Welcome to Cal's Cosmos

Allow me to roll out the red carpet and usher you into my world--the world of writing. I am a blessed man; a man blessed with the enjoyment of creating worlds on a lifeless sheet of paper or a blank computer screen.

You'll find many things at Cal's Cosmos: information about my long and passionate love affair with writing, my views on literature, my musical heritage and thoughts on current events.

Please, come back often to see what's happenin' on Cal's Cosmos.

Sunday, April 22, 2012

HOW TO HOLD A PARIS RIOT

In The Phantom Lady of Paris, my hero, Paul, and the heroine, Bonnie, are caught in a Paris riot in front of Gilberts, a famous bookstore on the Left Bank. Parisians love a good riot, or so it seems. Look at history. So writing one was no stretch of the imagination.


 
Bonnie and I rushed to the window and stared out. Atop the shoulders of two muscular males sat a gaunt, longhaired man dressed in black. The two men transported their passenger across Boulevard Saint Michel toward Gilbert‘s. Protesters swarmed around the elevated figure as a sea of hands reached out, fingers extended, straining to touch the object of the adulation, to make contact with any part of him: his sweater, trousers, shoes, anything.
 

“Bonnie, who‘s the guy everybody‘s so worked up over?”
 

She glanced at me briefly before turning her eyes to the spectacle on the street. “Don‘t tell me you don‘t know?”
 

I glanced down at her. “OK, I won‘t, but I still don‘t know.”
 

“That‘s François, François the Incendiary. I thought everybody knew him.”
 

“Call me Mr. Nobody, because I don’t.”
 

“He‘s the leader of the student protest movement in France. When that guy speaks, demonstrators listen and act. Let‘s go outside and see what happens.” She headed for the door.
 

I grabbed her arm. “Why? To get caught in the middle of a riot?”
 

Suddenly, store lights flickered. “Ladies and gentlemen, Gilbert‘s is now closed,” a clerk shouted. “For the safety of all, management requests that you vacate the premises.” Customers inched toward the door, then stopped. “I must insist,” the clerk added, “all must leave.”
 

Outside, Bonnie and I filtered into a mass of chanting demonstrators. “François! François! François!Voices were tides of sound, echoing up and down Boulevard Saint Michel. “François! François!
 

“Bonnie, What the hell are we doing here in the middle of a mob? Let‘s get out, while we can.”
 

“Ah, come on, Paul.” She craned her neck to see over the people standing in front of us. “Don‘t be such a stuffed shirt. What are you so afraid of? I‘ve always wanted to hear François speak, just to hear for myself why students get so enthused by what he has to say. Let‘s listen.”
 

“François! François!” Herds of demonstrators swarmed down the boulevard. Others emerged from intersecting streets. “François!” Sidewalks fronting Gilbert‘s now overflowed. Necks craning, protestors clogged the thoroughfare, backing up traffic and enraging motorists.
 

“Have you people lost your damn mind? What‘s gotten into you?” one motorist yelled, leaning out his car window.
 

Horns honked.
 

François dismounted from his porters and, amid choruses of cheers, leapt onto a vendor‘s table where, arms raised, he signaled for silence.
 

“Quiet!” someone yelled.
 

“Yeah. Why don't-cha?” someone added. “François is ready to speak.”
 

One of the leader's aides handed him a bullhorn, and he pressed its mouthpiece to his lips. Immediately, Boulevard Saint Germain transformed into a sepulcher: total silence. “Fellow revolutionaries,” the Incendiary bellowed, “Patriots of France,” he paused, the intermission accentuating silence like an exclamation point. “Hear my words.”
 

Cheers exploded, followed by a chain of chants: “François…François…François!” The speaker once more signaled for silence.
 

“Comrades,” he continued, “comrades.” Again, an explosion of cheers.
 

“Quiet, let him speak,” a man yelled.
 

“The time,” François said, “has come, the day, the hour; the moment is at hand! Not tomorrow, as the bureaucracy would have you believe, nor some unnamed future date. Fellow revolutionaries, now is the time when we must end once and for all the university‘s inequalities, dismantle its archaic bureaucracy and curricula and make known to the world our grievances.” With a raised fist, he shouted into the bullhorn, “Now! Now! Now!”
 

