Toten Herzen: The Lost Valley

About five chapters complete. This is first draft stuff so still rough and raw. I’m using a tablet more so that I can get out when I’m writing, but being a 7inch device it’s hard to work on. I can type faster on a full size keyboard, as fast as I can write, but on the tablet it slows me down. It forces me to write in a sort of truncated form and then flesh it out on the laptop when I get home. Here’s a sneak preview paragraph from a magazine interview with Dee Vincent:

“Let me tell you about Tom Scavinio. Nice man, charming even, down to earth. Has a history of showing empathy towards young people starting off in the music business. Presents this persona of the man crushed under the weight of New York City, its buildings, its streets, its traffic, its history, its cultural baggage and social malaise. He is a man who wants there to be alligators in the sewers, he likes the steam coming out of the manhole covers, the idea of Hell’s Kitchen really being Hell’s kitchen. He lives off it, he feeds off it, draws blood off it. He plays with its personality disorders, absorbs them and then projects them back to you in his expressions and body language and long walks in the dark and tales of family tragedy. He personalises all the ills of the city and then rebroadcasts them, for maximum sympathy, for maximum effect, like some kind of human black hole with billions of tons of radiation pouring out of him. We were perfect for him because we gave him another element to add to his psychosis, his neurosis, neuroses actually because he has more than one. And then he goes and gets a scratch on his face and he skulks off back to his tombstone making out that we’re a bunch of heartless monsters responsible for everything that ever went wrong in his life. That’s Tom Scavinio and if he reads this, you’re a fucking coward Scavinio. You’re a fucking coward for running out on us. We may have nothing but contempt for Rob Wallet, but I’ll give him credit for his staying power. He’s taken every ounce of shit we’ve thrown at him and he’s still here. You, Scavinio, you’ve had worse scars after cutting yourself shaving and you go running back to America like the little self-obsessed fluffball that you are.”