The Lure of the Image

They say the waiting is the worst part, and I would have to agree.

After the thrill of the first spark of ideation, the workhorse charge through a plot, the clever asides and welcome humor, the tragedy and the pathos, the love and beauty, the words of wisdom and the coming together of different paths in a satisfying unification just as our breath starts to wane . . . comes the waiting.

They say to set aside your manuscript for a couple weeks, minimum - a couple months is better - before looking at it again. Let the story settle. Forget it a little. Then you can read it again with fresh eyes and, it is hoped, you will see things that need attention - flesh out thin scenes, cut unnecessary paragraphs, add a line or two of dialog, clarify some details, re-check facts, correct typos and lapses of continuity, perhaps add a side quest to explain the sidekick's obsession with bunnies, whatever.

Meanwhile, you ring up your friend the artist and ask for cover art - or you hire a professional to design a book cover that reflects the story's genre but doesn't give away too much of the story. In my experience, book covers seldom fit exactly the story that's inside. Sometimes, it's aggravating they don't match. With fantasy, sci-fi, and horror, the image on the front cover is typically so lavish that I find myself pausing among the pages to gaze back occasionally at the image on the cover, searching there for details from the pages.

I remain amazed at the power of the image to catch us, draw us in, hold our attention, evoke our fantasies and fill our dreams . . . even as I, being the writer, labor to create with words what the artist creates with color, line and form, light and shadow, and special effects that further enrapture the viewer. It is magic. I know many writers collect pictures from magazines, the internet, or they photograph their own just to look at them while typing out a textual description of the scene. Conversely, a cover artist often works from a textual description of the design idea which the author provides.

I am now in that canyon of limbo. Everything is out of my control for a while. All I can do is wait and hope everything will work out just right. I submitted a work order for a book cover and have gotten the finished product. As far as I can tell the cover design follows my description, my idea, what I asked for. However, I find that, holding a proof copy of the book in my hands, the cover art doesn't quite "pop" as they say in the industry. I blame myself; I got what I asked for. Perhaps I should have given the artist more free reign to imagine a better design.

This experience reminds me of the power of the image over the textual. It seems unfair to me that before any reader starts to read even the first page, the reader must first be intrigued by the image on the front cover. Pick it up from the bookstore shelf. Gaze upon the picture, pondering the story represented there. Satisfied, the reader flips over the book and reads the back cover. Either there is a short description of the story, composed in such a way as to further intrigue the reader, to persuade the reader to take the book straight up to the cashier . . . or there are a few quotes from critics I don't know, whose opinions have no effect on whether I will like the book.

No matter how well written a story is, no matter how compelling the story is, no matter how well crafted the plot and its twists and denouement are, a reader will not even begin the reading experience without first being hooked by mere image. Before reading the short blurb on the back, there comes first the cover art.

Imagine deciding to go to a concert only by seeing the poster advertising the concert and reading a textual description of the music. Yes, if you know the music, you can decide based on the memory of having heard it before. Otherwise, a description of how the piece begins, what instruments play here and there, what effects the percussionists add, will not likely prompt a concertgoer to go. Would a lavish picture on the poster help persuade the concertgoer to attend separate from the words on the poster? Perhaps. It may suggest to the concertgoer that the organization cared enough about satisfying their customers to add the image. I'm only speculating, being both a reader and a concertgoer.

The book world is different. And as we move steadily forward into a world without pages, without text, it is the image which will carry civilization forward - much as mere images did in ancient times when the image of a book was the word for book. Or a scroll of papyrus or clay tablet, you know what I mean. 

Ars longa, Vita brevis.

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(C) Copyright 2010-2022 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

How I Ruined My Summer Vacation (2017 Edition) Pt 5

I need to slip this blog about my summer vacation in between hurricanes. With only two classes each week, I had time for sightseeing but because I had seen everything before, it was harder to find something else to see. Fortunately, I had a friend guide me to a new corner of the city: the 798 Art Zone.

During my first summer trip to Beijing I had cravings for tacos but quickly discovered that the only tacos in Beijing were at a handful of cafes run by ex-pat Westerners. One of them was located in this corner of Beijing but the subway route to get there required 4 lines. As it turned out, this was in the Art Zone.

