We don’t choose which memories stay. Sometimes they choose us. Miss Moon: Stories and Poems by Alan Ramias Book Tour with Guest Post and Author Q&A
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Here’s a book that explores the beauty, absurdity, and complexity of being human.
In Miss Moon, Alan Ramias offers a luminous collection of stories-in-verse that blur the boundaries between poetry and narrative. Each piece refracts the ordinary into something unforgettable: a family fractured by distance, a moment of longing frozen in time, the small details of daily life that carry unexpected weight.
Some stories are whimsical, others devastating, but all are deeply resonant, leaving readers with images and emotions that linger long after the final page. Ramias draws from both his military service in Vietnam and his work with people across cultures worldwide, weaving together personal history and universal truths.
Alan Ramias served as an Army reporter in the Mekong Delta during the Vietnam War, where he documented the daily lives of soldiers and civilians in a world marked by uncertainty. Those experiences became the foundation for The Bridge, a story about connection, loyalty, and the unexpected friendships forged in the shadow of conflict. After the war, Alan earned degrees in English, Philosophy, and an MBA, and built a distinguished corporate career helping organizations improve performance around the globe. Today, he draws on both his military service and decades of working with people from many cultures to create fiction that explores the complexities of human relationships, memory, and the moments that stay with us.
Amazon: https://bit.ly/3Iw54eM
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/236955918-miss-moon
Excerpt:
The first night of guard duty was typical: uneventful, boring, hard to stay awake. That’s what it was like for seasoned soldiers. But for the newly initiated, it was the ultimate in ceaseless terror: every noise, every movement, every shift in the breeze, every change of lighting brought ominous imaginings. Everything looked swollen, enlarged, animate. The skin could tingle so strongly it felt hot. The eyes strained until they throbbed and the vision turned watery. Sitting in a watch tower, glancing at the moon’s progress. Two hours on, four hours off, performed twice over a twelve-hour shift. Trying to sleep during the hours off was impossible even for some veterans; for the newcomer, not a chance. So it was for Tinkerbell.
There were three guards who took turns. He got the first shift—6 to 8 p.m.—and the fourth—12-2. The only difference from the ordinary routine was that instead of being alone in the tower, Tinkerbell was accompanied by LaPointe, who kept up a steady patter of instructions, observations, cautions, jokes and homesick talk.
Still, by the end of that first shift, Tinkerbell looked sweaty, pale and shaky as he came down from the tower where LaPointe had already descended and was waiting with the second-shift guard. After LaPointe gave a quick sitrep he guided Tinkerbell to a nearby tent with cots draped in mosquito netting, one of which was occupied by the third-shift guard.
When shaken two hours later, Tinkerbell got back up looking even worse. He opened his canteen, tipped it and pulled clumsily at the water, spilling some on his fatigues.
LaPoint, watching him stonily, said, “For chrissake, man, relax. We just gotta do this for two more hours. You’ll never make it at this rate.”
Tinkerbell looked at him dubiously. “You think something’s going to happen? We gonna get shot at?”
Guest Post:
Two Visits to Vietnam—50 Years Apart
I left Vietnam on January 9, 1968, after a year as a 19-year-old Army war correspondent. I returned on January 10, 2018, with my wife and son, and together we celebrated his marriage to a Vietnamese woman.
Vietnam was an ancient and impoverished country in 1967, so it was surreal to see the skyscrapers and wealthy homes and shops.
We arrived at night and in some ways it seemed the same. But as we drove along the streets to the hotel, the lights seemed brighter, the crowds more festive. A city at peace. No soldiers, no guns.
Many of the landmark buildings were the same: the opera house, the Continental Hotel where Graham Greene wrote The Quiet American. The old U.S. Embassy, now repurposed. The most amazing building was the Presidential Palace, off-limits to most during the war but now a museum. A ghostly atmosphere inside where LBJ once stood. On the balcony I ran into two other American vets and we reminisced for a while. The Americans are back—to remember, to reflect, to mourn.
I was a little worried about the reaction I would receive when people learned I was a Vietnam War veteran and some we met seemed equally nervous. But unlike some GI’s, I never resented the Vietnamese people. Once that became obvious, my son’s future in-laws were the most gracious hosts you could imagine.
For a couple days we traipsed around Saigon, visiting the museums and places I remembered, like the Caravelle Hotel, still in operation. This was where journalists from all over the world would gather each night to drink at the rooftop bar and watch the bombings ringing the horizon. It was there I most strongly felt the ghosts of the war.
The wedding began at the hotel where my wife and I were staying. Vietnamese tradition is that on the morning of the wedding day the groom leaves his ancestral home and goes to the bride’s house, where the wedding will take place and the groom will then live. So we trooped through the hotel lobby with fanfare and costumes and then boarded a bus to the house of the bride (named Mai).
The ceremony began with offerings and prayers to the family’s ancestors, then many bows, vows and toasts. (The scene in Miss Moon in a Vietnamese home was based on that day at Mai’s.)
The wedding was followed by a lavish reception at a large banquet hall, with live music, karaoke and toasting at every table. Probably the fanciest wedding bash I ever saw.
The next two days a bus came to the hotel and took us, the newlyweds, and the entire extended family to all-day sightseeing tours and endless stops for food and drinks.
In all, a wonderful trip to a resilient, generous people and a scarred but beautiful land.
Author Q&A:
Who was the hardest character to write?
I struggled to get the right voice for the narrator of the story, Miss Moon. I seldom attempt first-person stories because I tend to slip into autobiography, which limits my imagination. So I gave the character of Jerry a poor grasp of grammar and vocabulary. It was a trick to remind me Jerry wasn’t me.
What’s your favorite compliment you’ve received on your writing?
One reviewer said that reading my book was like having a conversation with a “dear friend”.
OR
Several reviewers have said they felt they were in the story with the characters.
If your book became a movie, who would star in it?
For the main character, Jerry, I would cast Casey Affleck. With his intensity and expressive face, he would do a terrific job of projecting Jerry’s loneliness and conflicted feelings. For Stan, I would choose Owen Wilson. He would be the perfect amiable, gentle not-quite-handsome lover of Miss Moon.
And for Miss Moon herself it would have to be Gong Li. Gorgeous beyond words. All of these folks are too old for the roles but hey, this is Hollywood and it’s my fantasy, okay?
What do you like to do for fun?
I am taking acting lessons and participating in improv. I harbor no delusions about becoming a professional actor. I’m doing it because it’s lively, fun, incredibly challenging and occasionally terrifying. I’ve seldom felt more alive. And it’s making me a better writer.
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