Author: DAN FUCHS

Beware….the SON of Cinephile!

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Last night, we had a Family Movie Night and watched Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho.” Jackson figured out the “twist” pretty quickly, but everyone was fully in, captivated by Hitch’s direction, and the suspense he ratchets up with every frame. I enjoyed pointing things out to them, even if Jackson, my cinephile “mini-me” is the only one who actually listens when I do. Things like counting the number of “cuts” (pun intended) in the shower scene, or the crazy, under-the-chin shot of Norman Bates chewing his candy as he leans over Marty Balsam to look at the guest register. Or Hitch’s perfunctory cameo, standing on the street corner outside the real estate office where Marion Crane works.

“W movie,” Jackson said at the end, dapping me up. Diego kind of shrugged, his way of acknowledging it, I guessed, and Jenny confirmed that she’d somehow gone her whole life without having seen “Psycho.” Till now, that is.

Diego and Jenny drifted their way upstairs, but Jackson and I remained, talking movies and how Hitchcock influenced filmmaking and filmmakers, and before you know it we were watching the opening of “Rear Window.”

Jackson loved it. We both marveled at the set and sound design — how they were able to turn a Hollywood soundstage into a Greenwich Village courtyard in pre-air conditioning New York.

And the acting! James Stewart is nearly perfect, going from his smug, self-assured pose, to realizing that Lisa is not only up for danger and adventure, but also so important to him that in the climactic moment when he sees her in peril from across the way, his desperation is palpable.

I watched as my son fell in love with Grace Kelly, in all her perfection, just as Stewart’s L.B. Jeffries did, and just as I myself remember doing, at right around the same age my son is now.

He and I didn’t make it upstairs until about one in the morning, but it was worth it. “Looks like we’re gonna have to do a Hitchcock festival,” he said.

“Sounds good to me,” I smiled, tiredly, wondering whether to go high brow (“Vertigo”) or low (“The Birds”) for our next showing.

Love in the Time of Corona, Redux

~ DAN FUCHS ~ Leave a comment

Burbank, California, August 2, 2024

It had been a successful work week. Traveling with my boss and one of my colleagues who had come to visit our Orlando office, we flew first to Columbus, and then to L.A., where the two of them live, we were in high spirits. Not only were we working well together, accomplishing the goals we had collaborated on for months, but we were joyful in that way co-workers are when they realize that they actually like each other.

Timing issues caused my Friday to be more of a social visit to our newest location in Glendale, but it was good to spend time with some of the managers there, as they busily set up the space. After giving them a hand in whatever way I could, including moving some furniture, I said my goodbyes and made my way out into the late afternoon sun of bustling Glendale. I had some time to kill before my college friend, Tim Knight would come pick me up at my sweet little boutique hotel where I’d spent the previous night, the Brand Plaza, so I had a nice, sun-drenched walk up North Brand Boulevard.

Tim rolled up right on time, and after a pleasant hug and warm welcome, we headed over to the Sagrado Mezcaleria on Glendale Boulevard. There, we met up with Sheila and Jeff Lane who, up to now, had always housed me after my work duties had concluded. On this trip, it would be Gordon Antell, another Syracuse buddy, who had agreed to have me stay with him and his wife, Krisi, in the Rancho district of Burbank.

With Gordon Antell and Tim Knight at the Sagrado Mezcaleria in Glendale.

With Tim Knight, Jeff Lane, and Sheila Lane at the Sagrado Mezcaleria in Glendale.

I’d already met with a high school friend, Peter Landau the night before for dinner at an Armenian restaurant across the street from my hotel, and we enjoyed getting caught up with each other’s lives. Took the perfunctory selfie in front before saying our goodbyes.

The hearty side-hugs in both pictures felt great at the time, but I cringe when I look at these photos, picturing those nasty little bugs, looking like red-spiked miniature landmines, swarming around us. All are CV19-negative as of the time of my writing this post, thankfully.

My two aforementioned colleagues were not so lucky, unfortunately; both came down with the virus the day after I did. They were very kind about it, when I told them I felt a bit like “Typhoid Danny.” “More like Typhoid L.A.,” was the response, as we apparently belong to a recent surge in cases in that city.

But I have “buried the lead,” as they say. Yes, I did test positive, after that lovely evening at the Mezcaleria and a quick visit to the Paddock Riding Club where we said hello to the horses Krisi boards there.

