| Zolen's FIRST FAN's Page |
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My name is Nancy and Zolen calls me his First Fan. I blush
with pride at his calling me that, but I shouldn't, I don't
guess. He surely has become my First Author. Last year,
a friend of mine mentioned what a strange and deep-breathed and
heart-tingling read she had experienced from a novel that caught her
attention as she sorted through the discount tables at a Books·A·Million
outlet. The novel was Nearly Diamond.
She sent it to me and, since then, I have read every one of Zolen Caló's
books. I am now reading them for a second time. I surprise myself as I write this because, since I read my first book for pleasure at age nineteen, I have never lived a day without a popular novel in my hands. But after thousands of hurried reads to get to the end, or to find out what happens, my interest in being an observer of other people acting out plots has gone. That is because, I believe, that one does not read Zolen's novels; one lives them. I don't know how to explain that, but I will think about it and include my ideas in the letters I write to Zolen. I write to him regularly and he has written back that he believes I explain his wishes as a writer better than he does himself. He gave me this page on which to share passages from my letters. You can write to me, too, at nancy@zolencalonovels.com Don't be afraid like I was at first. Write. Nancy |
| Add Your Comments About Zolen And His Writing To Those Of His First Fan |
| Your Wife Is Wrong. You Can Write, Zolen. | |
| I have been blessed to have been led down this path in my life and found you Zolen. There is something about your writing that leads me to think of things about life on the larger scale. | |
| The first novel I ever read for pleasure was one from the Perry Mason series by Erle Stanley Gardner. Even though I have never been without a book to read since then, only now, in 2007, I have finally found you, Zolen Caló, the perfect author, the perfect books for me. | |
| I have lived in every book of yours that I have read so far, Zolen. I have lived through every emotion. I have laughed, cried, been sad, been angry, shocked, happy, joyous, on and on. My most common thought as I end a page or a scene is, 'Oh my God! What now?' | |
| God gave you a gift that you are using well, and with each book, words of wisdom stand out to me. | |
| With every one of your books I am there, seeing and feeling right along with the people. I miss the people after I finish the book. Maria fusses at me for calling them people. She says I should call them 'characters', but I can't make myself do so. | |
| Somehow I feel like I know you, Zolen. I learn something with everything I read that you have written. You have such a brilliant mind, but you know how to channel it so that your words speak to the lives of us regular people. Thank you for being. | |
| I am still looking forward to reading He, Recalled. Each book I read is so powerful, so real--so hard to put down! | |
| I have been trying to find the words to explain why your writings are so different from the books I've read. Today, as I was reading a mystery by a best selling paperback writer, it came to me. Your books are so real, so alive, so now, so human, so us, seeing us, ourselves, seeing them, other people. It's not us just reading, but us being there. Feeling like we would feel if we really were there! | |
| Nearly Diamond | |
| I was in the kitchen with Ginny and Heather a couple of Saturday mornings ago when I made a remark that reminded all of us of Nearly Diamond. We talked for a while about the people in the book. It was very enjoyable speaking with others who have read the book. About every one of your books that I've read, I've wanted to say to someone, 'You won't believe what ______ just did,' or 'Just listen to this . . . !' Maria [daughter] has certainly heard enough from me. | |
| I'm glad you've promised to write a sequel to Nearly Diamond. I can't wait to see what happens after Hanford gets off that plane in Atlanta. What an unforgettable man that man is! Any woman that reads about Hanford will not be able to resist falling in love with him. You'll be getting more and more letters from us wanting to know more and more about him. | |
| Memory Work | |
| Phipp was such a name calling asshole! I wondered if he would get what he deserved; or how he would get it. That last paragraph really finished the book. | |
| On the 4th, Ginny and I took Maria's son, Roman, age 5, to the doctor's office. I started to take Memory Work. If I had, there is no telling what people would have thought of me, and the waiting room was packed. On that day, I would have read about Diderot coming home. I already had tears in my eyes when, the next thing I know, Phipp went to church as a guest to young Anson. I broke down and cried for a very long time. I couldn't read anymore for a while. | |
| Now, for about 30 minutes off and on, I am reading Memory Work. I have to put it down and calm myself for a while before I can read ahead. | |
| I love all of your books and I could read all of them again--except for Memory Work. It was so hard to read. I could barely tear my eyes away from this book, and then it was so horrible at times. I was so angry. I could have killed ______ and ______. I wished I could have taken all of the boys, young and old, and run away with them. How upsetting it is for any child to live in such horror. | |
| This book took me right to it and all the way through it. It is a book that everyone needs to read. This is one that may save lives. | |
| After all my comments about Memory Work, I think I've talked myself into braving its highs and lows (Maria uses the word bi-polar) once more. I'm realizing that there was a lot of love mixed in with the dreadfulness and I need to go back and feel that again. And the struggle of just trying to survive for the minute, of knowing death for a moment, like in the water scenes, I need to feel that one more time, too. Oh, how you can write! | |
| Ali Zán And True Love | |