I met my guide, codename: Maria, outside my hotel on a Sunday morning. She arrived on one of the millions of rental bikes (where you dial in a code number on an app on your smart phone and the bike is unlocked). 

We walked up the street to the bus stop to go to the Art Zone. I've always been wary of riding buses because I don't know where they will go. But with my guide, I felt safe. I used my subway pass for the bus. It was a 40 minute bus ride, no changes. 

Going to see more of the northeast corner of the city, off the edge of my map. I saw us pass a sign marking the division between Chaoyang district and Wangjing district, near Wangjing park. 

Finally we got off the bus and walked a bit, looking for a place to have lunch. We decided to find the Art Zone first, then look for lunch. We backtracked and crossed a wide avenue and entered the 798 Art Zone, where a big sign indicated the district. If you had been looking right at it you would've seen it. Lots of old brick and tile factories had been converted into artists’ studios and small galleries. Lots of cafes and bars, too. 

Translation: "The First Breakfast"

"The Four Moods of Stephen"

Searching for a good place for lunch, we paused to get drinks: latte for me, fruit smoothie for her. We went next to a café and ordered a Hawaiian pizza with a Caesar salad. Nothing more American than that. It was very good and exactly like what I would have had in the US. I almost forgot I was in China. 

Then we walked around looking at strange public art, taking photos, entering small galleries—hoping people would buy the art—and joking together about what we saw. It was nice to have a leisurely day out looking at art. 

Eventually, we got thirsty so we stopped in at a place for a drink. Instead, we got a large dish of mango sherbet with cubes of mango. Very delicious! As it turned out, none of the cafes or restaurants or even the galleries had much A/C going. Outside it was the usual hot, humid weather. The galleries seemed to have only enough cool air to be able to make the claim it was on. We talked about all sorts of trivial topics, including how to interpret modern art. I think we are supposed to imagine what the artist was thinking and/or drinking when he or she painted it. We must use metaphor and personification, even if it hurts. Many tags next to artwork suggested the inspiration came from a dream.


Once upon a time I learned about art from a real art student, but I had to throw all that out the window in this district. I saw a lot of red and a lot of Mao-suit-influenced designs. The melding of old and new was a common theme. Attempts to create the fantastic, to shock or provoke introspection, appeared on every corner and in half the galleries. I eventually reached the threshold of interpretation and gave up.

I did not buy any art: too big, too bold, too expensive for my meager means.

When we decided to go back to the campus, I suggested we have dinner there in one of the small restaurants around the campus. But as we walked in the direction to exit the Art Zone, we saw a restaurant promoting gourmet hamburgers. One was a Mexican hamburger. I was hooked. We decided to have our dinner there. But we were not yet hungry, so we continued to walk around, visit some shops, see other streets and alleys, and circled back to the hamburger restaurant. We got cold drinks first, talked, then ordered our hamburgers. It was a good dinner.

The dinner gave us some more energy, so we could start walking back to the bus stop. On the way, she saw a McDonald's in a shopping mall so we went in to get some ice cream as our dessert. Instead of the small vanilla cones I expected, they were promoting large fancy cones, with some decorations, so I got a mango dessert cone and she got a green tea cone. We finished our desserts sitting inside, then we continued on to the bus stop.

Waiting at the bus stop to return to the campus, we talked about everything important in life, such as my vampire book and the sequel I was writing in my hotel room. She is a fan of vampire stories, so I offered to let her be a character in the sequel. Talk of how I got the idea for the book led to discussions of current geopolitics. 

Still we waited for the bus. Several others stopped but they were not the one to return us to the campus. I was just happy to chat longer. I felt sad when our bus finally arrived and we got on it.

To see yourself in the Hanged Man is a good omen, right?

As we arrived at our stop by the campus and got out, we went to the crosswalk and said our goodbyes. A sad moment. It was a long but fun day, the best day of my summer vacation. I did something I never could have done by myself, plus I enjoyed being with Maria. 

After walking with her through the campus, I returned to my hotel. On the way back, I see the corner laundry is still open so I pop in to pick up my clothes for the coming week. A win-win!

That night, I reflected on all that I had seen during the day, and all that I had felt and said and heard and thought. It was a lot. Then I wrote poetry. It's what I do. It's what we all do when visiting the 798 Art Zone.


