Giacomo & Slick

Thumbs Up

I was reading a book the other night, and when I finished I went to write a review for it. I wondered, does this get a “thumbs up” or a “thumbs down?” Since it was a damn good book I gave it a thumbs up. But did I do right?

Whenever I see the symbols on a movie rating or a product, I’m left to wonder—is that a good or bad thing? In the US, the ubiquitous thumbs up symbol means a good thing. Movies are ranked with the symbols, politicians seem to flash the thumbs up sign at every occasion, and it’s become standard fare in sports, by both players and spectators. But…did you know the whole “thumbs up” meaning is wrong?

What Does Thumbs Up Mean?

The gesture stems from the old gladiator days, when the editor, (one in charge of the games) had the final say on the fate of a fallen gladiator. The editors were people of high rank, usually a senator, a consul, or even the emperor.

You might not be surprised to learn that politics has been around a long time, and it was firmly established in ancient Rome, so the editors, being savvy politicians, normally sought the favor of the crowd. They would listen to what the public wanted, at least in public. In ancient Rome, when a gladiator lay helpless on the ground, his victor poised above him with sword in hand awaiting a signal, the crowd would vote with their thumbs.

• The thumbs up signal was accompanied by a shout of iugula, which meant—kill him. (Some scholars believe the signal was more of a turned thumb and not a straight-up thumb gesture. The symbol signified a sword thrust up into the heart.)
• A thumbs down signal followed the shouts of mitte, or let him go. (Signified that the victorious gladiator should lay his sword down.)

Pollice Verso

Origin of Thumbs Down

In either case, the thumbs down gesture meaning to kill, seems to have gained popularity based on a painting “Pollice Verso” done in 1872,  by Jean-Léon Gérôme.

As you can see from the painting, the crowd has their thumbs down, and the gladiator is looking for a sign from the editor of the games. His opponent’s fate awaits that decision. But the painting doesn’t clearly show the fate of the fallen gladiator, and people assumed the thumbs down meant death.

Popularity

The thumbs up symbol as a good thing didn’t gain wide acceptance until after World War II. There are several stories as to how this happened and it might be that both contributed.

• One story mentions the China-based Flying Tigers who adopted the signal from the Chinese who used it to show appreciation.
• Another story attributes it to the pilots on aircraft carriers who used the thumbs up sign to indicate they were ready to “go up.”

In either case, the American GIs picked up on it and spread it throughout Europe. It soon became the one sign to mean “good” or “all is well.” Combat pilots around the world still use this gesture today.

Misinterpretations

But just because we accept the thumbs up gesture as good doesn’t mean others do. If you’re traveling in Sardinia or parts of the Middle East, don’t give a thumbs up to thank someone for their kindness or to signal you liked their food.

According to Roger Axtell’s book, Gestures: The Do’s and Taboos of Body Language Around the World, there are many countries that find that particular gesture quite offensive. Many of the Middle Eastern countries do, as well as parts of West Africa, South America, Iran, and Sardinia. In some of these countries giving the thumbs up signal is equivalent to the ubiquitous use of the middle finger in our own society.

Bottom Line

As to my review of the book, I gave it a thumbs up. But who knows, if not for the painting by  Jean-Léon Gérôme, I might have given it a big thumbs down.

Ciao, and thanks for stopping by,

Giacomo

Giacomo Giammatteo is the author of MURDER TAKES TIME, MURDER HAS CONSEQUENCES, and A BULLET FOR CARLOS. He lives in Texas where he and his wife have an animal sanctuary with 45 loving “friends.”

Filed under: Life Lessons, Reading, sayings, Storytelling, Uncategorized, Writing by Giacomo
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Giacomo & Slick

Memories of a Great Teacher

I recently lost two of my favorite people in the whole world: Aunt Margaret, who passed away a few weeks shy of her 91^st birthday; and Aunt Rose, a few months before her 97^th. They were at the top of my list for a lot of reasons, but one of those reasons was for the knowledge they were so eager to pass on. Aunt Rose would share if you asked her; Aunt Margaret would share whether you asked or not. If you spoke to her for any length of time, you were going to learn something.

A Lot of Knowledge

Aunt Margaret was born “The baby of the family,” in 1922, and was the youngest of 11 children. She might have been the youngest, but I think she talked as much as all the others combined. From an early age she proved to be a “social bug” and found it easy to make friends with everyone, a characteristic she would nurture all of her life.

I talked frequently to Aunt Margaret, especially in the last 10 or 20 years of her life. We lived half a country apart, but we chatted almost every week, usually for half an hour, but sometimes for as much as an hour. She always had so much to say. One of her favorite stories was of when she was still a youngster in grade school.

A Lifelong Dream

Wedding Day

All of her life she dreamed of being a teacher. When she was younger she used to wait for my father to leave the house and then she would go to his Prince Albert cigar box (where he kept his prized marbles) and she would line the marbles up in rows on the floor, like desks in a classroom. The fanciest marble would be the teacher; the cat’s eyes were her best students; and the others—arranged by color—represented students at their desks. She would then pretend to teach class, repeating lessons from her own schoolwork, and often acting out admonitions for those “marbles” who misbehaved.

For years she dreamed of going to college so that she could become a teacher, but when the time came, her older brother, the patriarch of the family, wouldn’t let her. “College cost $350 a year,” he said. “There’s no money for a woman to go to college.” She would have been the first in her family to get a degree—if she’d been allowed to go—but she didn’t.

A Sign of the Times

Marbles

Back then there were a lot of things women didn’t do. And I’m always left to wonder how Aunt Margaret might have fared if she’d had the opportunities women have today. She was one of the most inquisitive people I know. And she knew how to get to the heart of a matter with just a few questions. My wife and I always joked that she would have made a fantastic detective. Put a criminal in an interrogation room with Aunt Margaret, and she’d get a confession, and without brass knuckles.

Or she could have been a Pulitzer Prize Journalist. I’m convinced of that. She not only had great inquisitiveness, but she was focused and had social skills to match. Her connections were outstanding, and if she’d have been born 70 years after she was, a senior position in Social Media Management would have been waiting at any number of companies.

Not Meant To Be

But the fact is, Aunt Margaret didn’t get to do any of that—because she was a woman. And back then women didn’t need to go to college. It’s a shame, because she would have made a wonderful teacher. I don’t blame my Uncle. I don’t think anyone blamed him. He did what he thought was best for the family at that time, based on the prevailing wisdom of that time.

So my question is this: What “prevailing wisdom” do we have in place today, and who is it keeping from achieving their dreams? Who are the “women” of today? And what are we keeping them from?

For far too many years we kept black people from good jobs, good education, just about anything. And today we have a black president. We’ve done the same to Latinos and almost every immigrant who has come here for the past 100+ years. We do it to people without degrees, and people who don’t speak the same as the rest of us.

