C. Descry
DESCRY’S WORKS range from mysteries set on the Colorado Plateau and the Sea of Cortez, to serious studies of human dynamics.
"I do, I observe, I listen. I write in the most candid way possible. I research. I put as much accuracy in my novels as I can. My characters are composites. I don’t expose family secrets or those of people I love, but I deal with real issues. At heart I’m a teacher."
Descry was born in Colorado and now lives in Prescott, Arizona
with his wife and two sons. His background in education, archaeology, business, travel, and adventures of all kinds, comes through in his writing. Few authors have such a rich and varied experience base to draw from. He has been called a Renaissance Man, a Social Critic, a Teacher’s Teacher. He’s been a thorn in the side of the educational status-quo for forty years.
Descry is currently researching a book focused on the Inupiat Eskimos in Alaska and the dynamics of their land above the arctic circle.
The variety of his writings is evident in:
Unscrewed! The Education of Annie, a narrative by a baby-boom generation woman. Descry explores marriage and family, relationships, sexuality and the formative effects of doing battle with public institutions. It is the first candid look...from a parent’s point of view...at the parental choice movement and charter schools. Perhaps the most accurate insight yet into women of our times.
The Spirit of the Estuary, a history-mystery told through the life of a murdered Seri Indian Woman. It is set in the northern Sea of Cortez (Gulf of California) region of Mexico, and gives the reader a spectacular view of the northern coast and the Colorado River Delta. Reviewers describe it as a work of art and education.
The Spirits in the Ruins, a history-mystery that challenges the reader’s detective abilities as Arnie Cain attempts to solve the century old murder of a Native American leader. Descry provides insights into the illegal trade in Anasazi grave goods, and a previously untold history of the Ute Mountain Ute Indian people. The first positive Ute history written.
The Spirit of the Sycamore,
a tantalizing and complex history-mystery that explores discord and harmony in Sedona, Arizona, which is one of the Planet’s important spiritual energy centers, and one of the Earth’s most beautiful places. Sycamore is a study of a unique Arizona town that attracts rabid developers, greedy public officials, retirees and seekers of spiritual magic and solace.
Descry is emerging as a writer who, rather that adopting one style and a formula, uses different ways of communicating. Each of his books is presented through a different voice. His subject matter is as varied as his life and interests.
From chapter 10 . . .
Our thoughts are not in our brains. Sheldrake described it best: they’re nonmaterial morphic fields that extend from our bodies as energy. When we contact others, the experience is not within our minds, it’s through our intertwining fields, morphic resonances. Of course! That’s what they do...are! Those fields still exist around their bodies. There is no reincarnation, just fields intertwining. When I travel, I’m there, but not there--. Maybe I’m merging with their...their souls. Souls! Of course! All their memories and stored experiences. Everything they saw, felt and lived through. The composite essence of--, the part that doesn’t die. The repository of experiences. They don’t know my world, couldn’t know, because they’re not alive...their souls are not being programmed by their bodies, their senses. They are as they were! They resound their collected experiences; a window into their times! And I am the connection! I am The Continuation, the link. Whatever I experience as I intertwine with their souls, no matter what happens, I can always separate and I’ll be back here. But...but, if that‘s true, if we are mingling morphic resonances, then why do I get hurt? Why when I come back from their time does my whole body feel like it’s been dragged through hell?
Girl, pay attention! Maybe...maybe when the fields touch and times connect there is physical teleportation? That explains why I hurt.
From Chapter 5 . . .
She learned, over time, when he still needed her to do his work and further his cause, that his anger stemmed from his mother’s. Inculcated in his gut with her milk. Ground into his psyche like pepper in raw meat. They had been wealthy: miners and processors, iron and lead. Nickel and limestone, before the crash. Before they tumbled down and became "little millionaires," as they professed to be, but actually, less than half that in reality.
Their most Catholic presence had been bought with the fruits of ownership of minerals and men. His mother was Somebody! Someone of worth because of exploitation, not her own accomplishments. An easy-way slut who grew up in a middle class neighborhood in Chicago. She sold a little patch of hair and two shapeless, immature, uninteresting glands, her own special charisma. As she reached twenty, the skeleton of stately good looks and knowledge of sex connected her with an unsuspecting industrialist, a weakling who couldn’t hold on. The bastard who lost it all! Her hope then turned on her first born son. His older brother was bright; the passive-adaptive one. The business was salvaged, stabilized, but generated less than one fifth of its previous income. She ignored Stewart, enjoyed his games for a while, and then shrugged him off for what he wasn’t. After college, he was on his own.
If it surprised her when he was graduated from a top Ivy League school, she didn’t let on. She knew what he was and how he did things. He lived off others, playing with different careers until his ego found one with status and easy access. Anthropology became his game. It wasn’t a science. It didn’t belong to the social sciences. It existed as a discipline lost out there in the great collection of misinformation called humanities. It required a facade of academic dedication and exactness, but in actuality became a profession that collected stuff and wondered what it equaled. He saw it as a perfect scam, a place where he could rise to the top . . . if only he could find--. Then, after years perfecting his leeching techniques and climbing over those who had something to offer, he met the most brilliant student the university ever enrolled. A student, the student who could further his career. Soon he began his dance and the pricking of her mind and body. It was so easy, and with her work he could rise to the top of the academic pyramid and start tearing it down.
He knew something else he used as a means to change her footing and tie her to him forever. He smiled. A girl never forgot her first love, the first man to lead her to orgasm and enter her. He had the proof of that, as they wouldn’t let him go, even when married, after years of separation from him, they would come back if he called. He used them to raise money for his causes or to further his career. They gasped and cried in his arms, reunited with the one and only one who had ever--? She was to be one of these.