Krisi Harrison-Antell giving a kiss to her favorite horse, Finley, who was sleeping when we stopped by at about 10:30 PM.

To say Krisi and Gordon’s place is lovely is not doing it justice. They are on a magical plot of land where fruit trees shade the cute little guesthouse where I was meant to be staying for the next three nights.

Unfortunately, ’twas not to be. Instead, I had a horrible, sleepless, anxiety-filled night, at one point sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to find a full breath and actually thinking, “My God. What if I die of a heart attack here, alone in this gorgeous little cottage, 2,500 miles away from my wife and children?”

This prompted me to take a COVID test the next day, which came up positive. If that weren’t enough to stoke the fires of my anxiety, there was word of an impending typhoon making its way towards Central Florida. Talk of hundreds of flights already being cancelled. I went ahead and rescheduled my flight for that same day anyway. Sad to miss out on the time with my friends that I’d so looked forward to for so long, but I was so, so relieved to be home, in familiar surroundings, with my family near me.

The moral of this story? The ‘VID is still among us. Be careful, people. Mask up when flying. And get those boosters. I had thought my COVID series had concluded, but here I am, writing about it, four and a half years after that first update. Stay safe, my friends, and stay healthy!

LAKE NONA WRITER DAN FUCHS WINS PRESTIGIOUS AWARD

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November 5, 2022: Orlando, Florida. The Florida Writers Association, Inc., (FWA) has announced that Dan Fuchs of Lake Nona won two prestigious Royal Palm Literary Awards (RPLAs). Fuchs took home the silver for Unpublished Young Adult Novel for his entry titled Sergio the Ninja, and the gold for Published Short Story for Dr. Muller’s Next Move.

The awards were announced at FWA’s recent awards ceremony. This annual competition, which received 422 submissions, was RPLA’s twenty-first.

“The quality of work submitted to our contest in this challenging year was simply amazing,” said William Opperman, RPLA chairperson. “To be singled out for an Award is a true achievement.”

In all, the competition covered 28 adult genres and 5 Youth genres, with published and unpublished entries considered separately. There were four grand awards, as well.

  • Published Book of the Year: The Awakening of Jim Bishop: This Changes Things, Mainstream or Literary, by Ben Sharpton
  • Unpublished Book of the Year: My Daughter’s Mother, Women’s Fiction, by Daphne Nikolopoulos
  • Best Children’s Book: Nobody Kills Uncle Buster and Gets Away With It, Middle-Grade Fiction,  by Susan Koehler
  • The Candice Coghill Memorial Award for the best youth entry: “Icarus,” Unpublished Poetry, ages 16 to 17, by Isabel Mestey-Colon

“It is our sincere wish that all RPLA awards help the winners to market their manuscript or published book. We also hope that the detailed feedback from the judges, which all entrants receive, is useful, as well,” Mr. Opperman said.

“I’m grateful to the Florida Writers Association for hosting the RPLAs, and to the judges for their consideration and recognition of my writing. My hope is that this tremendous honor will help me introduce my work to more readers,” Fuchs added.

The Florida Writers Association, 1,600 members strong and growing, is a nonprofit 501(c)(6) organization that supports the state’s established and emerging writers. Membership is open to the public.

The Royal Palm Literary Awards competition is a service of the Florida Writers Association established to recognize excellence in its members’ published and unpublished works while providing objective and constructive written assessments for all entrants.

For additional information, visit the FWA website at floridawriters.org, where you’ll also find more about RPLA and the complete list of 2022 winners. Or visit drfuchs.wordpress.com for details about Dan Fuchs.

# # #

Federer’s Final Match

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Friday night was historic in the world of professional tennis: Roger Federer played his final match, doubles, partnered with old friend and rival, Rafael Nadal. They were playing for Team Europe in the prestigious (and uncharacteristically lively) Laver Cup tournament. Team World was represented by Americans Francis Tiafoe and Jack Sock.

The match was competitive, punctuated by some spectacular moments from all, including Fed. In the end, World won, but the outpouring of love and respect that came after — from fans, family, and fellow players — spoke volumes about Roger Federer and what he means to the sport of tennis. It was, put simply, a beautiful thing to watch. In fact, it was just as beautiful as any Federer stroke, including that sublime one-handed backhand many have emulated and few have mastered.

