on it as a time when I received the most recent issue of American History Illustrated. Actually, it's an article from that particular issue that stays in my mind the most. 

For, in the pages of that edition, was a story about an obscure woman who had every right to be well remembered, a scandalous American girl who had made her way into the glamour of European high society. It was a story I found both tragic and comical. Most importantly, though, it was a story that had the WOW factor about it. Here was a person who was bold, charming, glamorous and stubborn all at once. Never had a I read of someone like this before. Her name was Elizabeth Patterson Bonaparte, and I was hooked. 

I knew right away I had to write about Elizabeth - or Betsy, as she was commonly known. Yet, strangely enough, I never wanted to write a nonfiction work about her. Betsy, who left America on the arm of Napoleon's brother, only to be abandoned, deserved more. After all, even as a deserted wife and mother, Betsy had managed to make herself world renowned - a true celebrity if ever there was one. How then, I wondered, should the subject be treated? 

For years, I dreamed of and dabbled with writing out Betsy's story as a screenplay. The whole thing just struck me as very cinematic. The script never came to fruition, though. All these years later, I know why - it's a hard story to write. There isn't only Betsy the scandalous socialite, but also Betsy the political pawn, Betsy the parent, Betsy the business woman and, eventually, Betsy the aging celebrity. No wonder there's so few novels and movies about her - her story is a monster to write in narrative form. 

Once I decided to present Betsy's story as a novel, however, the narrative finally took shape. Even more importantly, I was able to see myself in the story. The truth is, I put myself in my fiction. I'm there, whether it's the ballroom, the battlefield, the bedroom, or the kitchen. Fiction isn't only art and entertainment, it's therapy for the author. . 

If I can add anything else to this rather odd tale, it's that sometimes it's worth the wait. Whether it's twenty minutes or twenty-plus years, timing can be essential. We writers have to make sure we're writing the right thing at the right time. Also, we can never be afraid to recognize when something - be it an article, situation, or moment in time - grabs us. That something may prove to be invaluable.

*You can buy American Socialite by clicking on the link below:

https://www.amazon.com/American-Socialite-Sean-Crose/dp/B08C8RW7N4/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

My Hard Earned "American Socialite" Vacation Is Nearly Over

Gotta make sure there's still time for kayaking

After the initial rush that came with the launch of my novel American Socialite (marketing my book, gauging reactions, keeping an eye on sales), I decided to take the rest of the summer off. That didn't mean I was going to stop logging into work each day at Post University or cease writing articles for Boxing Insider. It simply meant that, rather than obsess over American Socialite's journey through the book selling process, I would instead swim, kayak, nap, eat, and drink. Needless to say, I've done all those things over the past several weeks, and have had a pretty damn good time doing them.  

With September right around the corner, though, I realize that it's almost time to get back in the figurative saddle. A new semester is about to start - that means a new term with new students. The weather's about to change, too. Going to Lake Quassapaug five days a week is about to be replaced by swimming laps at the YMCA. What's more, the sport of boxing is heating up after a long, COVID induced drought, and I've got to do some deep research on Edith Wharton for an article I'm working on for The Berkshire Edge. Perhaps most importantly, though, I've got to get back into gear as a novelist.

Don't get me wrong...I haven't been slacking. I just feel Hemingway may well have been right when he referred to creativity in terms of a well. I can be productive to the point I risk having  the well begin to drain and the quality of my work suffer. I only want to produce fiction when the PASSION is there, which means I sometimes have to force myself to take a break. Again, this isn't laziness - in fact, it's more like torture, for a writer is never more comfortable than when writing. Needless to say, I have the idea for my next novel all lined up. I just have to be sure there's enough water in my well for what promises to be a long, hard journey. 

And then, of course, there's the matter of American Socialite, a novel that's only been on the market for less than two months. It's already selling well, but like all authors, I want my work to sell better than it is. Which means I'm going to need to buckle down and prepare for the second round of salesmanship that awaits me in the very near future. With all this in mind, I suppose I better savor the remaining days of summer while they last - busy times are around the corner. 