| I want you to know that I really miss being a horse. I'm going to read Ali Zán And True Love again. Oh, my! How sad at times I was. In every book I have been thrilled and shocked at totally unexpected times, though--not just in Ali Zán. | |
| I'm going back to pasture and re-read Ali Zán And True Love. Memory Work ripped such a hole in my heart that I need some quiet grazing space up in the mountains under a blue sky where people think I'm wonderful | |
| Just Another Georgia Romance | |
| I could not have imagined the way Just Another Georgia Romance ended. I get chills as I think of it. What is romance, what is love? What is right, what is wrong? What is truth, what is imagination? You make these questions combine together in every scene, Zolen. You make me think, 'Are we all victims of romance?' | |
| I am impressed that you asked me a question about Just Another Georgia Romance. The answer is, No. I didn't think that the speech was too crude. After all, the men were all day laborers, and not highly educated. So I was not offended (as you say) by their coarse language, but I was surprised and tickled to hear the way a bunch of young workers talk about a pretty girl and pick on each other about falling in love. | |
| I was glad that Miss Stephanie told of her love for the sailor. I needed to know about him. She is such a lovely, sweet, and precious lady. I wondered about the picture and was glad that she told us in the end. She is so wise. | |
| Earth, Dirt & Dust | |
| When I read Earth, Dirt & Dust, I hide myself
away--away from the television and radio, usually on a Saturday or
Sunday morning after Arthur goes downstairs to his shop or travels to
town, and before Maria arrives with her children for me to baby-sit while
she does weekend shopping. I can tell you, Zolen, trying to develop
my mind nowadays takes strategy! Anyway, I have to be alone not
because your poems are so 'deep' (even though many are), but because I
like to think about all of those that speak to me. Running In the Dark,
for instance, I have read over and over and just 'sat' with and savored.
I can't get over seeing in words an experience that happened to me when I was a child nine or ten and was helping my brother on his paper route. The papers came late and Mom gave me permission to help him deliver them in the neighborhood. I was at the end of a long street as dusk fell. When I delivered the last paper, I realized that it was totally dark. I walked in the direction of our house as 'normal' as I could past three or four houses. Now, in those days, behind each house was a garage (or car shed, we called them) and a clothesline, and sometimes clothes were still hung from the lines and glowed like ghosts in the darkness. Of course, I became very afraid, very quickly, that something was going to 'get me'. I jumped into a run as fast as my little legs could carry me away from the 'Booger Man'. Fearing that I didn't run fast enough, I sang Jesus Loves Me as loud as I could, hoping that it would keep the nasty spirit away. To this day, when I am afraid, or worried, or wonder which way the wind blows or my life goes, I sing that song. Running In the Dark brought the memories about that time in my childhood back to me and made me realize how that one experience started a thread that has continued through my life. This is what your poetry does for me. |
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| In your last note you wrote that you were embarrassed by Earth, Dirt & Dust. I went back and read the blog on your webpage. I giggled all the way through it again. You can be so funny. But don't worry, I believe that real men can write poetry! The very first one, Krystal Crowd, is one that I am sure many will relate to. I was once a member of the Hardee Crowd during a period of my life. It came with my mother in law after the death of my father in law and during my divorce with Maria's dad. We would meet every morning and drink our coffee. I guess we were hiding out from the world, in a way, and also wondering what life was going to bring us. Sitting, waiting, wondering. That's part of life, too. | |
| Some of your short poems are a deep as your long ones that I
sometimes have trouble understanding. Untouched Destiny
is one. Making Ice Cream is another--everything
working in a circle. Sugar Cookies, returning
home. All warm and filled with memories that everyone should
enjoy. And then, We Weren't Even Friends.
Oh! That one made me cry. Such wonderful memories of a
childhood friend, only to discover at a reunion that he never considered
you a friend.
I remember the girl who told me there was no Santa Claus. I fussed at her, threw rocks at her, and went home crying. I told my mom what a terrible lie she told me, only to find out it was true. She was older than me, but in the tenth grade I found myself in an elective class with her. I went to her and told her how she had hurt me back then. She didn't remember what she had said to me. She didn't remember me at all! She had changed my young life of Christmases forever, and she didn't even know me. |
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| The Quixote Imbroglio | |
| Fingers Through The Sand | |
| He, Recalled | |
| I just started the copy of He, Recalled that you sent me. I made it to page three by the time I realized why you have refused to put it out for sale. You're right! There would be a few million people out to get you. Maria says more like a billion. | |
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Page | | Ali Zán and True Love | Memory Work | Just Another Georgia Romance | The Quixote Imbroglio | He, Recalled | | Fingers Through The Sand | Nearly Diamond | Poems: Earth, Dirt and Dust | Site Map | Contact Us | |
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| Literary Works of The Author |
Memory
Work Nearly Diamond He, Recalled The Quixote Imbroglio |
Ali Zán And True Love Earth, Dirt, And Dust Just Another Georgia Romance Fingers Through The Sand |
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