Guest Post with Author Robert Dean

Two sequences made me want to become a writer. The Madonna – diner scene in Reservoir Dogs, and the car clean up in Pulp Fiction. Safely put, Quentin Tarintino is completely to blame for the affliction I exist with today. Being a kid who was obsessed with skateboarding, books and music, writing really never dawned on me. It just kind of happened as I was watching these movies, and I heard these people say such bold things, in these absolutely gritty, and hardboiled situations.

           I wondered how does one create such a universe that was so complex in comparison to what I was reading? As a kid I would devour books like Silence of the Lambs, or anything by Stephen King, but it was Tarrintino that showed me something different, that magical chorus of angels beaming down as they turned on some kinds of light switch complete with gunfire and sex. He showed me that saying fuck, and killing people could be sexy, if done correctly.

           As I ventured further with this hobby, that I never took serious, I met my senior English teacher, Mr. Schmidt, a super laid back guy on the tail end of retirement, and armed with a serious case of IDGAF attitude toward what his classes. 

But, with that attitude, he found me, and saw what I was doing in my papers and encouraged me, he pushed me and told me I would be doing a disservice to my skill if I let it waste in some menial position elsewhere. And while I’m happy to be thought of so fondly, one has to wonder what the hell kind of money could I have been making? 

In a post high school world, I found myself at the bottom of a bottle and in journalism school, trying to become the next great writer with his own serious case of not caring, but doing a solid job at finding the lost stories of the world, and telling them to anyone who’d listen. At 20 years old, I found another piece in the puzzle that would create the writer than I am today: Charles Bukowski. And while countless males read his work, and hope to copy his style and rawness, I never wanted that. I saw someone who I could relate to that was blue collar, working class; and as the son of blue collar people, and the first on both sides of my family to attend college, it was a voice that spoke in volumes to me. 

          With Bukowski came the Beat Generation, and the promises of a world that was on a different wavelength than the shit they were currently socially mired in. It felt good to know that I wasn’t alone, generations later, and with that frame of mind, I wanted to be a writer of many facets, and may skills, that couldn’t be put in a box. I’m not there yet, but if I can be a little bit of Tarrintino, a pinch of Bukowski and a lot of Mr. Schmidt, I think I’m doing my best to achieve my goals.

 

About the Author:

Robert Dean is an author, journalist, and cynic living in New Orleans, LA.

Dean has worked for NBC, ABC, The Michiana Entertainer, and has had freelance pieces published in online journals, and has also has contributed to various independent zines that have came and gone throughout the years.

Currently, he is a contributor to Truthaboutmusic.com, and www.moonrunnerscountry.com
He has also written for the world-renowned Offbeat music magazine and has gotten to write about and interview some of the most exciting musicians to come out of New Orleans. He is also the head writer for the Quarter Rat, an insider magazine for the service industry of the French Quarter.

Dean is currently editing his second full length novel "Coffins" along with continuing work on his collection of short stories titled "The Snakes in the Garden." His story "Blue Eyeliner" has been published in Open Heart Press's "An Honest Lie". He's also written everything from stories to bad music reviews in the punk rock zines that have came and gone from coast to coast. He's easy to find on the internet, just use the Googles. Also, he enjoys ice cream and pandas.

Amazon link:
http://www.amazon.com/The-Arms-Nightmares-Robert-Dean/dp/1936730502/ref=la_B007VDV7UG_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1342074082&sr=1-1