Forty years ago, many parents scoffed at their kids playing games on those little things called computers. But it turned out to be those same inquisitive kids who blazed trails for the technology boom that followed shortly after that.

As a society, we need to open our minds more and embrace the things we don’t understand because, invariably, tomorrow we will not only understand them, we will need them.

Bottom Line

Margaret & Rose

As to Aunt Margaret—she might not have realized it, but she achieved her lifelong dream of becoming a teacher. Through her interactions with thousands of people, and her willingness to share what she knew, she enriched the lives of countless relatives and friends.

Nothing made me happier, and prouder, than hearing my grandson—her great grandnephew—tell someone that ‘he learned that from his Aunt Margaret.’ The amazing thing is he’d only met Aunt Margaret once. That’s the kind of impact she had.

Earlier, I said Aunt Margaret would have made a wonderful teacher. I misspoke. She was a wonderful teacher.

Ciao, and thanks for stopping by,

Giacomo

Giacomo Giammatteo is the author of MURDER TAKES TIME, MURDER HAS CONSEQUENCES, and A BULLET FOR CARLOS. He lives in Texas where he and his wife have an animal sanctuary with 45 loving “friends.”
What about you? Know any great teachers?

photo credit: quadrapop via photopin cc

Filed under: Family, Life Lessons, Storytelling, Uncategorized by Giacomo
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Aliza Giammatteo

When I read this article my daughter, Aliza, wrote I knew I had to share it. She is a professional genealogist, and she writes for five Italian American publications as a columnist. If I must say, she is not only a great genealogist, but a magnificent storyteller. I hope you enjoy this.

Giacomo

Standing on the Shoulders of Giants
Genealogy Search Auction Winner Finds Heroes in His Family Tree

Special Feature: Originally published in NIAF’s (National Italian American Foundation’s) Ambassador Magazine.

When Dr. Angelo Falcone placed the winning bid for the genealogy package at NIAF’s anniversary gala auction last October, he knew it included a family history search from my Italian genealogy company, Roots in the Boot. But he had no idea what surprises were in store.

Falcone thought his ancestors were all “peasant farmers from Montedoro, Sicily.” That turned out to be true on one branch of his family, but on the other branch we traced, we found an intriguing Sardinian “Don” and his story was…

One for the Record Books

Finding a Sardinian in the family tree was only the beginning of the surprises to come. While tracing Falcone’s Sicilian family back (to nearly the 1500s), we discovered that not only were his ancestors from the town of Montedoro, they were among the founding fathers of the town. It’s rare to be able to make that claim in Italy, where it’s more common for towns to have thousands of years of history than to have been founded in the early 1600s.

Falcone is planning an ancestry tour of Montedoro and will be able to bring hundreds of years of family history life, seeing the houses his ancestors lived in, the church they attended for centuries, all of which were detailed in the records.

Ordinarily, that would be the highlight of a family search, but with the Falcone story, it didn’t even make the cut.

The discoveries were fascinating, and Dr. Falcone, a Maryland physician, has graciously agreed to share the stories to demonstrate what unknowns might await someone in a family history search and how meaningful those discoveries can be.

The Mysterious Don Angelo

After tracing Falcone’s paternal Grandfather’s branch almost 400 years in Montedoro, we discovered that his wife’s branch, the Zandas, were in town 20 years or less. They may have emigrated from Montedoro, but it would have been a stretch to say they were from Montedoro.

Falcone’s grandmother’s father, Raimondo Zanda, was born in a town near Montedoro, called Sutera. And Raimondo’s father was Don Angelo Zanda, of Cagliari, Sardinia. When I first saw Don Angelo’s name and place of origin on his marriage record, bells started going off in my head.

I was curious about the honorific title of “Don,” when, according to the family’s oral history and more recent records, the Zandas were peasants. But that was a turbulent time in Italian history, and shifts in a family’s social status were more common than people think. Despite it piquing my curiosity, what puzzled me more was…

What was a Sardinian doing in the middle of Sicily’s sulfur mining district?

The Kingdom of Sardinia, located about 325 miles northwest of Sicily, was isolated geographically and linguistically, and in other ways. To see a Sardinian in a Southern Italian or Sicilian record is so rare that it set off all of my genealogical detective alarms.

When we began Falcone’s search, we hadn’t planned on researching the Zanda branch. But when I mentioned the mystery of Don Angelo to Falcone, and told him I suspected a story was behind that mystery, he gave me the green light to dig into the Zanda history. That began the quest to find Don Angelo’s story.

Carabiniere

A Carabiniere Reale (Royal Military Policeman), circa 1875. Falcone learned that his Great Great Grandfather, Don Angelo Zanda, was a Carabiniere Reale.

Rising to the Occasion

U.S. Naval Admiral William Frederick Halsey Jr. famously once said, “There are no great people in this world, only great challenges which ordinary people rise to meet.” That appears to be the case for Don Angelo Zanda, who was a member of the Royal Military Police Cavalry (a Carabiniere Reale a cavallo), which is how he ended up in Sutera, Sicily. To the best of our knowledge, he was stationed in Sicily circa 1866, not long after the unification of Italy.

Uprisings were common in the years following unification, and banditry was a severe problem. Evidence suggests that Don Angelo was sent to Sicily to help with law enforcement and peacekeeping. After he arrived, a bigger challenge arose—the great cholera epidemic of 1867. Sicily was hit the hardest, suffering more than 54,000 fatalities, almost half of all the cholera-related deaths in Italy.

Little was known about the cause of cholera outbreaks, and many Sicilians, who were notorious for being superstitious and distrusting of government officials, believed the Carabinieri were poisoning them and causing the deaths. So, in addition to tending to the afflicted, burying the dead and trying to sanitize the town, they often had to battle rebellious townspeople who refused to cooperate, rioted, and sometimes attacked and killed the Carabinieri who were trying to help them.

Cholera outbreak

Townspeople attacking Carabinieri as they try to rescue them from the cholera outbreak, from “Military Life in Italy: Sketches” by Edmondo De Amicis, 1892.

In a new and unfamiliar land where he didn’t speak the language, Don Angelo faced challenges of epic proportions. But he rose to the occasion and emerged a hero. We know this because the Kingdom of Italy awarded Don Angelo a bronze medal in recognition of his outstanding service to public health. This discovery was even more priceless considering that Dr. Angelo Falcone is a medical doctor with emergency care services across the state of Maryland and beyond. If anyone can appreciate Don Angelo’s heroism, it’s Falcone.

Then there was the real kicker (I did say this was “one for the record books,” didn’t I?): We learned that Falcone’s father, also named Angelo, was Don Angelo’s namesake. So, we can say that, by extension, Falcone is Don Angelo’s namesake too.

Sometimes when we go looking for ancestors, we end up finding ourselves.