To pick up your copy of American Socialite, just click on the link below. 

https://www.amazon.com/American-Socialite-Sean-Crose/dp/B08C8RW7N4

The Joys Of Self Publishing My Novels

 And so now my second novel, American Socialite, has been on the market for just over a month and is doing quite well for itself. I wasn't sure this would be the case. We're in the middle of a pandemic, after all, one that finds a lot of people out of work. What's more, these are tumultuous times. To make things all the more uncertain, I've never written anything like American Socialite before. My first novel, The Regulator, was set against the turmoil of Shay's Rebellion. American Socialite, on the other hand, is based on the true story of Napoleon's scandalous, strong willed American sister in law. Although both novels take place in the earlier days of the United States, they are nonetheless world's apart.

Needless to say, my worries proved to be unfounded. As of my writing this entry, American Socialite is tracking to sell better than The Regulator did- and The Regulator sold surprisingly well. Frankly, I have to give Amazon some credit here. I say Amazon specifically, because that was the entity I chose to publish my work through. There are other outlets for authors to use, of course. The main point is that self-publishing has proved to be quite rewarding for me. This is perhaps the biggest surprise of all. If you had asked me just two short years ago if I would be happy being a self published author, I'd have probably pushed out my chest and shaken my head. Now, though, I've seen the light.

Not only has self-publishing allowed me to see my work in print and on Kindle, it's given me incredible freedom. I get to decide when my work is ready to get out into the world. I get to decide how it will be presented to the market. I even get to decide what cover to use. Important and inspiring stuff. Although I wouldn't recommend anyone self publish until their work is as strong as possible, I would highly recommend self publishing for a person whose book is ready to go. 

The Regulator, my first novel, has an interesting history behind it. The right kind of people (meaning those on the inside of the publishing racket) liked it. Ultimately, though, no one wanted to put the money up to bring it out into the world. Having already known what it's like to get my writing published for money thanks to my short fiction and work as a boxing journalist, I ultimately decided to go it alone through Amazon publishing. I was hesitant, however. Would people really want to buy a self published work? Would they even take it seriously? In the end, would anyone actually want to read my book?

Apparently, people did.  What's more, I enjoyed the experience of self publishing so much, I never even attempted to have my new novel, American Socialite, get into the hands of a publisher. The novel launched in mid-July on Amazon, and I've been thoroughly pleased with the results. I've got my third novel already in mind and will start seriously working on it at the end of summer. Until the, I'll simply enjoy the success of American Socialite, and let people know that quite often, self publishing is indeed the way to go. 

*You can pick up American Socialite by clicking on the kink below:

https://www.amazon.com/American-Socialite-Sean-Crose/dp/B08C8RW7N4

How History Is Only The Starting Point for "American Socialite"

Just days away.

These are frightening times. I don't think anyone can rightly deny it. Times have been frightening before, however. Really frightening. Those who still remember living through the Depression and Second World War could probably teach the rest of a thing or two about living through the worst of periods...in a way we could relate to, no less. That's what's cool about history - we can look at it and see ourselves looking right back at us.

As I've said before, it's my belief that humans are essentially constructed the same way. We all have the same emotional traits and reactions in our possession. We certainly deal with them differently, but I challenge you to find a person who hasn't been scared, or happy, or bored, or aroused. That person doesn't exist. Times change - but people, by and far, don't.

That's why I enjoy penning historical fiction. I can actually put myself into the past. Rather than grind out stories about my own experiences, hoping someone, somewhere, somehow finds them interesting, I can place my obsessions within the context of a particularly colorful venue. That being said, I'm particularly pleased with the subject of American Socialite, which will be on sale next Thursday.

Elizabeth "Betsy" Bonaparte (1785-1879) was a real life person, one of the most colorful I'd ever read of. For years I found her's to be a story that was dying to be told. But the story offered to be so much more than places and people and dates. The story offered to provide  insight into the human experience we all live through. Hence, I  simply used the facts as a starting point and made American Socialite a novel. Not just any novel, but a novel of extreme highs and searing lows, of explosive international events and the quiet moments we all find ourselves reflecting in.

Mainly, though, American Socialite is a book about a woman who chooses to do things her way rather than someone else's. Her willfulness takes her to the peak of elite society, but also brings with it extreme  consequences. Betsy is a character with sky high expectations. Whether or not those expectations are met can only be revealed in the reading. If I do say so myself, the reading is well worthwhile.

"All good books have one thing in common," said Ernest Hemingway, "they are truer than if they had really happened." I believe those words ring pretty true in this case.