It was evident that Rafa wanted to win for his friend, to have him go out on a winning note. In fact, he may have wanted it too badly, as he played stiff tennis in the end, nowhere near his legendary caliber. As a friend and fellow fan pointed out via text, Rafa’s own emotions may also have been intensified by the knowledge that his final match is likely not too far down the road.

Which is, of course, as it is supposed to be. It is time for the so-called “Big Four” (Djokovic and Murray being the other two) to step aside and make room for the incredible talents of the Young Guns who are already making their presence known: Alcaraz, of course, Sinner, Ruud, Auger-Aliassime, Nakashima, and others. My hope is that they will carry on the legacy of Roger Federer — not just in the masterful art of on-court play, but also in who they are as human beings.

Thank you, Fed, for some of the most memorable tennis matches we fans have had the privilege to watch. And thank you for deciding that being a role model is important, and for showing those who come after you how to behave, on and off the court. You will be missed.

“Fedal” at the Laver Cup, London, 2022

Dan is a Double Finalist!

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Dan received word via email today that he has reached the final round of judging in the Florida Writers Association’s Royal Palm Literary Awards competition in two separate categories. “Dr. Muller’s Next Move” is a finalist for Previously Published Short Story, and Sergio the Ninja is a finalist for Unpublished Young Adult Novel.

The awards will be announced at the 2022 Florida WritersCon banquet on Saturday, October 29, 2022.

Congratulations to Mr. Fuchs, and good luck!

Book Review: Amira & Hamza by Samira Ahmed

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Amira & Hamza: The War to Save the Worlds by Samira Ahmed

My rating: 5 of 5 stars



I’ve been following Ahmed’s career since the publication of her best-selling debut novel, Love, Hate & Other Filters, and have enjoyed all of her previous work immensely. If you’ve done the same and have yet to delve into Amira & Hamza: The War to Save the Worlds, you should be aware that it is a slight departure from her earlier work.

As Ahmed herself says in the book’s acknowledgements section, middle-grade fantasy is “a new age group and genre category for [her].” That said, her unmistakable voice, which carries through all of her previous novels is certainly heard here. All center around strong young people who are finding their power in various ways.

As for the new genre, Ahmed navigates these uncharted waters effectively, and once I got used to the slightly younger vibe of the book (appropriate, obviously, for middle grade, as opposed to YA), the story pulled me along, just as those in her previous three novels had done — with compelling protagonists, strong plot points, and, above all else, some great writing.

I won’t re-tell the plot here, because much of Amira & Hamza’s power comes from discovering the action as it unfolds, along with the young heroes. The central theme, that there is a hero inside all of us, and that, as Amira says, “…sometimes unexpected things can change the world” is a great one for this book’s demographic. My only regret is that Ahmed didn’t write this a few years ago, when my two sons, now just shy of being grown men, were discovering chapter books. I would have loved to have shared this one with them.

If you have children — no matter their gender or cultural background — don’t hesitate to share Amira & Hamza with them. But I don’t limit my recommendation to parents. Anyone who enjoys a good story will have a great deal of fun with this one.



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HISTORIC TALES, by Various Authors

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Historic Tales compiled by Akshay Sonthalia

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


This short story collection spans both time and place. From ancient Rome, in Dylan Gallagher’s “Amor Patriae,” to Super Bowl XXVII in 2003 California in Marcelino Raygoza’s “The Wonsie,” and from the Tonga people of Southern Africa in “The Unexpected Matriarch” by Palisa Muchimba, to Nazi Germany in my own “Dr. Muller’s Next Move,” HISTORIC TALES is an eclectic, sprawling anthology that creates a unique mosaic, and an important, much-needed reminder of the humanity that peoples this Earth, and which must be preserved.

In the opening piece, a meditation on the evolution of the notion of “story” by Dana Trick titled “A Tale of Storytellers and Historians,” Trick says that “some storytellers told their stories as lessons so that their listeners would become wiser and kinder…” All of these twenty-six authors aspire to this lofty goal, to one extent or another, each through their own, unique lens. In the post-911 world, as the cover illustration by Arpan Das suggests, we are in need of that wisdom and kindness more than ever.