The crowd responded: “Now! Now! Now!” Beneath the din of the throng edged another sound, the wail of police sirens, but the resonance of approaching sirens didn‘t deter François. “We have not gathered here,” he extolled, “to capitulate!” His words were now fireballs of passion. “We shall not be moved!”


“Never!” demonstrators responded. “Never!”
 

“Nor shall we cower,” intoned the speaker.
 

“Never!” protestors replied.
 

“Or be intimidated by billy clubs.”
 

“No.”
 

“Or tear gas!”
 

“No! No!” The crowd chanted louder and louder.
 

The screech of police vehicles slamming to a stop punctuated protesters' chants as officers with shields, nightsticks, and gas masks, poured from vans. “Form ranks!” barked the commander. “Double time!” Like automatons, lawmen scurried.
 

“The presence of policemen will not weaken our resolve,” François the Incendiary orated.
 

“No!” responded a chorus of frenzied voices.
 

Officers formed lines on the sidewalk across the street from Gilbert's. “This demonstration,” the commanding officer bellowed, “is unauthorized. You have sixty seconds to disperse.” No one moved. “Fifty-nine seconds.”


Wednesday, April 4, 2012

What is Paris like in April?

Paris in April. What is it really like? I thought I'd share a section of The Phantom Lady of Paris with you.
A few weeks afterward, spring arrived in Paris. Skies sparkled like diamonds, and the fragrance of blossoms was everywhere. Trees on Boulevard Saint Michel transformed into impressionists‘ canvasses and in the Luxembourg Garden, flowers dazzled with violet and gold. When you sat on the terrace of a café in Saint Michel Plaza, breezes whispered past, cooling and refreshing. Spring had come. It came early, weeks after Bonnie left.


Latin Quarter inhabitants who hibernated through much of winter reappeared and once again strolled boulevards. All the cafés on Boulevard Saint Germain were now open (many closed during winter months). Once again their terraces bubbled with laughter and conversation. If one listened carefully, one heard the gurgle of wine filling goblets, the pop of champagne corks, and hiss of espresso machines spewing the aroma of fresh java, an aroma that brought back memories of Sunday mornings and good times at home. It was the music and fragrances of spring in Paris. Spring came early that year, mere weeks after Bonnie left.



On Sunday afternoons, couples, their toddlers in hand, strolled Boulevard Saint Michel. Cradling toy sailboats, youngsters frolicked into Luxembourg Garden and as parents looked on, the young dynamos of energy splashed through wading pools, squealing and laughing—orchestrating the resonance of youth and immortality. Spring had come.


Gypsies once again panhandled on street corners, their favorite, the intersection at Saint Germain and Saint Michel, where they stopped passersby, glibly spinning tales of  hard times,  and starving babies, and the imperative need for a few francs to buy milk and/or medicine for their emaciated, near-death children. Translation? ― We need money to buy wine. When Gypsies returned, there could be no doubt, spring had come.


Neighborhood bums reappeared and bought bottle after bottle of vin ordinnaire, drank themselves into stupors, then snoozed away the afternoon. Spring had arrived. It came soon after Bonnie left. Yet its coming did not delight me, for the woman I loved was no longer in the City of Light.

Monday, March 19, 2012

ENTER TO WIN A FREE eCOPY OF THE PHANTOM LADY OF PARIS


ALLOW ME TO TAKE YOU TO PARIS 1968 ON A MAGIC CARPET RIDE OF WORDS!!

BY SIGNING UP TO FOLLOW MY BLOG AND LEAVING A COMMENT ON THIS POST WITH YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS, YOU'LL BE ENTERED TO WIN A FREE eCOPY OF THE PHANTOM LADY OF PARIS. SIMPLE. EASY-PEASY. NO PURCHASE NECESSARY TO WIN, AS THEY SAY.



Saturday, February 11, 2012

FREE ON VALENTINE'S DAY!

FREE...FREE...FREE!!!

