Clark Zlotchew
Clark M. Zlotchew
He has had 17 books published:
Zlotchew and his wife Marilyn live in rural Chautauqua County, N.Y. State.
He joined the U.S. Naval Reserve at age 17 as Apprentice Seaman, and received an Honorable Discharge as Chief Petty Officer at age 36. His experiences at sea and in ports of call have strongly influenced his fiction.
Zlotchew has traveled widely on five continents, speaks Spanish fluently, French somewhat rustily, gets along in Portuguese and Italian, speaks some Japanese and Russian (and learning more), limited amounts of Arabic, Hebrew, German, and who knows what else if the situation should arise.
He has had a highly diverse set of careers, ranging from sales/production liaison for the export Dept. of a large liquor manufacturer in New York to coordinating an educational program for Spanish-speaking seasonal workers.
He is now SUNY Distinguished Teaching Professor of Spanish and Latin-American literatures. He earned the Ph.D. in Romance Languages & Literatures from SUNY Binghamton.
BOOKS (17):
FICTION:
Military/action novel, TALON FORCE: DIRE STRAITS, under pseudonym Cliff Garnett, 2001.
Espionage/thriller novel, THE CAUCASIAN MENACE, 2010.
Collection of short stories, ONCE UPON A DECADE: TALES OF THE FIFTIES (FINALIST in Next Generation INDIE BOOK AWARDS, Short Story Category, 2011).
ACADEMIC BOOKS: These include translations from Spanish of short stories and poetry by Nobel Laureates, interviews with Borges and 10 other Latin-American writers, literary criticism of Spanish and Latin-American authors and books teaching Spanish at various levels.
SHORT FICTION IN MAGAZINES: Zlotchew's short stories have been published in magazines: his English versions in the U.S. and his Spanish versions in Mexico, Argentina and Uruguay, and one story, in both the English and Spanish versions, has been published on the Internet.
“The door suddenly opened. A leggy young brunette took two steps into the office and stopped short. Her brown eyes widened, she hastily excused herself and turned to leave. Pérez’s jaw dropped as he looked up at her high heels and ankles. He crawled out from under the desk and turned questioningly to his partner. Thorne didn't hesitate. He took one swift stride from behind, clamped a hand tightly over her mouth, and pulled her back into the room, disregarding her wildly flailing legs and frantic attempts to claw his hands away. He shut the door with a backward thrust of his foot. "What do we do now?" Pérez whined. "Observe." Thorne spoke calmly, as would a professor demonstrating a familiar operation to a beginner. Using both hands, he briskly snapped her neck. She stopped struggling.”
“In her white-gloved hand she brandished a long ball-topped staff which she pumped up and down in time with the martial strains. Her white blouse was surmounted by a crimson bolero jacket. She strutted and pranced like an Arabian mare on display, her gleaming knees, responding to the drum beat, shooting to a level equal with her chin, her tassled white kid boots contrasting with the healthy pink of her rounded calves, her pleated crimson and white skirt --lifted by her knees, fanned by the wind-- revealing smooth firm thighs.”
“The piercing fanfare of the brass against the brutal boom and rattle of the drums surged through the air. At the head of the Ferris band marched the drum majorette. A crimson and white shako crowned her long dark hair which flew out behind her and across her radiant face flushed with excitement. Her blue eyes flashed and her smile registered triumph at having been chosen.”
“Currents of cigarette fumes wafted through what passed for air. Attractive young women in bright-hued gowns glided through the streams of smoke, like tropical fish in an aquarium. Detecting the white uniforms and leathery faces, they promptly approached the Navy men. Very pretty, Ed thought, but hungry, a school of piranha. Just what the doctor ordered: fun and games with no complications. Right: no complications.”
“The boxers were banging away at each other. Go on, go on, go on, keep punching, Antonio, keep punching. I'm blasting away at the Cuban guy. He can't hurt me. I'm made of iron. His fists feel like friendly pats when he manages to land a punch, which he doesn't do too often, 'cause I'm fast on my feet, and I duck and weave. Jack be nimble, Jack be quick. But I'm punching the hell out of him. I'm creaming the bastard, creaming the Cuban, creaming my old man... What?!... Creaming my boss,I mean. That son-of-a-bitch Mr. Hanson. For an instant he saw Janey at the receiving end of his fists. Again. He pushed the image from his mind. It was Mr. Hanson. It was the Cuban champion. And the crowd was cheering. They were on their feet and screaming. They love me. Yes, they love me. Yes they do. They really do.”
“When they reached their ship, Ed gazed out at the bay. It was black. The sky was black, but the bay was even blacker. It was a slick, oily blackness that glowed and reflected the moonlight like a black jewel. Ed saw the tiny specks of light around the edges of the bay where he knew ships must be docked, and at different points within the bay where vessels would be anchored. The lights were pale and sickly yellow when compared with the bright blue-white sparkle of the stars overhead, but the stars glinted hard as diamonds, cold as ice. Pg. 26.”
“Fiction has been maligned for centuries as being "false," "untrue," yet good fiction provides more truth about the world, about life, and even about the reader, than can be found in non-fiction.”
“The men were smashing windows and aiming their weapons through them. The driver had opened the door and was shouting for the women and children to get out and run and hide. But Ilina realized in some vague way that he never managed to actually say the word "hide." He really said, "Women and children, get out, get out, get out! Run and..." The clerk's wife thought it was odd that he had stopped in the middle of a sentence, and even stranger that she herself knew the word, heard the word "hide" in her head when the driver stopped talking.”