Dr. Falcone and father

Dr. Angelo Falcone, left, with his father, Angelo Falcone, and son, Chance. Both Angelos were amazed to learn that their namesake was Don Angelo Zanda of Sardinia.

The Birth of a Dream

Speaking of the past meeting the present, just as I was thinking Falcone’s search couldn’t get any better, Don Angelo had one more surprise up his sleeve.

After his Carabiniere service, he married and started a family in Sutera, deep in sulfur-mining country. Sulfur mining was a tough business, which only a select few profited from. The rest suffered through what has been described as “hell on Earth.”

Sicily had a virtual monopoly on sulfur, delivering 95 percent of the world’s supply. The miners worked in dark, steaming-hot, mountain tunnels, reeking with the stench of sulfur. They were known to take a glass of wine as a diversion from their miserable work in the mines, and they needed a place to congregate.

Don Angelo devised what seemed like a great business plan at the time: working as a tavern keeper, selling beverages to the miners. But his dream was not be—at least not in his lifetime. Sulfur was soon discovered in mines outside of Sicily, and new technologies lessened demand. Combined with the instability of Italy’s economy, a “perfect storm” was brewing. Don Angelo found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But Don Angelo was not a quitter. We found records of him being in three different Sicilian towns in the span of 10 years, apparently searching for opportunities. His struggle during these years couldn’t be clearer from the records. His social decline was rapid—from tavern keeper, to farmer, to day laborer. And, finally, on his death record, in 1909, he was listed as having worked in those hellish mines in Montedoro.

Worst of all, his sweetheart, who stood by him while waiting a year for clearance to marry, died seven years before him in 1902. And with Montedoro quickly becoming a ghost town, and no opportunities in sight, his children made an agonizing decision—stay with their father or join their paesani in America.

Falcone Beverage Co.

Dr. Angelo Falcone’s grandparents, Calogera Zanda and Carmelo Falcone, started the family’s beverage distribution business in Pittston, Penn.

It takes a family: A dream revisited

It appears that Don Angelo’s children couldn’t leave their father behind. Ship records show the children’s names crossed out on the manifest (this typically means a ticket was bought but the passenger didn’t board).

Interestingly enough, the children were around the same age that Don Angelo was when he was sent to Sicily. And something tells me he was urging them to go to America, and seek new opportunities. But they refused to leave him.

The family’s solution was to pool their efforts and tag-team. For the next 10 years, we see a rotation of Don Angelo’s children in the ship records, with some staying in the United States for a few years (probably establishing a foundation and sending money back home), while the others stayed behind in Sicily taking care of Don Angelo. Then, they switched places, until they all finally made it to America.

It’s one of the most touching displays of what la famiglia really means that I’ve ever seen.

Just over 10 years after Don Angelo’s death, Falcone’s grandparents, Carmelo Falcone and Calogera Zanda, appear in the 1920 census in the coal-mining town of Pittston, Penn., owning a grocery store that sold beer to the miners. Sound familiar?

The store grew into a successful beverage distribution company that was run by the couple’s children, including Falcone’s father, Angelo, and sold to taverns in the area.

They took a page out of Don Angelo’s playbook and revived an old Sicilian—or should we say Sardinian—dream.

Standing on the Shoulders of Giants

When Falcone heard of these discoveries, he could barely find words to describe how he felt. He now has a deeper connection to his roots and a greater appreciation for all the opportunities that have been afforded to him, thanks to the efforts of la famiglia. Falcone said he was humbled by the generations that came before him. After he had time to absorb our findings, I asked him if he had any final impressions he wanted to share before I wrote this article.

The last line of his reply was: “We truly do stand on the shoulders on giants.”

We won’t all find a Don from Sardinia who was awarded a medal for his heroic efforts in our family history. But make no mistake, every family has its share of heroes, regardless of whether they have a title or a medal. The tag-teamers in Falcone’s family never got a medal. I hope this story suffices.

—

Special thanks to assistant researchers: Jim Cappo of Utah, and Riccardo Bruno of Ravina (Trento), Italy. It does take a family – and Roots in the Boot is grateful they are part of ours.

**
Aliza Giammatteo is the owner and lead researcher at Roots in the Boot, an Italian genealogy firm headquartered in Las Vegas, NV. She’s also a syndicated columnist and feature writer for Italian American publications throughout the US. To learn more about your roots in the Italian “boot”, visit: www.rootsintheboot.com, or contact us at: (646) 255-9565 or: info@rootsintheboot.com.

Filed under: Ancestry/Genealogy, Family, Life Lessons, Storytelling, Uncategorized by Giacomo
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Giacomo & Slick

What Her Eyes Have Seen

I lost My aunt rose a few weeks ago. Yes, that’s a sad thing, but the saddest thing was that she wasn’t just a dear aunt and wonderful person. What I lost was my own personal time machine, a magic mirror into the past.

Aunt Rose was born in 1916. She was 96 years old, and the last of my father’s generation for our family. “The last of the Mohicans,” she once said. Her oldest brother was born in 1898. She died in 2013, ending a generation that spanned 115 years, a little more than a century. In the almost 100 years Aunt Rose lived, she witnessed more change than at any time in history. I spoke with her often, listened with fascination as she told her stories. Her memory was remarkable up to the day she died. But as fascinating as her stories were, I couldn’t help thinking—my God, what it must have been like to have lived it.

The Timeline

• She was born before World War I.
• She was born before the automobile, when the streets were empty and people walked everywhere.
• She was born before talking movies, or the commercial use of radio, and long before TV.

No one had telephones in their house; in fact, just one year before she was born the first U.S. coast-to-coast long-distance telephone call was made by Alexander G. Bell. It was made possible by a newly-invented vacuum tube amplifier.

As I said, there was no such thing as a TV, and outside bathrooms were still a luxury that most people couldn’t afford. Most houses had no electric. It wasn’t until 1925 that half the houses in the country got electric.

Think of What That One Invention Meant:

• No electric coffee pots.
• No toasters.
• No lights (other than gas or candles).
• No refrigerators (just iceboxes).
• No garbage disposals, or hair dryers, hair curlers, and electric toothbrushes.
• No electric ovens or ranges.
• No radio…and countless other things.

If No Electric Wasn’t Bad Enough… 

Nylon stockings were 23 years away. It would be almost twenty years until there was a phone in Aunt Rose’s house. Portable phones were 70 years away. Cell phones another 15 or 20 behind that.

Think about the phone a minute…even as a teenager, no phone. And yet, two weeks before she died I spoke with her using FaceTime where we could see each other from 1600 miles away.

Airplanes were only in comic books. The Wright Brothers had invented the airplane a few short years before her birth, but no one dreamed of one day making flights across the country or boarding a plane for something like a vacation.