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(C) Copyright 2010-2017 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Getting Hooked on Art in Beijing

If you have been following my adventures last month in Beijing, you know I'm telling it backwards. And that is not a metaphor.

So, after my second week's classes were done, I was finally ready to do some serious sightseeing. I checked maps for tourist sites I had not already visited in my two prior trips to Beijing, calculated subway routes, and prepared my knapsack with essential survival products (for example, t-paper for public restrooms).

Then it rained. They said it was the heaviest rain in Beijing in years. So I stayed in my neat little hotel room and worked on my new novel most of the day Thursday and Friday. I put in about 6 hours of original composition each day. The housekeepers came and went without incident (See previous post). By Saturday morning, I wanted to do something, anything so I wouldn't waste these days completely. I decided to return to Wangfujing Avenue, which is a tourist street in the heart of Beijing. If it rained, I could at least be able to spend the hours browsing in one of the two large bookstores there. 

Oriental Plaza shopping mall and hotel, Wangfujing Avenue in Beijing

So I took the subway to the Wangfujing station, which leads directly into the lower level of the shopping plaza near the Wangfujing bookstore. There is a food court on that lower level so part of my plan was to grab brunch there before moving on to the bookstores. I also planned to find some postcards and other souvenirs since I was in the tourist area. I walked casually through the food court area, more a collection of self-contained restaurants than “fast food” as we know it back home. As I passed an escalator, a girl coming down it called to me. She was short and cute, smiling and asking what I was looking for, as though she could help me.

Well, I look like a big dumb tourist but I’m actually an old professor here to teach an English class, so I had no reason not to be polite and respond to her attempt to help me. We had some small talk about food. I asked her what she recommended. She said the Wangfujing bookstore had restaurants in the lower level, too. I thought it would be one-stop shopping.

The main consideration for me was being able to use my credit card because I was getting low on cash; I knew most stores on Wangfujing would take credit cards. So I followed her out of the Oriental Plaza mall and over to the Wangfujing bookstore. By then, she was mentioning an art exhibition featuring Chinese calligraphy. I knew what that was and I had actually bought some beautiful scroll paintings on my previous visit years before. However, she presumed that as a tourist I would be interested in seeing scroll paintings. 

As we went around the corner of the Wangfujing bookstore--but not entering it--she pointed to the entrance to the lower level restaurants and continued on, determined to show me the art exhibit. It was between breakfast and lunch and I saw in the Oriental Plaza that the food court places were just getting ready to open, so it made sense to go ahead and see some art while we waited for the restaurants to open. I followed. 

She led me into the side entrance of the next building to the Wangfujing bookstore, a hotel, definitely not the front door. I thought that was rather strange to be going in the "back way" if we were going to some "important" art exhibit. But there was a sign there announcing the exhibit. She pointed to it. There was also a guard in uniform behind a desk which had the hotel’s name on it. Across from the desk was a service elevator. 

Hmm, I thought, what is this? She even said "Don’t worry" but it was more like "Don’t wooooooorrrry" like she knew just how to emphasize the word. That made me worry, of course. The elevator opened and we stepped on. Then two young men got on and stood in front of me--between me and the elevator doors. At that moment I felt uneasy; if the three of them were working together, they would have had me right there. Elevator robbery. 

But nothing happened. The elevator arrived at the right floor and the two guys stepped off and my escort showed me to the art exhibit a little ways down the corridor.

The so-called art exhibit was just a small room with scroll paintings lining the walls and a screen set up in the middle to divide the small room into two galleries with more space to hang the scrolls. The art was good. I'm no expert but I know what I like. Everything from nature scenes in traditional Chinese style--like the ones I already had back home--to more modern style paintings. Some with calligraphy writing (poem?) or pandas or even female models posing au naturale. 

I was particularly attracted to a large painting of a nature scene, a river and the rocks along the shore, summer trees and a Chinese temple hidden among them. The canvas painting was maybe 8 feet long. It as very beautiful, so my escort and the woman running the “exhibit” got me into a conversation about how much I thought it was worth. I countered by saying it would be impossible for me to take it with me on an airplane. So they showed me a much smaller painting, similar kind of nature scene but autumn, on a canvas but not put in a wooden frame. The older woman unrolled the canvas in front of me. It was about 2 x 3 ft. A lovely painting.

