Jones Deady

Jones Deady lives in northern Vermont with his wife. He is a dog lover and thinks they are windows to the soul. He grew up in the South and his first book, The Steep Side of the Marble has its basis there. He has other books and novellas in the works and makes that his life’s ambition. He loves the idiosyncrasies of humanity and writes of the goodness but also of the vagrancies and complexities wired into this life. In Vermont, Jones loves to garden, to cook, and to walk or ski in the beautiful hills and valleys around his home.

Twitter: @jones_deady

Instagram: @jonesdeady

What period of history do you wish you knew more about?

So much fascinating history, so little time to explore it all. Yet, I am going to choose the timeline of the Mayans thru the Aztecs. Would love to know more about their social pyramids…their rulers, artisans, regular folk, slaves and how they were assigned or fell into these paths. The Mayans were more scientific, mapping stars and such. I believe there was more careful consideration when crimes were committed, even as capital punishment was readily used. The Aztecs were more warring, and perhaps more stringent with laws. I would like to know what societal changes led to increasing brutality. What duties and taboos did each adhere to along the way? How did a slave fall into such an awful destiny? I wonder if society was so harshly and methodically organized, down to every element for so long, that a certain coldness set in. Also, I would love to really understand their many Gods. At some point there existed over 200 deities. With so many to work with and please, it seems that conflict could arise daily. How did one God affect to way one hunted, ate, sang, gardened, etcetera, vs. another God?

Two things, beyond their incredible architecture, have fascinated me about this culture. One is human sacrifice and how these bloody impulses were used in their structure of beliefs. As I mentioned before, how did brutality evolve? Was it dictated by religion or zealots in government power? It would be fascinating to know if such brutality was horrific at all to the masses. Or was the duty of such so ingrained that they were immune to feeling anything? Some cultures cannot even kill a fly and this one could behead a man and roll him down the pyramid steps. Was there a calendar for some of these events, and which Gods were satisfied? Did they feel they had proof of the benefit of such bloodletting? I suppose we would be wrong to not study all cultures barbaric acts. Maybe this is something built into our DNA. My second interest, and more aesthetic and toned down in imagery, is about their paints. How did they make them? How did they make them endure for so long? Especially the famous ‘Maya Blue’, which scientist have toiled over for years. It was especially dazzling and durable, lasting thousands of years. How did they figure out which plants to combine and how could they have known they would last so long in the baking sun and torrential downpours? I suppose there were hundreds of years to ‘repaint the house’ as technology advanced.

One more thing to add. Years ago, I had the opportunity to visit Tikal, in Guatemala, the largest urban, and ceremonial center of its time. After touring during the day, a small group of us decided to sneak in after dark, our goal to climb a particular pyramid, where we were to spend the night and see the sunrise over the massive expanse of jungle. On our first attempt we were surrounded by armed guards. They were not happy but were tired and let us go. Well, what do you think we did? Ran with a great lesson learned and a sigh of relief? No, we decided to try again. This time we were more sleuth like, managed to get to the pyramid, climb winding roots and at the end, a very long scary ladder up to the top. We saw the sun rise over seemingly endless jungle, heard the calls of howler monkeys and jaguars. I will say that contemporary time peeled away, and I made myself feel what a Mayan had so long ago. We then waited for the park to open then snuck down and mingled in with the crowds. Do not try this. I now say, as much as it was incredible, it was also disrespectful. But hey, we were young. I do suppose if we had broken taboos as such in the prime of the Mayan culture, we would have been sacrificed. The crowd would have wondered how we became so dumb, gone home, and feasted.

Is there a work of art that you love? Why? Have you ever visited it in person?

I really love the work of John Singer Sargent and have seen his paintings all over the world. But I am going to choose a work by a painter, I consider to be unique but not my overall favorite. One painting of his captured me from the start, Henri Rousseau’s, Carnival Evening.  It is a mysteriously powerful piece. The feeling of it holds so many questions. A couple is dressed for what we assume to be a carnival. They almost glow against a surreal moonlit landscape of tall locust type trees. I have similar trees around my house, and they seem surreal, truly enchanting. The premise of the couple on this festive night is that they should seem happy. Instead, they seem sad and maybe even leery of the hours ahead. Behind them tucked into the woods is a shed of sorts. A small figure stares out at them, his or her face like an eerie ornament. What will this ghostly night bring? I had seen the painting only in print and then had the chance to go to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. When I saw the real thing, the power of it, the moonlight, and the atmosphere really took me by surprise. I stared for a long time, returning several times during my visit.

Trying to come up with a reason I like Carnival Evening took some thought. Atmosphere came to mind, but there was more. I am mystified looking at the entire package. I have concluded that Rousseau’s painting enthralls me because of something simple and almost primal. I love the piece because no matter how many times I ponder it, it will forever remain a mystery to me. I like to think the artist knows what the night will bring. Many of his paintings carry this mystery. The observer can make a different tale for the couple, in every viewing. The peering human can have ill intent or not. I like not knowing everything. It keeps me searching. I can continue to thrive and be filled with wonder by art and life.

What’s the difference (at least for you!) between being a writer and an author? How do you shift gears between the two?

To be honest, I prefer being a writer. I used to think that being published would give me a form of permission, saying I could call that my profession, only once I crossed that line. But then I realized that I would keep writing no matter. I love the dimension writing takes me to. I love the process, even when I am just pushing words down to no end. It is true freedom, traveling in someone else’s land, time, and mind. I love when the story is evolving, a sliver of a character or image. Driving down the road, waking up in the middle of the night, tearing down or building up scenes, characters, and arcs. I love the story unfolding, when the book starts to write itself because I have let go. Call it my weakness to be out of sorts in this hyper social time. I am working daily on this world of PR, and it is a new curve. Necessary as it has become.

How do I shift gears between the two? I do so like my entire being is an old manual transmission, the shifter grinding and clunking until it finds the next gear to a higher and silkier speed. I figure I just need some more time to be more comfortable with being an author. I keep telling myself that I have accomplished what I set out to do. To see my physical product in the world at large is substantial. It is funny holding me the author in my hand. And I believe that in future books, if I am so fortunate as to publish them, I will be going through the gears more smoothly. I owe that to the people that believed enough in me to make it happen. And to my family, who have had to deal with the up and downs of the process.

What do you worry about?

I worry about the world. It seems off the rails at times, but then at others it rights itself, which gives me hope. The speed of change has increased. I wonder if it is not too much or naïve to hope the world will right itself for a century or so. Man does not handle long term planning well. But just suppose we did, and we got used to it and wanted to keep it that way. So much to say on this subject, but I will leave it by going to cook some comfort food and hope for the day when Covid has passed us and I can have friends to share a dish with.

What brings you great joy?

Cooking and the process of a slow meal. I love planning a meal and bringing it together without cutting corners. My only requirement is that it is good. I could be called a food snob, but I am not. I like a good hot dog smothered in junk as much as I love a from scratch Arrabbiata.

Another thing that brings me joy is something that happens once a year or twice if lucky. We love to travel, and our preferred method is to walk from village to village in some foreign land. That is the true way to meet the people, to enjoy amazing cuisine, and work those meals off. The countryside from a trail is far more beautiful than from a highway. There are moments when you feel the world and its people are timeless. History abounds. The people appreciate you seeing the country as they do. They see you taking the time, no car, nor specific crazy schedule. It is a win for everybody. And so, joy number one and joy number two have been combined. Food and travel are very best friends.