Today, I'm talking about a fellow writer. Cornell DeVille just published his first novel, "A Tale of Hearts". I have been a follower of his blog for over a year now and find his posts entertaining as well as informative. Recently, a writer made the mistake of living in her ego on line and I think she paid for it dearly in ways we may never know. She criticized a blogger for giving her a bad review. The posts went back and forth until it went from insults to profanity to the ridiculous and went viral through the on line world of writing bloggers.
Cornell wrote a very interesting post on this. When everyone else tore the writer to shreds, he saw it as a mistake that went way out of control and was fed by the writer blogging community. It became a witch hunt.
Because Cornell took the time to present both sides of the story and ask us to examine the fact that she made a mistake that she made worse by overreacting to criticism, (we've all been there), I have decided to support him and advertise his new book. Kudos to you Cornell and I wish you every success with your new book. The following is an excerpt.
An Ancient Secret
There’s a deep, dark secret in Morro Bay.
If you’re ever in California you may find yourself on a stretch of asphalt known as the Pacific Coast Highway. If you do, and your journey takes you to a point about halfway between San Francisco and Los Angeles, you may discover the sleepy village of Morro Bay.
For the most part, it is no different from any other coastal town of its size where fishing is the primary industry. Every morning, in the cool, gray light before dawn, the local fishermen pilot their wooden boats away from shore. They head out to sea, hoping for fair weather and a good day’s catch. The gulls accompany them; they fill the air with their squawking, gliding on the breeze and crying for attention, vying for position, each of them hoping to catch the sticky morsel of bait the fishermen sometimes toss.
This daily scene rarely varies. It has played out in this same manner every morning for hundreds of years. And for all those years, a unique geographic feature has dominated this picturesque setting—Morro Rock.
Guarding the bay like a stone sentinel, Morro Rock stands a short distance offshore. It towers almost six hundred feet above the blue surface of the Pacific. Resembling a small mountain, and seeming out of place as it rises from the water, it is the remaining vestige of an ancient, and now extinct, volcano.
Eons have passed since white columns of smoke climbed from its chimney. Red, molten lava no longer flows, hissing and steaming, into the sea below. Those days are not remembered. Morro Rock now sleeps peacefully in the bay like an old man napping—watching the fisherman as they come and go, day after day, year after year—as silent as the stone from which it is composed.
Known locally as The Rock, it is more than the name implies. Every summer during vacation season, tourists walk out on a wooden pier and snap a picture or two to take home with them and show their friends. Then they drive away, with no idea of the secret hidden deep inside the stone monolith.
I’ve lived in Morro Bay all my life, which will be fourteen years, this September. I can see Morro Rock from our house on Balboa Drive. Although unusual, there’s really nothing scary about it—during the day. But at night it’s quite a different story. When the moon is full and a shroud of fog drapes the top, The Rock takes on an unearthly appearance.
This is where it all happened.
I like it! How about you? Here's the link to purchase and a link to Cornell's blog site.
Good Luck, Cornell.
For all you fellow writers: Keep on keeping on writing.