My 7 Amazing (Or Not) Rules For Writing A Novel

Elizabeth Bonaparte, who American Socialite is based on.

With the publication of my second novel, American Socialite, just around the corner, I've hunkered down to give my book that last shot of intense attention it needs before it's fired off into the world. I'm currently working with a cover artist, carefully giving the manuscript a final read over (the most grueling part of the entire process, by far) and am trying to promote the novel as effectively as possible.

With so much going on, though, I thought it would be good to let off some steam. I recently read articles from a well known publication where famous writers presented their 7 best pieces of writing advice. While I'm far from famous myself, I thought it would be fun to take a break and present 7 rules of my own.

And so, with no further ado, here are:

My 7 Amazing (Or Not) Rules For Writing A Novel

1. Only write something you're truly excited about.
2. Become an expert (or close to an expert) on whatever your subject is.
3. Don't rush, either to start or to finish. 
4. Except when you're in the zone. Then put the pedal to the metal.
5. Give your novel theme songs that you play on loop while working on it. 
6. Take breaks from your novel when needed.
7. Revise and polish until you think you might be losing it. Then take the hint your mind is giving you and wrap it up.

Each writer has her or her own process, of course, but this one certainly works for me.

Remember to pick up American Socialite at Amazon.com when it goes on sale July 16th!

American Socialite Is On The Way

Hi Everyone:

I'm pleased to announce that on July 16th, my new novel, American Socialite, will be available at Amazon. This is a work I think you'll find quite interesting.

A product of the newly formed United States, Betsy Patterson wants more. She may be the daughter of a wealthy Baltimore merchant, but  Betsy feels life in America is a completely dull affair. Educated by her mother, Betsy longs for the finer things in life. Swept off her feet by Jerome Bonaparte, brother of the infamous French leader Napoleon, Betsy finds herself being offered entrance into a world beyond her wildest dreams.

Napoleon, however, has other plans.

Set against the elaborate backdrop of American and European high society, American Socialite is a tale of determination and intrigue. Based on an incredible true story, it leaps from continent to continent, from elaborate balls to luxurious places, from world changing events to one woman's desire to lead the life she's set out for herself - no matter what the cost.

At present time, my goal is to keep all of you up to date as the narrative makes the journey from manuscript to finished product.

Things are moving fast, but I'll be keeping everyone abreast.

Pancho Villa And The Dodge Touring Car

The lavish hacienda proves to the world that you are a man of importance, as does your wealth and your ever present team of bodyguards. You no longer feel important, though, not like you did during the Revolution when your army was the great power of northern Mexico. What times those were. Federales to the south, the American army to the north, and there you were making deals with Hollywood studios. If only you had emerged victorious. If only you had won the war.

You make your way outside the cool recesses of the hacienda and step towards the 1919 Dodge Brothers Touring Car, where your secretary and several bodyguards await. You used to require dozens of men to travel into town with you. Now, however, you feel like you might as well be a salesman from the far end of Chihuahua. For all you know there isn't need for any bodyguards at all. Still, you feel it will be good to get away from the hacienda for a few hours. Sometimes it feels like a prison. Stepping inside the car, you tell yourself a prison is still a prison, no matter how beautiful it may be.

You decide to drive. The  Dodge is an impressive vehicle, one well worth driving, you feel. As you slowly pull away from the hacienda, you wonder if Obregon ever gets behind the wheel of a car. Probably not, you grunt in amusement. That paranoid bastard most likely spends his days worrying about who may take away his power. He certainly worried about you during the Revolution. He had good reason to, as well. Now, though, now that you've made peace and matters have settled down, it takes him weeks – weeks! – to even return a letter. You shake your head, then glance at Tamayo in the front passenger's seat. He's been your loyal secretary for years, and no doubt will remain so out of habit. There was a time, though – not all that long ago – where someone might literally kill Tamayo in order to take his place by your side.

The Dodge suddenly stalls. Your bodyguards instantly get off the sideboards and start pushing forward as you reignite the toe ignition. Not all that long ago, a stalled vehicle might have been cause for concern, even if it was only still for a few seconds. Those days are over. Glancing at the mountainous backdrop as the Dodge resumes its journey towards town, you wonder what kind of greeting will await you once you arrive at Parral. Tamayo had tried to make a call to Lara, but found that the lines were down. Life is nothing, you conclude, if not a series of inconveniences. You’ll be happy to arrive at Parral though, happy to see Lara and the troops. You push down on the gas until the vehicle is cruising at around forty miles an hour. High speeds used to be a must. Now you simply want to get to town.