In 1916…

• The Russian Revolution hadn’t started yet.
• The United States wasn’t in the war.
• And that curse on all humanity, the Spanish Flu Pandemic, which ended up killing between 20–40 million people, was still two years away.
• It would be four years before the first commercial radio broadcast aired, coinciding with the Prohibition Era.
• It would be six years before insulin was discovered, something Aunt Rose would need later in life.
• Talking movies were invented the year after insulin.
• Neither Reader’s Digest nor Time Magazine were in existence, and it wasn’t until 1925 that Hitler published Mein Kampf, the same year the Scopes “Monkey” Trial began.

Aunt Rose

When Aunt Rose was 11 years old, Babe Ruth set his home-run record, and the first talking move, The Jazz Singer premiered. Lindbergh flew across the Atlantic in 1927 and early the next year, when Aunt Rose was 12, Bubble Gum was invented.

1928 Was a Big Year

Not only because of Bubble Gum, but it was the first Mickey Mouse Cartoon, the Oxford Dictionary was published, penicillin was discovered and sliced bread was invented. No more ripping those loaves apart with your hands.

Three years later, when she was 15, the Empire State Building was completed. She told me later in life that she dreamed of going to see it someday, but she remembered thinking that New York City was a long way off (120 miles) and she didn’t know how she’d ever get there. She eventually did get there, but back in 1931 it seemed like a long shot.

Six years after that, World War II began in Europe, followed two years later by the attack on Pearl Harbor. Just as Aunt Rose was about to turn 29, the United States dropped the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Technology

• In 1947 the Polaroid camera was invented.
• In 1950 the first credit card was introduced. It was called Diner’s Club.
• The next year color TV made an appearance.
• The polio vaccine was created in 1952, the beginning of many advances in the field of medicine.
• 1953 brought the discovery of DNA.

It wasn’t until 1954 that segregation was ruled illegal in this country, and it took many years after that for change to happen in reality.

The TV remote control was invented in 1956, but few could afford a TV, let alone one that would work with the new remotes. I remember marveling at the possibility of remote control when I was a kid; it seemed like magic.

I’m cutting off the timeline citations here. So much happened in the past 6 decades that it would take a small book to list them. Besides, I wanted to get back to…

Aunt Rose at 96

Aunt Rose

She outlived 10 siblings—3 sisters and 7 brothers. She outlived nieces and nephews, grandnieces/nephews, and even great grandnephews.

She lived in a time when she walked to work every day. She lived in a time when a person’s word was better than a contract rife with legalese. When it was taken for granted that if you did someone a favor it would be paid back, even though you didn’t expect it.

She lived in a time when, if a friend or relative was in trouble, people pitched in and helped. If a person lost their job, neighbors and friends brought food, sharing what little they had. Advice and comfort were always free.

She lived in a time that was better than now.

Some might argue that. I’ve had enough conversations with her to know that it was better, at least from her viewpoint. Maybe that’s why she finally went. Maybe she’s happier now.

My wife always said Aunt Rose was, above all else, a classy person. That she treated everyone with respect and respected everyone she met. When all is said and done, what more could anyone ask.

The Bottom Line

Last night I celebrated Aunt Rose’s life. I opened up a bottle of plain old Chianti and shared a few glasses with her, through my memories. Chianti is nothing fancy, but it’s a good solid, reliable wine. A wine that’s been around for a long, long time. It seemed appropriate.

For anyone who is interested, I did another post about Aunt Rose last year. You can find it here.

Ciao, and thanks for listening,

Giacomo

Giacomo Giammatteo is the author of MURDER TAKES TIME, MURDER HAS CONSEQUENCES, and A BULLET FOR CARLOS. He lives in Texas where he and his wife have an animal sanctuary with 45 loving “friends.”

Filed under: Ancestry/Genealogy, Family, Life Lessons, Storytelling, Uncategorized by Giacomo
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Giacomo & Slick

What Are You Afraid Of?

I was reading a thriller book a while back and there were a few scenes dealing with snakes that made my skin crawl. No, not in the creepy crawly way you’re thinking of, but in shock that a writer would put such nonsense in a book. All it would have taken was a little research, or a brief conversation with a herpetologist, or anyone knowledgeable about snakes, to get it right. I understand why the author did it. Snakes are a popular target, meaning a huge percentage of potential readers will be afraid of them, which makes it easy to get the emotional juices flowing. It’s sort of like having your villain kick a puppy or a kitten. But is it fair to perpetuate these myths?

Myths and Misinformation

Where does this fear of snakes come from?

Babies are naturally born with two fears: A fear of falling, and a fear of loud noises. All other fears are learned by association and identification. Kids learn fear by parents or guardians continually telling them to “be careful,” or “watch out.” Or by the ubiquitous “don’t touch that!”

Some fear is by circumstance—you’re young and fall off a wall or out of a tree. You develop a fear of heights. That’s natural. Or a dog bites you and you develop a fear of dogs.

So I ask the question again—where does our fear of snakes come from?

Few people have ever been bitten by snakes, let alone venomous ones. Even the people who claim to have been bitten, were more than likely struck at but not bitten. In the rare cases where a bite occurs, it’s highly unlikely skin was broken. And of the very few that are bitten (see chart below) it is almost always because they were trying to kill or catch the snake.

It is embarrassing how little most people know about snakes. Almost everyone who describes a snake exaggerates the size of it, and most claim every snake is “poisonous.” (Technically, there are no poisonous snakes; snakes are venomous. Poisonous means the toxin is transferred by touch or eating, such as poisonous plants, bugs, certain frogs…venomous means the toxin is injected through a sting or a bite, such as spiders, wasps, or snakes.)

Snakes are never out to get you. They don’t see a human and decide to attack. Snakes mind their own business and like nothing more than to be left alone.

Snakes Are Not Your Enemy

We relocate venomous snakes from our sanctuary to a spot deep in the woods, miles away. We do it more for the animals than us. Almost all snake bites occur because people are trying to catch them or kill them.

Copperhead

My wife, Mikki, loves working in the garden. She’ll spend hours out there on a nice day. On one of those days, I walked by and noticed a copperhead was tucked under a bush not two feet from her. “Babe,” I said, “There’s a copperhead next to you, so stand up slowly and move away.”

She reacted calmly, as she always does, and then we put the snake in a bucket and took him to the woods. At any time during the few hours she was there, that snake could have sneaked over and bitten her, but it didn’t. It was more than likely terrified that she was going to hurt it. We find them in the garden all the time. We have relocated 27 copperheads so far and another half a dozen water moccasins, and one coral snake. In all this time, I’ve only had one even try to bite me. They usually don’t bother the animals either.

The pigs don’t have a problem, but the dogs do. We’ve had four dogs bitten by copperheads, but it’s because they were trying to kill the snakes, not because the snakes suddenly decided… Hmm. Let’s see. I’m 18 inches long. I weigh about 15 ounces. I can move 4-5 mph, and I can strike out an amazing 6-9 inches from where I’m positioned. Based on that, I think I’ll attack that 177 pound Great Dane. I’ll show her who’s boss.