But for me it did not matter what the cost was. If it costs 100 dollars but you do not have 100 dollars it doesn’t matter if you like it or not. At first, I thought they were giving me a price in Yuan (about 7 to the dollar) but then it became clear they meant dollars (What if I was French and had no dollars, only euros?). Of course, I did not get up this morning with the idea of buying a painting of anything, much less be pressured into it before I’d even had my breakfast or lunch. So I balked, said I needed to get something to eat before I could decide on whether to buy it or not. I really did not want to buy it, but I was trying to be polite. Up to then my escort and the woman running the art exhibit had been pushy but remained polite.

The idea was proffered that my escort was actually the painter of the smaller unframed painting and because she was "only a student" they could cut the price. I started to see the ploy, but I was saved simply because I really did not have the cash and I was not too confident using a credit card there in that small “shop”. 

I was trying to extract myself because I really was hungry by that point. The deal was undone for me when the next middle-aged foreign man was led into the art exhibit by a young attractive Chinese girl. He was followed quickly by a young tourist couple led by another Chinese woman. We all had been found wandering the streets desirous of calligraphy and in need of a scroll! 

I was able to slip out with that distraction, but not without my escort following me. I said I needed to get something to eat, so I went out the way I'd come in and my escort followed me. I returned to the restaurants on the lower level under the Wangfujing bookstore that she had pointed out. I looked around to see what I might like, then saw the restroom sign and decided I needed to freshen up. I took my time and did not really concern myself whether or not my escort had seen where I went or would be waiting. When I exited, she was there waiting for me. She asked what I was going to eat, then switched to talking about that painting.

Walking among the different restaurants I found nothing that I wanted to eat, so I said I wanted to return to the Oriental Plaza's food court. I knew what was there, even though there were far too many choices. I started out of the lower level food court, got outside and was on the sidewalk back to the entrance of the Oriental Plaza mall next door when she suddenly shouted profanities at me and cursed me for “wasting her time”! That was shocking, but perhaps not so surprising. I knew she was a salesperson once we got into the art “store” but I was intent on maintaining my politeness as a mature adult.

I really hated that she had to let me know I’d wasted her time by using the most popular American swear words. That sort of thing makes you question humanity. You see, now the next time a college or high school student (or appearing to be) speaks to me, wanting to practice English, I will be suspicious. I might even be rude and put him/her off, refusing a conversation, simply because this one person who had seemed friendly and polite, sincere in speaking English with me, was in the end just part of a sales team. I could forgive the sales pitch, but to end it all with the cursing…well, that was uncalled for! I had been polite and I had politely excused myself. She could have done the same, saying “Thanks for taking a look.” I might have returned later to buy a painting, who knows? But to suddenly let loose her full range of profanity was quite disappointing. If her English was good enough to carry on a decent conversation with me, I would think she could put it to better use than seducing middle-aged foreign men out of the Oriental Plaza food court off Wangfujing Avenue.

No problem for me; I shook it off. Now that I was free from the clutches of the salesgirl, I did return to the Oriental Plaza and as I went down the escalator to the lower level food court, a reflection caught my eye: Pizza Hut. There it was! But just to be sure that’s what I wanted, I walked around looking at the other restaurants. I knew they would take a credit card so in I went. I ordered a salad and a medium-size all-the-meats pizza, both of which were rather good. I had peach tea, also. Total cost was 115 Yuan, about 18 dollars. I took my time, relaxed after I finished eating, watching the other patrons come in and order. Lots of young couples on a date, also families with small children.

Finally I went into the Xinhua bookstore. On the first floor were maps so I got a new bilingual map of the city. My old map, which I had been using, did not have the newer subway stations marked on it. I also saw a fine selection of postcard packets so I got a few of them. Then I went upstairs to the English books. It was crowded on all the floors, given that it was Saturday, but I did not see much I had to have. My interest was in Chinese authors translated into English, so I could read their stories and learn about the Chinese condition (much like the human condition, which is what all fiction is ultimately about). I went to the other floors, as well, and discovered fewer books and more of other things like art supplies, musical instruments, and small appliances.

