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Twisted Realities with Joseph A. Pinto

Joseph A. Pinto is the author of Memorial in Twisted Realities: Of Myth and Monstrosity. Wanting to learn the inspiration behind the story, we went straight to Joseph; this is what he shared with us –

The Inspiration Behind Memorial

I wish I could reveal to you that I experienced some stunning revelation that inspired the writing of Memorial, but the truth is, as is the case with all my fiction, I fly by the seat of my pants.

Most horror stories are written with an intended story arc in mind.  Then there are those that write themselves.  I painstakingly opt for the latter — certainly not an easy thing to achieve.  I truly believe the moment you plot, the moment you outline and begin drafting a story, then you have truly robbed it of its power.  It deserves to make decisions on its own.  It deserves its own life.

The idea for Memorial is derived from the Greek tale of Pygmalion and Galatea.  Pygmalion, a native of Cyprus, was a brilliant sculptor whose statues resembled not stone but warm human flesh.  Although sought after by all the maidens of the island, he devoted himself to his art and resolved never to marry.  His creations were all that mattered to him.  Eventually, Pygmalion fell in love with one of his own carvings, a ‘woman’ of unparalleled beauty he would name Galatea.  Obsessed with his own desire for her, Pygmalion prayed countless nights to the goddess Aphrodite that she bless his creation with life.  Finally, after seeing the beauty captured within his statue of Galatea for herself, Aphrodite grants him his wish.  Pygmalion and Galatea wed and lived happily ever after.

But that’s hardly how my spin goes.

There is nothing quite as horrific as a love denied.  A love that, for whatever reason fate deems fit, will never truly be yours to own.  It can consume the soul.  Erode the mind.  But what if that love had never been lost?  What if it had always been within you, buried, trapped, yet cherished all the same.

Waiting to be freed.

The true inspiration for Memorial is driven by its own passion.  The singular most important aspect of assisting in Memorial‘s birth was the channeling of its emotion to the reader.  It not only had to read tragically but needed to feel tragic as well.  My modernized spin follows Nicholas, a broken yet talented sculptor, as he prepares to honor a crippled existence through the means of his final creation.  But he soon learns that some stones are best left unturned…

***

Myth or reality…

Explore the twelve tales of horror and intrigue in Twisted Realities: Of Myth and Monstrosity and ask yourself, what would you consider a fair price to pay for life immortal… or the chance of life at all?

Would a young woman pass up a shiny bauble if she believed it to be nothing more than a harmless trinket? What transpires once a year in a peaceful and remote village that no one will ever speak of? What better way for a broken man to honor a crippled existence than with a memorial of blood and vengeance? How could a disfigured woman ever dream of chancing across an object that would restore her beauty – and at what cost?

Follow the twists and turns of each writer as they delve into the legends of days gone by, as well as the consequences that are wrought when myths and monstrosities collide with our world.

Contributing Authors include:

Thomas James Brown, Nina D’Arcangela, K. Trap Jones, Amber Keller, Lisamarie Lamb, Edward Lorn, Alexa Muir, Kate Monroe, Joseph A. Pinto, J. Marie Ravenshaw, Julianne Snow, and Jonathan Templar

Twisted Realities: Of Myth and Monstrosity is available in print and digital forms from these fine retailers:

Print: AmazonCreateSpace
eBook: AmazonAmazon.ukAmazon.deAmazon.frAmazon.it,
Amazon.esSmashwords (Nook, Kobo, Sony and Kindle eReaders)

***

Memorial is the passionate story of a forbidden love and the horrific lengths that a sculptor will undertake to honour that love. Here is a longer look at Joseph’s contribution to Twisted Realities: Of Myth and Monstrosity

     “I believe it’s pointless to ask, Anthony. Those days have long past. Plainly you can see this.” With mournful eyes, the man sipped his bourbon, while into his chest, as if some wounded animal, burrowed a mercilessly bandaged hand.

     Anthony’s hand lingered across the tacky remnants of liquor upon the table; within balled fist, a cold wad of bills. He glared upon the sullen man seated before him. “See? Yes, I can.” Fist inched forward, awkward in its urgency. “And as you can plainly see, a job well done will be rewarded.”

     “What I do…what I did…never constituted a job. A job does nothing to stir the soul. Only passion achieves such a state of grace.” The man inhaled deeply—of the bourbon or the proposal, left to dangle in air—Anthony was not sure. But he did not appreciate the smooth impassiveness across the man’s alabaster face. Did not appreciate it in the least.

     “Passion?”

     “Yes. A job is measured by hours. But passion’s hours are timeless.”

     “It seems your passion has nearly left you a cripple, while my job has left me a wealthy, wealthy man,” Anthony sneered.

     “You are my brother, Anthony. And had you not been, I’d find your gaffe of words truly insulting.”

     “At last, bravado found at the bottom of your glass. Is that the residue of passion, Nicholas, or merely passion’s inspiration?”

     A thread’s breadth parted Nicholas’ lips as bourbon drizzled tongue. Eyes danced but to the song of another day, transfixed by noiseless, ghostly chords. “Some people wish to choose their vice. But for others, the vice chooses them.”

     “Killing yourself slowly with alcohol now, then.”

     “It’s not alcohol of which I speak.” The words hung between them.

     Hesitation. Eventually Anthony loomed over the table. “She’s gone, Nicholas,” and instantly the music ceased; a blackened veil draped his features. Hand plummeted to the table, the snifter nearly shattering atop the sticky grain. Bourbon splashed Anthony’s knuckles, but fast his posture remained. He studied his brother with dulled satisfaction. Slowly, by inches, he lowered his considerable frame, pouring his bulk into the opposite seat. Watching intently. Silence, broken only by Nicholas’ strangled mewls.

     Nicholas dabbed at the corner of his trembling lips. “When?” His voice a hoarse murmur.

     “Six months ago. You’ve changed your haunts. It’s made finding you difficult, but not impossible. I thought you had fallen from the face of the earth, too. Like Catarina.”

If you’d like to learn more about Joseph and his work, you can find information on his website.

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2 comments on “Twisted Realities with Joseph A. Pinto

  1. It was an honor to breathe life into this story for you all

  2. Wow. Now I must read this story. Thank you for sharing!
    And I have to agree with you. The stories I love to write are the ones that essentially write themselves. My characters tell me their stories. U just translate for them. That is my gift (or my curse) depending on my mood.

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