THE PHANTOM LADY OF PARIS

WILL BE A FREE eBOOK DOWNLOAD AT AMAZON.COM ON VALENTINE'S DAY.

Go on, download it. You know your Kindle or other brand of eReader wants it.

FREE ALL DAY ON VALENTINE'S DAY, ONLY AT AMAZON. http://amzn.to/ofLpOD

REVIEW BY AUTHOR GWYNETH GREER:
It didn't take long after downloading this delightful read to become totally involved in the story Mr. Davis so skillfully weaves. Having been a student during the era about which he writes, his vivid re-creation of protest and struggle made me remember and gain a new perspective on those days. Not only did I feel I'd been to Paris, I fell in love with the quaint shops and cafes the characters frequented. The characters are well-drawn and totally realistic, which made them all the easier to become vested in. Plot twists and turns give way to a bittersweet resolution, yet any other would have diminished the ultimate impact of the story.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

I'M VONNIE DAVIS' HUSBAND--AND DAMN PROUD OF IT

Folks, who know me, know how much I love my wife. I often say I didn't start to live until she came into my life. When I tell her that, she gives me that sweet smile I love and asks me if I'm Irish 'cause I sound like I've kissed the Blarney Stone. Then she warms my soul with a hug and a kiss on the neck.

Yup, having that connectedness with someone who is like-minded and who loves you deeply in return is that refreshing pool from which our happiness sprouts. There's nothing like loving and being loved in return.

My wife spoils me in little ways: cooks me the foods I like; lays out a fresh towel and underwear before I shower; shops for me so I don't have to enter a mall (a tip for all you ladies, unless we're going to look at electronics or tools, men do NOT like going to the mall); keeps all my many medicines straight, stocked and in my daily pill holders; has a pot of coffee brewed, strong just the way I like it, as soon as I step out of the bedroom in the mornings; and she never reaches for the TV remote. Hey, some things are sacred to a guy...and remotes are our domain.

Vonnie is the kind of person others bring their problems to; they know she'll listen and offer support. Vonnie is a warm-hearted woman in a cold-hearted world. And she's mine.

She's also a great writer. Her first book came out 2 weeks before its official date of 7/15. If you could have seen her expression when she opened the box full of copies of Storm's Interlude. I'm proud of her for reaching for her dream. She worked. She persevered. She succeeded. I have as much pride in her book as I do my The Phantom Lady of Paris. For when you love someone, that person's successes are yours--we are two halves of a whole, after all.

Yup, I'm married to a writer--and damned proud of it.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

MY BOOK IS FINALLY RELEASED!

The estimated publishing date on my contract was November 9th. She's a tad late folks, but The Phantom Lady of Paris is now available.
Surely you can understand my excitement!!

No one ever said the road to publication was easy. I mean, writing the book was the easy part, the fun part. Then came hunting for an agent. I'd queried over sixty before Dawn of Blue Ridge Literary took me on. She believed in The Phantom Lady of Paris and peddled it to oodles of publishers. Finally, Second Wind said, "Hey, we like this!" Edits were easy. But the waiting...ugh! The literary labor pains were horrendous.

If you've ever wondered what Paris was like, really like, allow me to take you there on a magic carpet ride of words.


I'd love to share my experiences sitting at sidewalk cafes and writing for hours, the hiss of espresso machines in the background and a constant stream of humanity flowing by.


Few cities can rival her beauty or her spirit.


The Phantom Lady of Paris is available in paperback and eBook versions at Second Wind Publishing and Amazon.com.







Saturday, June 11, 2011

CONTEST



HI "PARTY 'TIL YOUR HEELS FALL OFF" CONTESTANT!!

THANKS FOR PARTICIPATING IN THE MALE
PART OF FINDING LOVE IN PARIS CONTEST.

FOLLOW ME...AS YOU CAN SEE I NEED SOME LOVE HERE...AND LEAVE A COMMENT.

BOUNCE BACK OVER TO MY WIFE'S BLOG AND CONTINUE WITH YOUR REQUIRED STEPS. http:www.vintagevonnie.blogspot.com
GOOD LUCK TO YOU!