The result was that Brie, the Great Dane, was bitten, but she shook the snake to death. I’m sure it wasn’t what the copperhead had in mind. In fact, I’m fairly certain that poor copperhead was probably just trying to make his way to the garden for a quick snack of frog or toad.

Garter Snake

Tony with Texas Rat

As far as the rest of the snakes—the non-venomous ones—we let them alone. We have had a huge garter snake living in our garden for seven years, and we have several rat snakes that frequent the barn, keeping the rats under control.

Reactions

Most people’s first reaction upon seeing a snake is to kill it! That’s a reaction born in fear. Why are you afraid of snakes? Have you been bitten by one? Did it hurt you?

Here are some facts on snakes…..

Only one in 50 million people will die from snakebites in the US. (5-6 fatalities per year). You are nine times more likely to die from being struck by lightning or stung by a bee. The graph below compares deaths from venomous snakebites to some leading causes of death, lightning strikes and other animal related deaths. Source: http://ufwildlife.ifas.ufl.edu/venomous_snake_faqs.shtml

Fatality statistics

Bottom Line

The next time you see a snake, fight that urge to kill it. Walk away from it. Leave it alone. It will be thrilled, and after a moment or so, it will uncoil and wander off. If you’re really afraid, find someone to help you relocate it. We humans can’t keep killing all of our animals. It’s just not right.

I went off on a tangent here, but the whole thing started with writers. So my point was this, if you’re a writer, try to get the facts straight, especially when you’re dealing with animals. We don’t need more people hating snakes and wolves than we have already.

Joey & Dante

Dante with snake

Garter snake

Snake in doorjamb

yellow-bellied water snake

mud snake

Buttermilk Racer

Thanks for stopping by, and as always, I’d love to hear your comments.

Ciao,

Giacomo

Giacomo Giammatteo is the author of MURDER TAKES TIME, MURDER HAS CONSEQUENCES, and A BULLET FOR CARLOS. He lives in Texas where he and his wife have an animal sanctuary with 45 loving “friends.”

I know there are a lot of you out there who don’t like snakes, but tell me why.

Filed under: Animal Sanctuary, Family, Life Lessons, Storytelling, Uncategorized by Giacomo
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Giacomo & Slick

Napoli & Mt. Vesuvius

I’ve been on a kick lately to get to the bottom of sayings. After last week’s column I thought I’d tackle a couple of tougher ones. Let’s start with one close to my heart: See Naples and Die.

Vedi Napoli e poi Muori

“See Naples and die.“

It was a phrase coined during the reign of the Bourbons of Naples, considered by historians to have been the city’s Golden Age. Back in the 1700 and 1800s, prior to the unification of Italy, the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies was the wealthiest and most industrialized of the Italian states. Naples was the third most populous city of Europe (after London and Paris), and one of the most opulent. Even today, a visit to Naples would not be complete without seeing the royal palaces in and near the city.

The saying is meant to imply that before you die you must experience the beauty and magnificence of Naples.

I was a young boy when I first heard that saying, but it instilled in me a burning desire to see Napoli. When I finally got there, in the 90s, I almost did die, but not from the beauty of Naples. It was a rugged and dangerous place. We even had to hire a bodyguard to get us from the train station to the car service we had arranged. I guess a lot had changed since the 1800s.

It was a disappointing experience, but it made me think about sayings, and how much impact a few words can have on someone. Once I start thinking on a subject I tend to go off on tangents, and the Napoli reference made me think of another saying…

Eat Shit and Die

I realize this might not be an everyday saying for most of you, but then again, most of you don’t have to put up with my younger brother Chris. So, yes, I have—on occasion—had the opportunity to speak those words with some degree of vehemence. I don’t want you to think ill of me, so perhaps an explanation is in order. That phrase did not originate with me. I don’t know where it came from. The first time I heard it was when my older brother—Doggs, a man known for his flair with language, especially four-letter words—got pissed off at me. He squinted his eyes and gritted his teeth, and then he said, “eat shit and die.”

I can honestly say I was taken back by this. This was a curse I hadn’t heard yet, and it was one to fear.

“Eat shit and die?”

Come on. That’s a horrendous thing to wish on someone. It made such an impression on me that…well, there’s no other way to say it. I adopted the phrase myself.

Origin of the phrase

I didn’t do extensive research on this, but to the best of my knowledge, the phrase originated from a saying soldiers’ used from long ago. The soldiers apparently were fond of repeating that there were only three things a person had to do: eat, shit, and die.

Somehow that got morphed into a curse, commanding someone to: “eat shit, and die.” (Ah, the difference punctuation makes.)

If you ask me, it is one of the worst curses I can think of. What could be worse? First you have to eat shit…about as repulsive a thought as I can think of, and then…when you’re done eating shit—you die! For God’s sake. At least give me a chaser. Don’t condemn me to everlasting eternity with the last taste I had being shit. Come on! Where’s the mercy? How about some seafood ravioli, or veal marsala? I have always told guests who came to my house—eat Mikki’s lasagna and then you can die. But shit?

As I discussed this mother of all curses with my brother Chris, we both agreed that if we had to eat shit, we would prefer it to be Mollie’s shit. Perhaps a little background is in order.

Mollie

Introducing—Mollie.

Mollie is a mutant dog. I’m not even sure she is a dog. She looks more like a tank surrounded by a living organism. But Mollie has a unique quality. She has evolved and developed a special filtering mechanism in her ass. We call it the fecal matter separator. What is a fecal matter separator, you ask? I haven’t had it analyzed yet, but from what my brother and I can tell, it is a process whereby the “smell” is separated from the solids in her “waste.” If I wanted to be more crude, I’d call it a shit/stink separator. To be even more blunt—she farts out all of her stink and shits out rocks that have no odor whatsoever.

By the way, that picture of Mollie—where she is tearing the guts out of that duck—they are her real eyes. (Just kidding of course. Her real eyes are worse.)

Emission Phase

On the rare occasions I venture into the “dog room” to watch TV, I almost instantly regret it. It seems as if Mollie waits for me to get there, and then she starts…emitting. All night her emissions fill the room with…God-awful smells. If the EPA (Environmental Protection Agency) got a whiff of these emissions, they would cordon off the area and send in the men in white suits, and then send us to a decontamination facility for cleansing. But I don’t want to make Mollie seem all bad. To counter the horrendous experience of the emission phase, there is the…

Boulder Phase

The boulder phase happens outside (thank God) and even though it is not as repulsive as the emission phase, it can be dangerous. Mollie deposits her “nuggets” in the tall grass. If you happen to step on one it could easily cause a sprained ankle, and I’m convinced one of Mollie’s boulders broke the tractor blade. The good thing is, if she happens to have an accident and let one loose inside…let’s just say you could almost clean it up barehanded; it’s that hard. In a blind test you couldn’t tell if you were stepping on Mollie crap, or rocks. I swear.

