Tramps Like Us, baby we were BORN TO WRITE

If this writing thing doesn't work out, at least we know I'm qualified to be President

Wed, 25 Jun 2008 23:15:15 GMT

From today's New York Times:
http://thecaucus.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/06/24/the-inner-obama/index.html?nl=pol&emc=pola1

"Here is something you might not know about Senator Barack Obama: His musical tastes are pretty mainstream. His reading list is, well, a little dark.

In an interview with Rolling Stone magazine to be published on Wednesday, Mr. Obama revealed that his iPod was full of dozens of selections from, top to bottom, Bob Dylan, Sheryl Crow, Jay-Z and Yo-Yo Ma. (Joining perhaps every other Democratic politician alive, he also confessed a deep love for Bruce Springsteen.)(emphasis added for Live Journal fans--PBR)

When asked what books have most inspired him, Mr. Obama named “the tragedies of William Shakespeare” and Hemingway’s novel of the Spanish Civil War “For Whom the Bell Tolls” — incidentally, a favorite of Senator John McCain, who is known to quote from it at random."
__________________________________

Deep Love for Bruce Springsteen? Don't make me repeat myself ad nauseum. (Not that I've ever held back before, ahem). Did Barack Obama play Bruce's guitar with him during BORN TO RUN at a concert? Did he? Well?! Advantage to Me. I am so going to take the electoral count.
For the record, I lean toward random quoting of dialogue from Valley of the Dolls, I Love Lucy, The Brady Bunch, The Flintstones and LITTLE WOMEN. I also make child-friendly duck and pig sounds, but I am not sure that will help make me a future presumptive nominee. Hhhm.. Thinking cap tap time. Work, brain, work... Ah-hah! Tell me, Mr. Obama: Can you quack like a duck? Can you oink like a pig? I rest my case. WriterRoss For President! Bruce Springsteen for my V.P.!

"I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king..."

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 09:30:26 GMT

I wish I could sing. I feel like putting on a show and belting out tune after tune, making the audience roar with recognition of a talent so great that I am undeniably The Voice of My Generation. Sitting here at my desk, my closing number just came to me, the words came to me as if I had written them myself and I can almost feel the spotlight shining down on me, center stage, a drink in hand, a stool and a microphone stand my props, and then I look out across the room and I tell my beloved fans what it feels like to be me, to be human, to want it all, to have it all and then to feel as if the world has bottomed out... I say to them, "Yeah Baby. That's Life."

And then I sing it. Yeah baby. I sing it.

Remember Richard Gere's iconic cinema moment in AN OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN? When his commanding officer demands he quit the officer's training program? When Richard Gere sobs "I won't quit! I got no where else to go. I got no where else to go."

That's me. I won't quit This Writing Life. Cos I got no where else to go.

I got no where else to go.

Dear lord that was one hell of a great movie. "Way to go, Paula! Way to go!" Such a fairy tale ending but I still believe...I am SO in the mood to be swept off my feet by a knight in shining armor. Save me from the way things are....

I won't quit.
I won't quit.
Oh yeah, That's life.
I'll pick myself up and get back in the race.

Have I Told You Lately How Much I Love Books?

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 05:32:29 GMT

Link below to the review in this Sunday's NYT Book Review in re: Leonard Marcus's history of children's publishing:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/15/books/review/Miller-t.html?ref=review

My favorite paragraph from the review, written by Laura Miller, is its opener:

"When my second-grade teacher was growing up during the Great Depression, she discovered what would become her favorite book at the Cleveland Heights Public Library. Unfortunately, by the time she’d finished reading “The Hobbit” and persuaded her parents to buy her a copy, they couldn’t find it in the bookstore. Undeterred, she checked out the library’s copy over and over again, determined to make one of her own by pecking out the entire text with two fingers on the family’s manual typewriter. How many authors who write for adults can boast of having a reader so utterly devoted to their work?"

I was a Child of Perpetual Check-Outs. Not because I was diligently and furiously copying the words in a composition notebook (although I have been known to copy whole chapters on a copier machine for future reference at home, ssh). I love renewing books because I love not letting go and giving the books back. Beware stray dogs that cross my path. (Wasn't there the law school tenet we had to dissect: The Law of Finders?) Library books have that same feel. They're in the house already. Out of mind, out of circulation. Please don't make me share them with anyone else. {}

Okay, librarians. Don't worry. I always do. Kicking and screaming but those books go back and you know it. Check out my history of fines. ;>

The Marcus NF title ends with the Harry Potter years.

Who here will kick off the inevitable Leonard Marcus sequel? Who takes the baton and starts the next lap? Who here will make publishing history? Stay tuned.

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 03:52:30 GMT

I haven't had the strength or guts to address the sorrow I feel in the aftermath of losing newsman and family man Tim Russert.

My heart broke as I watched Tom Brokaw make the annoucement on MSNBC Friday afternoon. No. Not Tim. Not NOW. As much as he loved his family and friends, clearly his passion for politics and this year’s election cycle in general was what drove him…

… and to think that he won’t be here to guide us through this insanity and see it to its conclusion this November is unfathomable.

