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| Author Kent Reinker |
Sisters in
Crime/Hawaii: Today’s
guest for a ‘Friday - 13 Authors’ interview is Kent Reinker. Kent, thank you
for sharing with readers your short story included within the anthology, MYSTERY
IN PARADISE 13 Tales of Suspense, and for taking time to visit with us
today.
Writers, by default, are
independent contractors who sit alone at their computer or journal composing for
hours on end. Can you
please offer a brief insight into something humorous, poignant, or unusual in
your life that led you to a career in writing?
KENT REINKER: All creative work has to be done
in seclusion. Bryce Courtenay used to say that the secret of success for a
writer was “butt glue” - you glue yourself down to the chair. But good writers
are never alone or bored. They’re constantly surrounded by interesting characters
in impossible situations that even the author doesn’t know how to solve. If I
knew how my books were going to end when I started out, it would take some of
the fun out of it. But I don’t. They always seem to end differently than the
way I’ve outlined them.
I’ve been writing since grade school. I was a sports
stringer for my high school and the social editor of our yearbook, and I was an
editor for the Yale Daily News during college. But I also have a love of
science and majored in physics, planning to be a nuclear physicist after
graduation. Then, one day, I was asked to write a profile of the Yale Medical
School for the alumni magazine we published. A week later, I switched to
pre-med. I graduated from medical school five years later, and came to Hawaii
for further training as an orthopaedic surgeon. Twenty years later, I was a
retired Colonel, a specialist in pediatric orthopaedics, a Professor in the
University of Hawaii medical school, and Chief of Staff of a pediatric orthopaedic
hospital.
Most of my writing after college was scientific,
either writing research articles or chapters for textbooks. But my job took me
to many countries, and I always liked writing fiction. Hawaii is at least a five-hours
plane ride from everywhere else. I got in the habit of writing at least one
short story every time I left home. I’d start on the plane and finish the story
in my hotel room. Eventually, I wrote a novel. Then another one, and another,
until I had six written. It became obvious, though, that nothing would ever be
published unless I gave up the seventy-hour workweek of my day job. So I
resigned two years ago. Now, I have three novels published, with another (a mystery)
coming out in the spring, I’m working on my seventh novel, and I have outlines
for my eighth and ninth.
Sisters in
Crime/Hawaii: Why
did you choose to collaborate with other authors to participate in a short
story anthology?
KENT REINKER: I have written many short stories but
have published few. Two stories in my “creation file” involved criminal
activity, but I didn’t think either would fit into the anthology as described
to me. This gave me an opportunity to write a fresh one. It was a nice break
from the novel I’m currently writing, and it gave me an opportunity to
associate and collaborate with some wonderful professionals. At the same time,
I’m hopeful that the story will entertain and provoke thought in my readers.
What could be more satisfying?
Sisters in
Crime/Hawaii: In Gloria,
what is one phrase or scene that reflects something about you as a writer?
KENT REINKER: Some of the main scenes take
place in a medical clinic. I’ve used my medical background to depict the
difficulties involved with providing good medical care in a setting of budgetary
constraint, and I’ve tried to show the positive impact that a single competent
individual can make. Governmental administrators seem to have a genetic defect:
they believe they can hire excellent people for lousy salaries. Sometimes, this
strategy works, but more often, the result ranges from mediocrity to blatant incompetence.
Sisters in
Crime/Hawaii: Can
you tell us a bit about your current project?
KENT REINKER: All of my novels have an underlying
theme. For example, one involves the relationship of science and religion. My
last one involved the shady distinction between humans and beasts. It’s named If Pigs Could Cry and it should be coming
out next week. (SinC/Hawaii note: If Pigs
Could Cry is now available at Amazon.com) I plan to publish The Honey Bee in June. It’s about a
murder in a small town in Ohio that exposes a thirty-year-old secret.
The one I’m writing now is about prejudice. The
tentative title is “The Death of Aloha” and one of the key characters is an
eight-year-old boy who is the son of the newly-elected mayor of Honolulu.
Here’s how it begins:
Luke Silva
was so lost in his imagination that he never really noticed the two larger boys
that were following him home from school. He was imagining himself in space,
fighting robot aliens. He was winning of course, because he had perfect night
vision and could see in the blackness of outer space, whereas the aliens were
fighting blind.
He had walked
this route so many times before that he could do it blindfolded. Imagining
himself in space, he was doing just that right now, closing his eyes to help
his daydreams, and seeing how far he could walk before he had to open them
because of insecurity or stepping off the sidewalk. His right arm flailed as
his light saber cut down innumerable imaginary aliens.
He had
guessed the number of steps to the next curb and was counting his own steps
when he suddenly walked right into one of the two boys. The next instant, he
found himself shoved backward and lying flat on the ground, his backpack popped
open and his schoolbooks all around him.
He opened his
eyes to see two boys above him, glaring. They were big, probably twelve years
old or more. One already had the beginnings of a mustache. Mean-looking. Luke
was scared.
“Watch where
you goin’, you pulagi motha’ fucka,” said the one.
“Sorry,” said
Luke, smiling. He started to get up, but had his legs kicked out from
underneath him.
“You think
you goin’ just leave after walking right into me?” said the one. “Show him,” he
said to the other guy.
The other one
kicked Luke, trying for his balls, but missing and kicking his thigh instead.
The boy may
have missed, but it still hurt Luke a lot. He bundled up into a ball and
quivered from fear. In his eight years of life, he had never experienced
anything like this, and he was suddenly terrified. They’re going to kill me, he thought, not really understanding the
concept very well, but knowing it would hurt.
One of the
boys took a knife from his pocket and put it to Luke’s throat, confirming
Luke’s fears. His face was right next to Luke’s when he spat in Luke’s face,
and said, “We got to have your money,
pussy. Whatevah you got. Otherwise, I cut your throat.”
Luke pulled
everything out of his pockets. It wasn’t much; only a couple dollars remained
from his lunch money and allowance. The boys weren’t happy.
“Shit!” said
one. “We got to get him again tomorrow.”
The one who
had spat in his face, grabbed him by the collar. “You get more money tomorrow.
Lots more. And if you tell anyone about this, we’ll kill you sure as hell.
Understand?”
Luke nodded,
his eyes wide, cold sweat pouring down his forehead.
The boy got
up and put away his knife. “Next time we see you, you
better have mo’ than two dollah,” said the other. Then they both walked away,
leaving Luke quivering on the sidewalk.
Kent, where can readers find your books?