Where Am I Going With This?

If the day ever comes when you’re looking down the barrel of a gun and the guy at the other end gives you an evil grin and says, “eat shit and die,”…pray that he’s got a bag full of Mollie shit. You might need a hammer and chisel to accomplish the task, but it beats the hell out of the alternative.

Ciao, and thanks for stopping by,

Giacomo

Giacomo Giammatteo is the author of MURDER TAKES TIME, MURDER HAS CONSEQUENCES, and A BULLET FOR CARLOS. He lives in Texas where he and his wife have an animal sanctuary with 45 loving “friends.”

What about you? Got any favorite sayings or curses?

photo credit: Tom Wachtel via photopin cc

Filed under: Animal Sanctuary, Life Lessons, sayings, Storytelling, Uncategorized by Giacomo
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Giacomo & Slick

A huge THANKS! is in order for all you wonderful readers. You have made March my best sales month ever. And even more gratitude to the magnificent readers who spent precious time leaving reviews. My books have some of the highest ratings based on customer reviews. The “hard boiled mystery” category has @ 5,000 books listed. Here are the rankings:

Murder Takes Time is ranked #1.

Bullet for Carlos is ranked #6.

And Murder Has Consequences is already at #13.

Thanks so much. I really appreciate it. Now, with that said…

I Have An Axe To Grind

You might think from the title of this post that I’m pissed off at someone, or something. That I have a belly full of words that are dying to burst out and verbally assault someone. I’m sorry to disappoint you, all I have is an ulterior motive for writing this post.

Let Me Back Up

I was reading a book a few weeks ago, and one of the characters had “an axe to grind.” The author used it in a manner that indicated the character was looking to “get even” for a wrong that was done to him. About a week after that, I was watching an old Law and Order episode and the Assistant DA used that saying in exactly the same manner. And within another few days I heard it again on TV.

I don’t get bothered by people using words or sayings in the wrong fashion, but I draw the line when it comes to writers, and that includes TV or the movies, since all of it starts with a screenwriter. Words are a writer’s business; we should know about words. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not spouting this off like some arrogant ass sitting atop the mountain. I make plenty of mistakes, and there is nothing I treasure more than a reader sending an email to tell me about them. I had one reader from New York inform me that my subway stop that my character went “down” the steps to access, was actually an above ground station. Yes, it was embarrassing, but I quickly fixed it and uploaded a new file. And I thanked that person profusely.

Axe

So Back to That Axe

When someone has “an axe to grind,” they have an ulterior motive or selfish motivation; they are not seeking vengeance, nor do they have a grievance. I won’t go into the boring details, but the saying apparently originated back in the time of Benjamin Franklin.

Franklin tells of a man who wanted to grind his axe, but had no one to turn the grindstone. He went to where young Ben Franklin was working, and he asked the boy to show him how the machine worked. All the while he praised Ben, until his axe was ground, and then he laughed at Ben for his pains.

You can go to a few dictionaries and find an alternative definition meaning a grievance, or revenge, but if you dig deep you’ll always come back to the story originating with the Franklin story.

It’s funny how meanings of words, and especially sayings, change over time. There is another saying that is so ingrained in society that almost everyone uses it, including most writers…

Sweat Like a Pig

I always assumed this meant sweating profusely, but I was never curious enough to uncover the origin of the phrase until we started our animal sanctuary and got some pigs. Imagine my confusion when I realized pigs don’t sweat. So I began a search to get to the bottom of the phrase, “sweat like a pig.”

According to Wikipedia, the term is allegedly derived from the iron smelting process. After pouring the iron into runners in sand, it is allowed to cool and is seen as resembling a sow and piglets, hence the term “pig iron.” As the pigs cool, the surrounding air reaches its dew point and beads of moisture form on the surface of the pigs. “Sweating like a pig” indicates that the pig has cooled enough to be moved in safety.

So Why Did I Write This Post?

Call me a defender of the English language. Call me an ass. But if one other person reads this and stops using the phrases the wrong way, perhaps it helps. I realize that change is inevitable and that our language will evolve, and that in a century or two people will be looking back at things written today just as we look back on the “old English” of Shakespeare. They’ll probably wonder how we understood each other with such weird language. Yes, I know this will happen. But for now, I’d like it to remain the same. I’d like words such as “anxious” to not be used instead of “eager.” And if I say I have an axe to grind, I don’t want someone thinking I’m coming after them to settle a score.

The Bottom Line

The next time you’re writing a story, or a blog post, or an email, or just talking to someone, think about the sayings and words you use. And if you’re not sure about the meaning, look them up. It doesn’t take long.

Ciao, and thanks for stopping by,

Giacomo

Giacomo Giammatteo is the author of MURDER TAKES TIME, MURDER HAS CONSEQUENCES, and A BULLET FOR CARLOS. He lives in Texas where he and his wife have an animal sanctuary with 45 loving “friends.”

What about you? Any words or sayings that you hear used wrong?

photo credit: TheDigitel Myrtle Beach via photopin cc

Filed under: Animal Sanctuary, Editing, Life Lessons, Pigs Who Write, Reading, Storytelling, Writing by Giacomo
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Giacomo & Slick

Another Day in Paradise

I was working at my computer, doing what writers are supposed to do, when the phone rang. Caller ID showed it was from my daughter-in-law. I grabbed the phone, a little panicked, wondering why she’d be calling during the day while she was teaching.

“Someone stole Joey’s phone,” she said.

“What? Where?”

“He’s at a wrestling tournament at the high school. He had the phone with him this morning. He even used it to make a call then put it back in his backpack. When he came back after a break, it was gone.”

“Son of a bitch!” I said.

Then my daughter-in-law asked if there was any way I could use the “find my phone” feature Apple has to locate it.

A smile popped onto my face. “You bet your ass there is. We’re gonna get this son of a bitch.” (I tend to say “son of a bitch” a lot.)

Apple Fanatic

For full disclosure, I need to mention that I am an Apple fanatic, and I have been since 1984. I have owned damn near every product Apple ever made. I’m so bad that my wife tells people that if Apple brought out “shit on a stick,” and offered it for sale, I’d be the first in line to buy it. And that’s saying something because I despise shit. See this post for confirmation.

So imagine my joy when I realized I was faced with a situation where I could not only wreak vengeance upon the scum-sucking son of a bitch who stole my grandson’s phone, but, I could use an Apple product to bring about this justice. I was ecstatic! (You can tell I was ecstatic because I don’t use exclamation points lightly.)

History

A little backstory is in order. Ordinarily I wouldn’t get so excited, but I knew how good “find my phone,” was. Twice before, Joey had left his phone at friends’ houses, and didn’t know where it was. Using that miraculous feature, I was able to locate exactly where it was, down the address of the specific house, negating the need to call all of his friends to see where it was. All I had to do now was activate the feature.

