Welcome Gordon Osmonde

BookCover004Hi and welcome to my blog, Gordon Osmond. Please make yourself at home and grab a drink from my hunky cabana boys, Zeke and Jake. 

To get us started can you tell us a little about what you are working on or have coming out?  

Thank you, Raine, Zeke, and Jake for this warm and wet welcome. I think this process in which we’re engaged can, like all of Gaul, be divided into three parts: the ecstasy of writing, the agony of publication, and the drudgery of promotion. At the moment, I’m promoting my recently published debut novel, Slipping on Stardust, and moonlighting writing its sequel, which I’ve tentatively titled, Turner’s Point.


Is there something special you do to celebrate when one of your books is released?  

Yes, like the author in the film Misery, I break out a bottle of really good champagne and toast the publisher, editor, and proofreader who have enabled my book to see the light of day. In the case of Slipping on Stardust, those people belong to Secret Cravings Publishing. I also toast the very special people who are recognized in the book’s dedication and acknowledgment pages.


What influenced you to get published? How long did it take for your first book to get published? 

My first book was about education in English as a Second Language. It grew out of my experience teaching the subject in San Diego. I brought to the task a rather rational, traditional and untrendy approach, which was very popular with my students, if not with my colleagues. At the request of many of my students, that approach was codified in my first book, So You Think You Know English—A Guide to English for Those Who Think They Don’t Need One. The writing and publication process took about a year, and I’d like to think that the book has had a salutary, antidotal effect on some current pedagogic trends.


Do you have a book that was easiest to write or one that was the hardest? 

Not really. All of  them were written in my head before I put pen to paper. Maybe if I had worked harder, the finished products would be better.

Could you tell us a couple of favorite books that inspired you to write? 

The plays of Tennessee Williams and Noel Coward inspired me to write plays. The novels of Oscar Wilde, Victor Hugo and Gustav Flaubert inspired me to write my debut novel, Slipping on Stardust.


Is music a factor for you while you are writing? Do certain songs put you in the right frame of mind to write certain stories? 

I cannot imagine life without music. My uncle conducted the Mormon Tabernacle Choir for decades, my brother has conducted the Jackson Symphony for decades, and my mother and sister-in-law were each an outstanding soprano. More than any opera or symphony, however, a German lied, sung by one of the great interpreters thereof, puts me most in a mood full of challenge to create.


If you could collaborate with one author who would it be? 

I think I’d pass on collaboration. I’d bore my superiors, and I’d be bored by the others.

What is the strangest source of writing inspiration you’ve ever had? 

A dear friend was dying in the hospital. The circumstances surrounding his illness gave me the idea for my first play, A Matter of Tone, which was my first effort at creative writing.


If your muse were to talk behind your back, what secrets would they tell? 

Actually, I have no secrets. My life is an open book, as proved by the publication of my “unauthorized autobiography,” Wet Firecrackers.


Other than writing, what are some of your passions in life? 

My passions are love, education, and creation, in no particular order.


What books are currently on your nightstand? 

Now a Terrifying Motion Picture, by James F. Broderick and Pulse by Julian Barnes.


What can readers expect next from you? 

A sequel to Slipping on Stardust. I, and I’m happy to say, others have expressed an interest in what happens to the novel’s characters after the book’s conclusion.


Thanks for coming. Is there anything else you want to add? 

I’d like to thank you, Raine Delight, for making available to me and other authors such a hospitable opportunity to talk about their work.

The most efficient way to connect with me and my books is my Amazon Author Page:  https://www.amazon.com/author/gordonosmond

To receive Slipping on Stardust directly from the publisher, go to: http://store.sweetcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=120

I also recommend the book’s own interactive website: http://i-m.co/GordonOsmond/SlippingonStardust



Slipping on Stardust is a contemporary American novel/mystery the central focus of which is a “typical” family of three living in a small town.

Danton Brockway is a successful lawyer, a large pillar of a small community. His wife, Eileen, is a modern-day Madame Bovary, beautiful, prone to delusion, and decidedly restless. Their son, Kyle, is a sensitive, impatient, and sexually undecided high school senior who is struggling with all adolescent plagues except acne.

The normal routine of the Brockways is interrupted by a series of distractions:

  • Adrian Conway, a faded Hollywood movie star, comes to town to star with Eileen in a regional theatre production.
  • Danton’s law partner, Raul, is confronted with a blackmail demand made by Jason, the black lover of his son who died of AIDS years earlier.
  • Danton’s other law partner, Mason, accuses a young associate in Danton’s law firm of destroying critical documents in an antitrust case.
  • While facing the collapse of his marriage, Danton receives a ransom note stating that unless Danton commits suicide within 10 days, Danton’s kidnapped son will be killed.

These conflicts hurl the Brockways to New York City and Hollywood, where they learn some valuable lessons about life and love.



Lately, Adrian was arriving later and later at the love nest located on the outskirts of Johnson, itself a bit of an outskirt. Eileen didn’t much mind; it gave her more time to ice the vodka, dim the lights and add her favorite fragrance to the room. In the words of her treasured Blanche du Bois in A Streetcar Named Desire, she did her best to “make enchantment.”

The dimming of the lights was unnecessary because Adrian insisted on making love in total darkness. At their inaugural union that Saturday afternoon when they were supposed to be rehearsing, Eileen discovered why Adrian never wore casual clothes. She quickly learned that suits, jackets, and plump ascots or turtlenecks at the throat were indeed the best friends of the overfed.

By reading her always reliable women’s magazines, Eileen had learned that Martians were more visual, Venusians more tactile. Therefore, she was not to care that certain parts of Adrian were definitely not larger than life. She also reasoned that being located below a rather protuberant belly, those parts were destined for eclipse. Finally, Eileen figured that her superior pulchritude was a sort of counterbalance to Adrian’s notoriety as a film star.

After some rather flaccid fumbling around, Adrian basically passed out, blaming his less-than-stellar performance on his forgetting to bring along his magic blue pills. It was the first time Eileen learned that Adrian’s earlier endeavors had been chemically enhanced, if not, indeed, produced. She wasn’t pleased.

When Adrian awakened, he found Eileen sitting on the floor, legs folded in front of her with each of her feet pressed against the opposite thigh. Adrian cringed with sympathetic, but not empathetic discomfort. Eileen’s hands were outstretched at her side, palms skyward, with fingers formed in circles as if to say “okay” to the gods above.

Eileen kept reciting a monotonous and undecipherable lyric that sounded something like, “Nam yo horenge kyo.” By the twentieth repetition, Adrian had cleared his head long enough to blurt out, “Eileen, what the hell are you doing?”

“It’s a brand of Buddhism, my darling.”

Adrian was more than happy to leave it at that, but Eileen was determined to elaborate. “You see, in the book I read it says that if you repeat this phrase, nam yo…

“Yes, I got that, Eileen. So, if you repeat it, what happens?”

“You get whatever you are wishing for, provided you chant long and hard enough. Just like the old song, Wishing Will Make It So.”

“And you believe that?”

“Absolutely. Come, try it with me.” Eileen instantly realized what an absurd invitation she’d extended.

Imagining the pain he would suffer if his legs even approached the angles he saw below him on the floor, Adrian passed, adding, “Just what were you hoping for, anyway?”

With an expression that was part incredulous but mostly crestfallen, Eileen answered, “Don’t you know?”

Adrian didn’t.


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