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“Dr. Muller’s Next Move” by Dan Fuchs Appears in International Short Fiction Anthology

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Historic Tales, published by Poets’ Choice’s Free Spirit Publishers division, is now available by mail. “Dr. Muller’s Day Off,” a short story by Dan Fuchs, appears in the collection, along with twenty-five other short stories that touch on historic themes.

Fuchs’s story, originally an epilogue in his novel, The House of Subtle Lies, tells the story of Dr. Wilhelm Muller, a Jewish refugee from Nazi Germany who has lived in suburban New York for the past thirty years. He is a recent widower, and finds himself alone for the first time in many years.

Thanks to a letter from his prisoner pen pal, with whom he plays an ongoing chess game, Muller reflects on the subject of kindness in a post-Hitler world, which brings a family memory into sharp focus that will inform how the good doctor faces this, his final act.

You can order a copy of Historic Tales on the Poets’ Choice website.

9/11, Twenty Years Later: Remembering That Day

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Today marks twenty years. It’s the day when everyone old enough to do so recalls where they were, and what they were doing when they heard or saw the news. It’s my generation’s Kennedy assassination. Or Pearl Harbor Day. 

 Only worse. 
 Nearly 3,000 people’s lives were snuffed out that morning. An iconic building, erected during my lifetime, gone. 
 Sean — a young man now in his late 30’s, I suppose, and who I still see on Facebook — will forever be linked in my memory with the tragedy. He was the first one to make me aware of it when he arrived to my 8:30 “A Slot” class just over 15 minutes late. This was not unusual for Sean; in fact, it was a running joke, and he would often arrive with fantastical, ridiculous stores about zombie crackheads, or freak, pop-up tornadoes that delayed his subway ride from Brooklyn. (Sometimes, unbeknownst to him, if his story was creative enough, I’d mark him “present” rather than “tardy.”)
This morning, however, Sean’s expression was very different as he stepped through the classroom door. We all saw it, my students and I. 
 “You okay?” I asked him. 
 “I think I just saw a plane fly into the Twin Towers.” 
He looked baffled, like he wasn’t sure if he was awake or still asleep, in a strange dream, in which he happened to glimpse down Sixth Avenue at the exact moment the world changed forever. 
 I don’t recall exactly how I learned what was actually happening. The school office had tuned to the news coverage, and when I came to realize that the magnitude of the “plane crash” was much worse that what I’d pictured — a Cessna or some other small craft bouncing off one of the towers — my impulse was to be calm, to model calm for my students, so that they themselves could feel calm (and safe), as well. I had them form a line (this was in the days before everyone had a cell phone) so that they could use my classroom phone to call their families to let them know they were okay. 
We had moved our school up to West 30th Street only a year or two earlier. Our former location, at 51 Chambers Street, a few short blocks northeast of the towers, now looked like an eerie moonscape, covered with a coat of ash. We surely would have been evacuated to who-knows-where. 
 We eventually had an early dismissal, and, as I walked up to the Herald Square F-Train station, I was struck by the silence that filled this normally cacophonous part of town. Other than the occasional emergency vehicle, no motor traffic was allowed, so the usual groan and hiss of engines revving and braking, not to mention the ubiquitous honking of impatient horns, was surreally absent. People, too, were silent, as if we’d had the collective wind knocked out of us. I walked, slow-footed, to the train, which was re-routed to the D-Train tracks, taking us across the Manhattan Bridge. 
When we emerged from the tunnel, we all craned for a glimpse of the enormous plume of black smoke that billowed up from the space where the World Trade Center had stood for nearly 30 years. 
 “It’s true,” I heard a young woman say, fighting back her tears. “They really did it.” 
 The smell of death and burning materials of all types hung in the air for days afterward. Thankfully, I did not lose anyone close to me on that day, although I certainly know many people who did. First responders spent days in unending double-shifts, desperately searching, first for survivors, then remains. I can only imagine what that experience did to them. 
 A week or so after the attacks, my now-wife, then-girlfriend and I sat on a bench on the Brooklyn Heights promenade, silently looking across the harbor, at the smoke that still hung over the site. The skyline was forever changed. I thought it looked as if someone had punched New York square in the face, knocking out its two front teeth. 
I didn’t share that thought with Jeanette, because it was too sad to fathom. Instead, we just sat there in the silence, trying to imagine what our future, as a couple, as a country, as a planet, held in store for us.