We texted one of Joey’s friends, who was at the tournament with him, and he called back immediately. I got Joey’s password and then I entered iCloud and accessed Joey’s account. Within moments, I had activated the feature.

Imagine how damn thrilled I was when I looked at Google maps and saw the small green blip on the screen. It was about half a mile from the school where Joey was, and it was in a neighborhood, third house on the left.

Bam!

My heart raced. I couldn’t wait to get this son of a bitch.

I knew that my son Jimmy (Joey’s father) would be getting off work soon, so I called him. “I’ve got the son of a bitch on the map,” I said. “He’s at a house not half a mile from the school.”

My son took off work early, and headed over there. On the way, I called him again. “You want me to call the cops?”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“Let’s just see what we find,” he said.

“See what we find?” Now I was pissed. “What the hell do you mean?”

I could sense the hesitation in Jimmy’s voice. “Look,” he said. “If this were Dante (my other grandson) I would have called the FBI by now. No one is going to pry Dante’s phone from his hands without a gun. But Joey…”

Now I was pissed. This was my first grandson he was talking about. The sweetest kid on earth. To hell with my son, the cynical ass. This was my grandson’s phone! So I did what any grandfather would do—I called the cops.

Bring in the Big Guns

I have a friend who is a Captain on the force. Once I told him what we had working, he said he would have an officer who was nearby meet my son.

Talk about excited…I was pumped. Justice would be served. I imagined the punishment this son of a bitch would endure while rotting in prison. (Okay so I was dreaming)

Jimmy (my son) called me when he got close, but when I checked the map, the blip had moved. I pulled up the Google street view, which showed the phone at a small strip center. I directed Jimmy to go there. The cop met him in the parking lot.

I had two screens working now, Google maps activated on each one. One screen showed my son’s location with his phone, and the other screen, my grandson’s phone. I was like a NASA engineer tracking a lost satellite.

Complications

I could see the two blips on the screen. Jimmy’s phone and Joey’s phone. Joey’s was in a restaurant, but the problem was, it was crowded. The officer said there was no way he could go in there and question people without any means to ID the culprit. He said if we got anything else to call.

Jimmy waited in the parking lot, and within twenty minutes they were…

On the Move

He saw an old truck pulling out of the lot onto the main road. There were, what appeared to be, several unsavory looking characters inside. He got caught at a red light, but that was okay, I was tracking them. They turned down a side road, past a storage facility and into a subdivision. Then they took another turn and stopped. I directed my son to the blip of Joey’s phone, motionless now, but when he got to the spot there was no truck. There was nothing!

“What do you see?” I asked.

“There’s nothing but a damn bayou,” he said.

I refreshed the location on his phone, then did the same for Joey’s. “Okay,” I said, “Joey’s phone is no more than 30−50 feet in front of you, to the south.”

“The sons of bitches threw it in the bayou,” he said. “They must have figured out we were onto them.” (He says son of a bitch a lot too. Must be genetic.)

Frustrated, I hit the refresh button on Joey’s screen.

And then it happened

It moved too far. The screen showed Joey’s phone back at the house where it was originally. Either Captain Kirk had stolen Joey’s phone, and Scotty was beaming him from place to place, or…something was wrong.

It was time to do more research on “find my phone.”

It seems like “find my phone,” works magnificently—if the phone is in use, or if the phone is turned on and in range of a wi-fi network.

If not…it shows up on the screen as a small green blip, which I thought was pointing us to the exact location; however, if you click on that blip, it expands to cover a very large area.

So I clicked on the blip, and lo and behold, a large circle of green appeared on the screen. Large enough to encompass the entire area we had been searching—including—the school where Joey’s tournament was being held.

Oh shit

I got a rotten feeling in my gut. The kind of rotten feeling when you know something is wrong. The kind my son had when he warned me about calling the cops.

I texted Joey’s friend, got Joey to call back, and then told him to go to the place where all the backpacks were. I instructed him to listen closely for a loud beeping sound. And then I activated the “find my phone,” feature that sends a beeping signal for location.

The next thing I heard was Joey proclaiming loudly, “Wait a minute. I hear something.”

Sure enough, the phone was in another kid’s backpack. A backpack that looked similar to Joey’s. A backpack that my magnificent, wonderful grandson had mistaken for his.

The Bottom Line

I had wasted three hours of time.

I had involved a Captain of the police force and he had dispatched an officer to investigate.

My son drove @ 45 miles round trip and wasted about two hours.

But Joey came home with a smile on his face. Oh, and a phone in his pocket.

Thank God for “find my phone.” (sarcasm intended)

Ciao, and thanks for stopping by,

Giacomo

Giacomo Giammatteo is the author of MURDER TAKES TIME, MURDER HAS CONSEQUENCES, and A BULLET FOR CARLOS. He lives in Texas where he and his wife have an animal sanctuary with 45 loving “friends.”

Filed under: Family, Life Lessons, Uncategorized by Giacomo
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Giacomo & Slick

I’m Afraid of ;;;;;;

It’s okay for writers to play with grammar. You don’t have to write in complete sentences. Not all the time. Readers know what you mean because that’s the way many people think.

Writers can put periods damn near anywhere. Well. Ma.ybe.

As the preceding example shows, you can’t get away with putting periods after every word, and certainly not in the middle of a word, but choppy sentences in a novel are fine. Really. They are. You can even mess up with commas, and em dashes, or misplace the punctuation inside of the parentheses. Readers will assume you are taking liberties as a writer, and they won’t worry about it.

Where you run into trouble is when you start messing with punctuation that most people don’t know about. Or they only know enough to be dangerous. What am I talking about?

The Dreaded Semicolon.

The semicolon is so feared that even editors are afraid of it. I recently had a writer tell me her editors steered her clear of the use of semicolons, going so far as to suggest that one per book might be too many. And Kurt Vonnegut was no friend of the semicolon. This is what Vonnegut had to say:

“…Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you’ve been to college.”

I’m not sure about the “transvestite hermaphrodites,” but I’m pretty sure that was not a glowing endorsement.

So Why All This Talk About Semicolons?

Semicolon

I’m here to defend them. I’ve taken out my sword and drawn a line in the sand; I’ve had enough. Semicolons are magnificent little creatures that get no respect. Semicolons are like snakes; people fear them, so they kill them.

I’m of a different mind. I believe semicolons add a special flavor to a well-constructed sentence, a subtlety that a period cannot accomplish. A well-placed semicolon is precious—like a stolen kiss from secret lovers.

When You Should Use a ;

The most common use for a semicolon is to connect two closely related sentences. Think of semicolons like bridges. Imagine Manhattan if there were no bridges connecting it to New Jersey, or Brooklyn, or Queens, or the Bronx. That would make New York an entirely different place. Or suppose San Francisco had no bridge across the bay to Oakland. It wouldn’t be thought of as San Francisco/Oakland anymore. It would just be San Francisco. And Oakland.