Yet Parral seems much different today. As soon as you cross Barrera Street, you notice the entire town is quiet, quiet in a way you’ve never seen. You almost wish you had stayed at the hacienda, as your mind is going back to times when fifty bodyguards would lead you through the streets as people thronged to see you, to wave to you, to share eye contact with you. How it all seemed so natural at the time. How unnatural you realize it all was now. You can’t get to Lara and his men soon enough. With them you will be appreciated. With them your deeds will be remembered. Only fifteen minutes later, the duty officer informs you Lara and his men aren’t at the base. They’re off on maneuvers up in the mountains. Getting back behind the wheel of the Dodge, you turn to Tamayo and shake your head.

“I’m forgotten,” you tell him.

“Nonsense,” he replies. “Remember, the phone lines are down.”

“I told him last week I was coming.”

You turn the Dodge  around, and head up Juarez Street towards home. Your mind begins to wander as you drive through the lifeless town. You were the center of  attention once. Some glorified you for helping the poor, for fighting the oppressors. Others hated you for using a justifiable cause to engage in diabolical behavior. How many people, you wonder, did you kill in cold blood, not in combat, but in cold blood? How much criminal behavior did you engage in simply to further a cause you believed in? Enough that you used to make sure no one ever walked behind you. And now, you think, you can’t even get attention while driving through the middle of Parral.

A elderly gentleman suddenly steps forward.

“Viva Villa!” he yells with a smile as you slow the Dodge to a halt.

You smile back, happy that someone, yes someone, finally remembers you, feels the need to grab your attention, to take it upon himself to call out your name in praise. It actually, you feel, makes the entire journey worth while. Less than a second later, forty bullets rip through the car, killing everyone inside, as well as those riding on the sideboards.

Emulating Cody

The WGC - There Will Never Be Another

      One of my fonder memories of the last stages of her life would be holding her before I went into the shower. I’ve always been an odd duck; and, one of the things I loved to do each night is to literally sit on the bathroom floor and listen to the water run inside the shower before hopping in and washing up. Cody would step into the bathroom sometimes and approach me. I would pick her up and hold her in my arms right there on the floor. She could hear the water running right behind her head, but Cody trusted me enough to resist her feline impulse to get away. She would simply rest there in my arms, looking up, content.

      Cody, who I’ve long referred to as the WGC – the World’s Greatest Cat – passed away last Sunday. We were with her for almost ten years. Needless to say, my wife and are grieving. Profoundly. We’re told the grief will lessen, but I doubt it will ever go away. Frankly, I don’t think it should, at least not entirely. For Cody was one of us. She, my wife, and I were a unit, a team. Our home didn’t consist of a couple with a pet. It consisted of a family of three. And an immediate member of that family is now gone. There’s probably a better word than “sad” to describe how I’m feeling at the moment, but I can’t think of one. To be frank, I’ve never felt so sad in my life.

      Yet, all is not darkness. It rarely is. Although Jen and I are in mourning, we’re blessed with the realization that we had someone truly special in our lives. I used to tell Cody she was a gift from God – because she was. Happy to see us, even when we were at our worst, trusting of us to a fault, and affectionate (not always a common trait among felines), Cody made sure we knew she was among us, was one of us, that we were important to her. This ability to make her presence felt extended beyond asking for “wet treats” and whipped cream. “Time to wake up Sean,” Jen would tell her in the morning, and off she’d go to the bedroom to rouse me. Cody didn’t want anything in particular. She just wanted me up and about with the rest of the family. She didn’t need to do it, but she did.

      Cody made you feel special.

      And that, I suppose, is the lesson from all this. We ache for all those we love and lose, but those who elevate us, who make us feel more special than we deserve to, who want us around when no one else in their right mind would want to be near us, truly are treasures that should be cherished – even after they’re gone. Jen and I fervently hope and pray we see Cody again. Until then, though, we have to move on, keep her memory alive, and – yes – take a lesson from her time with us. For those who elevate others through their love and actions are not only worthy of our praise, they’re worth emulating, as well.