I got a few small souvenirs on one floor. Outside, the sky was dark, threatening rain, but the streets were busy with pedestrians. Business was good. I walked up the street, the wide pedestrian mall, got a cold bottle of juice from one of the many street kiosks, then went into the Beijing Foreign Book Store. I did not take my time going to every floor, just went straight to the English books. I did find two paperbacks of Chinese authors in English to buy, one a translation and the other written in English. After that, I continued walking north through the crowds of pedestrians, stopping in a shop here or there to examine the souvenirs items they had.

Eventually, I thought I was far enough north that I determined it was closer to walk east to meet a subway station than to return south to the station I'd arrived at. However, except when I was sitting in the Pizza Hut, I had been standing or walking for a few hours already (even on the subway I stood), so my legs were tired. I headed east along the street which should take me to the subway station I was looking for, a connection to the line that would take me directly back without having to change subway lines. But it was not where I thought it was and I worried I had gone too far. (On the way, I passed a storefront and a man came out, calling to me, asking where I was from and if I liked Chinese calligraphy! I said I was in a hurry and could not take any time to go into his shop and look at the scrolls.) 

Right where I happened to pause to check my map, I saw a McDonald’s on the corner so I went inside and got an iced latte and sat down to study the map better. Refreshed once more, I continued on and found the station. Once I got off at the subway stop nearest to my hotel, I climbed the many stairs to the surface and proceeded to walk the few blocks back to my hotel. On the way, I stopped at a convenience store to load up on drinks and at a “bakery” for a sandwich and a pastry for later. 

After I returned to my neat little room, I unloaded my purchases and peeled off my sweaty clothes, took a shower, and lay on the bed for a nap. It was a good day, all in all. Later I got up and did some writing on my book, then went to sleep again. Life in a little hotel in Beijing. 

Next time: The Adventure Begins!

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(C) Copyright 2010-2015 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

When was your Beautiful Chill?

You know that Valentine thing coming up? Roses and chocolates, the usual? Red velvet cards and whispered sweet nothings.... Time to express your love to someone you hope will be happy to hear all about it.... 


This is probably the perfect time to introduce my newest novel, A BEAUTIFUL CHILL, available now in paperback and ebook editions...just in time for Valentine's Day!

It's a romance, after all. Well, sorta. People fall in love, don't they? Meh, maybe. They live happily ever after, right? Umm, kinda. So it's not really a "romance" - is it? More of an anti-romance, perhaps. Let's just say this is not your grandmother's campus romance.

Of course, the campus romance is certainly one of the most popular fiction subjects, more so if they involve the forbidden pairing of a professor and a student. Lots of room for sexy scenes and tempestuous trouble! Some have complained that the power is always with the man, or always with the professor. 

That may be true in many cases. But, forgetting for a moment which person may be older or in a position of authority, consider who really has the power in such a relationship, especially in this topsy-turvy world of gender politics and the casual mind games that can be cleverly hidden between sessions of Studio Art and Shakespeare classes!

So here is Íris, a refugee from an abusive youth in Iceland and further abused on the streets of Toronto - until she discovers Art and uses it as an escape. Now, with a scholarship in hand, she drifts from depression to nightmare to her Wiccan rituals to the next art exhibit. But there's still a lot she must forget in order to succeed in a life she refuses to take responsibility for. Time is running out as she nears graduation.

One night she crosses paths with Eric, the new professor, settling in at Fairmont College, starting a new life after previous betrayal and heartbreak. Divorced and hitting forty, he has a lot to prove - to his father, his colleagues, and mostly to himself. The last thing he needs is a distraction - and there's nothing more distracting than Iris. Besides, being the consummate Romantic by training and by temperament, he must always save the damsel - whether or not she wants to be saved.


A BEAUTIFUL CHILL - the moment when past and present dangerously collide - is a contemporary "romance" set in the duplicitous world of academic rules and artistic license - much in the same vein as Francine Prose's campus dalliance in Blue Angel and Elizabeth Rosner's artist/muse elegy Blue Nude. A BEAUTIFUL CHILL is a novel about choices, empowerment, and redemption. 

You can read more about this novel at Shelfari.com

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Need a last minute gift? 

Simply buy the ebook and on the same page click to send it to your giftee's email.

Check out other books from Stephen Swartz: 

both literary/romantic-adventure and science-fiction!

(Click on your favorite book's LINK in the upper right corner of this blog page.)

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(C) Copyright 2010-2014 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.