That’s just one of the jobs a semicolon does; it connects two closely related clauses/sentences and brings them closer. Here are some examples:

• I can’t eat past midnight tonight; I have to fast for a blood test tomorrow.

• I’m not working in the garden today; I saw a copperhead there this morning.

• Bob drove 90 mph on his way to the hospital; his daughter’s life depended on it.

In each of the examples above, there is a very close relationship between the clauses, a relationship that couldn’t be served by a comma, and wouldn’t be served by a period.

Another common use for semicolons is to clarify and separate a list. In my book, Murder Takes Time, there are four main characters: Nicky Fusco, the hit man; Frankie Donovan, the cop; Angela Catrino, the love interest; and Tony Sannullo, the mob guy.

Let’s look at that sentence if we used only commas. In my book, Murder Takes Time, there are four main characters: Nicky Fusco, the hit man, Frankie Donovan, the cop, Angela Catrino, the love interest, and Tony Sannullo, the mob guy.

The second example, using all commas, is confusing. Using semicolons clarifies the meaning.

What You Don’t Do With Semicolons

• A semicolon should not be used in place of a colon. It’s not a good substitute, and, despite it’s name association, it doesn’t want to be a colon. Semicolons are perfectly content doing the job they were meant to do.
• A semicolon should not join two unrelated clauses.

Fear of Semicolons

I don’t know why people are afraid. Look! ;;;;;;; They’re not frightening; in fact, they’re kind of cute. And it’s very easy to recognize not only what a semicolon is, but what it’s function is. It is made up of a comma and a period. The period is on top, so your first inclination is to stop—as if it were a period—but then you see the comma and continue. It couldn’t be simpler. If you want to cast blame at the confusion surrounding semicolons, throw stones at the people who named it semicolon; it would have been better with a name like “periomma,” or “commeriod.”

The Bottom Line

Rise up, people! We’ve got to take a stand; the poor semicolon can’t survive without us. And let’s be honest—if we let the semicolon die, what will be next? The colon? The parentheses? Brackets? Pretty soon we’ll be left with commas, periods, and question marks. Some people might like that, but not me; I love my semicolons.

Ciao, and thanks for stopping by,

Giacomo

Giacomo Giammatteo is the author of MURDER TAKES TIME, MURDER HAS CONSEQUENCES, and A BULLET FOR CARLOS. He lives in Texas where he and his wife have an animal sanctuary with 45 loving “friends.”
If you want to learn more about semicolons, go to a site like the wonderful one Grammar Girl maintains.

photo credit: Saucy Salad via photopin cc

Filed under: Editing, Pigs Who Write, Publishing, Reading, Uncategorized, Writing by Giacomo
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Giacomo & Slick

Your Characters Don’t Have To Be Pretty

I was reading a mystery book the other night and a few pages into it, one of the main characters was introduced. The author did a fantastic job of describing how beautiful she was. I was in awe of this author’s talents. I could picture everything about her character. Then a few chapters later, I met another character, and he was as beautiful (in a masculine way) as the female lead. Then I met a few more characters. And they were gorgeous. By the time ten or twelve chapters rolled by, I’d met no less than 9 characters and guess what—yes, you guessed it—they were all perfect.

Too many books are filled with gorgeous women and guys who are hunks. They all have perfect teeth, eyes you can fall into, and bodies to die for. I know that it’s easy to dream about these types, imagine yourself doing…whatever, with them. But the world is not populated with clones of Jessica Alba and Brad Pitt. Jessica and Brad are unique. There is one of each. And yet, many books are filled with page after page of perfection. It reminds me of a chorus line in a Vegas show, where all the women have perfect legs and every move is synchronized.

What Do Your Characters Look Like?

Do They Look Like This?

Brad Pitt

I don’t know why Jessica’s picture came out so much bigger. I swear I don’t.

Jessica Alba

Or Do They Look Like This?

Sweet Pete

Ruggedly-handsome or stunningly-gorgeous characters are fun once in a while. But we have to realize the world isn’t populated with only those type of people. There are people like me: short, bald, a little too much pasta hanging around my gut.

I know that almost any man on earth would love to get real close to Jessica Alba, and I’m just as certain that most of the ladies would love to do the same with Brad Pitt.

But What About Petey?

Are you ready to plant a big juicy kiss on those lips? Not likely.

I don’t know Jessica, or Brad. They might be the nicest people on earth. I’m sure they are. I know most of their adoring fans hope they are. But I do know Petey. He’s a pig on our sanctuary, and he is one of the nicest people on earth. (On our sanctuary, pigs are people too.) He has earned the nickname from everyone who knows him of “Sweet Pete.” And every day he reinforces the reasons he earned that name.

What Does This Have To Do With Writing?

Petey reminds me of a lot of characters in books, or the ones that should be in books. He’s the ugly duckling and the misfit toy. In other words, he’s not perfect.

A less-than-perfect character gives you a chance to let the reader focus on the character’s personality. In fact, it makes you, as a writer, dig deeper to create that personality. Instead of searching your thesaurus for yet another way to describe perfection, you might find yourself thinking of clever dialogue, or actions, that pique a reader’s interest.

A wonderful example of this is the way author Brent Weeks does it. He has a character named Kip in his Lightbringer fantasy series. Kip is not a perfect character. He’s not your ordinary superhero fantasy star. He’s a little overweight. He tends to get nervous. And he’s not a genius. But before you know it, Kip wins you over and you discover he’s a real character. Someone you can feel sorry for. Love. And fear for. If you like fantasy and haven’t read Brent Weeks, try him out.

Connie Gianelli, the main character in my Blood Flows South series, is not gorgeous. She’s got a nice ass. She’s sexy. But she has a bump in her nose, her lips are “too thin” and her boobs are small, at least in her mind. She is never described as pretty anywhere. I try to let her personality define her.

Connie’s partner, Tip, has a long nasty scar on his face and isn’t described much either. In fact, I seldom describe my characters. I believe that each character needs to be unique, just like real people, and I think if you do that your readers will love you for it.

Bottom Line

The next time your hands are resting on the typewriter, ready to churn out yet another character, instead of “beautiful female #B124,” consider an “ugly duckling” or a “misfit toy” or even a “Sweet Pete.” Your readers will be glad you did.

Ciao, and thanks for stopping by,

Giacomo

Giacomo Giammatteo is the author of MURDER TAKES TIME, MURDER HAS CONSEQUENCES, and A BULLET FOR CARLOS. He lives in Texas where he and his wife have an animal sanctuary with 45 loving “friends.”

photo credit: Barbara.Doduk via photopin cc
photo credit: brandon shigeta via photopin cc

Filed under: Animal Sanctuary, books, character development, Life Lessons, Pigs Who Write, Publishing, Reading, Writing by Giacomo
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