Showing posts with label connecticut. Show all posts
Showing posts with label connecticut. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 24, 2024

Latino Book Chat with Sergio Troncoso

Please share this podcast interview, by Latino Book Chat, that was released today on NOBODY’S PILGRIMS. Thank you to Christianne Meneses Jacobs! 😀

"Troncoso delivers a surprisingly fast-paced, character-driven story....A sublime, diverse cast drives this tale of looking for a safe, welcoming home." Kirkus Reviews

"The first time I finished Sergio Troncoso’s Nobody’s Pilgrims, I realized that I was absent-mindedly petting the cover. His characters had somehow taken up residence in my heart. It was love at first sight. A second reading, and a rereading of some of his earlier fiction, only confirmed the power of this odyssey of Turi, Arnulfo and Molly."
—Bob Dunton, El Paso Matters

https://www.podpage.com/latino-book-chat/51-teenage-fugitives-deadly-cargo-sergio-troncoso/#play

Saturday, June 11, 2022

Diverse Voices Book Review on Nobody's Pilgrims

Thank you Hopeton Hay for interviewing me about Nobody's Pilgrims for Diverse Voices Book Review. What a great conversation we had! I loved it. These are my favorite conversations to have, with someone who loves books and digs deep into the novel and can appreciate the nuances of the characters and places I write about. So grateful!

 

 https://www.podomatic.com/podcasts/hbhpodcasts/episodes/2022-06-05T05_57_50-07_00

Wednesday, April 20, 2022

El Paso Matters Interviews Sergio Troncoso

"I was a poor kid growing up in Ysleta, and the El Paso Public Library was the place where I found my
sanctuary. I found the peace and quiet to concentrate my mind, and I could go and pick up books for free and read to my heart’s content. The public library was so central to my early education and to expanding what I learned in grade school and high school....

At a meeting, the El Paso City Council voted unanimously to rename the branch library in Ysleta as the Sergio Troncoso Branch Library. It was one of the proudest moments of my literary life. I had grown up within walking distance from the library. Our family had begun with an outhouse in the backyard and kerosene lamps and stoves in Ysleta. We were as poor as poor can be. But reading, focus, discipline and the Mexican immigrant values of my parents propelled me forward over many years. And I never stopped working to be a literary voice for los de abajo, the underdogs, from Ysleta and El Paso."

https://elpasomatters.org/2022/04/19/texas-literary-giants-gathering-in-el-paso-this-week/

Monday, October 12, 2009

Getting Ready For Winter

As I write this tonight, my arm muscles are still twitching from the trauma. I was splitting wood this weekend, getting our firewood stack ready for the winter. Our woodpile, hidden behind two small maples in front of our house in Connecticut, has blackened, three-year-old wood. That’s where I started.

I carted one twelve-pound, double-faced sledgehammer to the woodpile. I have two, one is newer, and from the second, the one in my hand, the hickory had split just below the head. I taped it last year with duct tape, and it seemed to be holding. The newer one’s my backup. I also carried two two-pound black metal wedges. I made a second trip to the garage, for my Husqvarna chainsaw.

We need to burn aggressively this year. Already I have two dead trees on our property that will soon be added to our woodpile. We have two fireplaces and a wood-burning stove, and there’s nothing more sublime than the fall display of colors in Litchfield County and the smell of fireplaces keeping homes warm in rural Connecticut. It takes you back in time. It instantly transports you to the antithesis of the City. It saves on heating bills.

I removed the green tarps covering my woodpile, starting with the oldest wood. I know when and where each pile of logs was placed every year. I rolled old massive oak stumps, which had already been cut when we bought our property years ago. As I split these stumps, using the two wedges simultaneously and bringing the sledgehammer alternately on each wedge, the crack of the wood revealed a nest of termites. Hundreds of them. Two of the old stumps were contaminated, and I wouldn’t bring them into the garage, even though I sorely wanted to incinerate the vermin. I rolled the split, contaminated stumps away from the woodpile, into the forest, and let the termites have their feast.

The rest of the wood was termite free. I held a wedge on the flat wood, smashed it hard with the sledgehammer, avoiding pulverizing my wrist or fingers. Once the wedge stuck, I lifted the sledgehammer overhead, and brought it down on the wedge, often imagining the face of a critic or nemesis, literary and political, as the wedge. The adrenalin flowed, and I didn’t feel my muscles twitching until hours later. For each log, for each split (thick logs need to be quartered, instead of just halved), three, four, five times I brought the hammer down. It’s like lifting weights and doing squats at the same time. You feel it in your shoulders, arms, and legs, as you split the logs, carry them to the pile to go into the garage, over and over again.

My trusty chainsaw? I used it to cut longer logs in half. It’s a machine you need to pay attention to, lest you lose a finger or a toe. It’s a blast of noise in the quiet forest, and I prefer hearing the crack of split wood, but you need the machine once in a while. The chainsaw also determined when I stopped. When I became too tired and my muscles and reflexes stopped responding as they should, that’s when it was time to call it a day, before I made a bloody mistake.

Some people might think it’s crazy to spend a significant part of your weekend doing this kind of work. You can certainly pay somebody else to do it. Or you can drive to a supermarket and buy neat, shrink-wrapped piles of wood. My wife Laura has threatened to buy me a wood-splitter, but so far I have resisted. I like connecting with the wood. I like the exercise and being outside. I like doing things for myself, instead of being separated from what I need and what I need to do to achieve it. I’m not about to slaughter my own chickens, but I will split my own wood. Writing itself already separates me from the world; I don’t need another activity to divorce myself from preparing for the turn of the seasons.