58 years young. Man, life is not fair at all. Tim Russert exuded life. I pray he died a happy man, despite leaving way, way too early.

He told America’s story and now we will have to seek other voices to make it all make sense

Go get 'em, TR.

May your family and friends one day soon find great comfort and peace knowing how blessed they were to have known you. May I confess that I, too, feel blessed to have crossed paths with him in this lifetime?

To Maureen and Luke and Big Russ: Thank you all so very, very much for sharing Tim's life with us. I will never forget him. As I type these words, I see his smiling eyes on the television screen, aired during one of the tribute shows on MSNBC this weekend. I have watched each show over and over, not wanting to let go of his presence and not wanting to accept the truth and hurt of his loss. And it does hurt. And it is a great, great loss to our nation and to the world. But oh what a better world he made it. You should be very proud of all he was and all he meant and all he did. HE MATTERED.

I know I do not grieve alone. A friend just passed along this video footage to me. I presume it was from today's Meet The Press.(Confirmed and yes, it was.) I have not seen the actual show yet. (Have I ever confessed here I don't end my weekends until I watch MEET THE PRESS as a netcast on the MSNBC website?)

As always, when words fail me, the magic and lyrics and heart of Bruce Springsteen fills in the missing pieces and makes it all make sense to me. Like me, Russert was a Bruce fanatic. I cannot think of a more fitting final tribute to Tim's life and times than the footage in photos and music presented on Meet The Press today.

"So you're scared and you're thinking
That maybe we ain't that young anymore
Show a little faith there's magic in the night..."

And there's that awful empty chair at the end.

And here we've come to the end of his Great American Story (one even Russert could not believe had come true).

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables... from Les Miserables:

"Phantom faces at the window.
Phantom shadows on the floor.
Empty chairs at empty tables
Where my friends will meet no more"

Crying over empty gas tanks seems so silly in the scheme of life now, doesn't it?

(Coming back to this entry to add: how profoundly bizarre to connect the irony of Bruce singing about fast cars and open roads and taking off and escaping, while I warbled and wept about getting stuck and being gasless and seeing the end of the drive... It's too much for this one, weary, psychic brain to comprehend...)

Gas Art-- and the Coffee Wasn't Even Worth It

Sat, 14 Jun 2008 06:57:36 GMT

Flexing my inert writing muscles to share our very late-night run for comfort food tale rated "E" for "Entertainment for Sadists."

Coffee and a dozen donuts to go, please.

Turn the key. Nothing happens. I said Go. Please. GO. PLEASE.

The car choked and coughed and froze. Dead in the parking lot of a Dunkin Donuts. How embarrassing. (Just one step above being found dead in a car accident in old underwear.)

I began yelling. Drumming my fingers on the window.

What do you mean there's no gas?
What were you thinking?
Who risks it all and drives on "E"?

"E" as in Empty, you fool.

Out of gas.

An apt metaphor for my present and personal state of affairs.

You're driving and you're heading towards the future, the road a dream that never lets you down.

And then you sputter, the wind disappears, and all that's left is a numb, tangible vision of gates closing and a horrible fear that the map you've followed was all wrong and the time to turn around is now.

But you can't. You're tired. You have no strength. And you're out of gas.

Literally.

And when The Hero from AAA arrives to set you back on the road, you turn on the radio. Out of rote. Out of habit. And the cruel joke the Radio Therapists play on you? The first song you hear streaming from the speakers?

RUNNING ON EMPTY by Jackson Browne.

Even I had to smirk.

You can't make these things up. Not even me, the ultimate fiction-is-just-as-good-as reality writer. ;>

So as rotten as my mood was in that parking lot, where the stench of stale, midnight donuts blended with the night heat and gasoline and kids smoking cigarettes in tiny, dark circles, the music made me laugh. The music made me feel less angry. It always does.

Stopping by Live Journal on a Sunny Afternoon: Poets Gone Wild

Mon, 02 Jun 2008 20:06:22 GMT

Don't mess with Robert Frost
or his cabin
unless you're prepared to suffer the consequences:
Poetry Classes for the Offending (and offensive) Vandals
(Makes me want to go out and do something bad) ;}
This is rehabilitation at its finest moment

I can't compete with the titles of the news stories below:
(For Better or Verse? Groan all you want)

The professionals dub this story best:
See
"Poetic Justice"
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/24935777/

and my favorite headline: "Rhyme and Punishment"
http://www.startribune.com/nation/19461664.html?location_refer=Nation

Do you think we can petition for similar classes for picture book poets? You know...uh... The Breakfast Club-like detention for rotten, schtinken poets. Break a meter. Toss in some off-rhymes. Steal, er, sample text from other writers. I want an ab-fab rehab poetry class. What do I have to do to get arrested around here?

Maybe This is a Sign Better Days are Ahead: Word Nerds Are My Idols

Thu, 22 May 2008 04:25:16 GMT

I feel like crying-- in a good way, for a change
This guy touched my heart
I was a few of those 97 million voters last night (though I swore I would never again cave in to the American Idol machine)
and the right stuff won:
Cook by 12 million
That moment was my moment and when he wept, so did I (easy for me, ol' sap that I am)
I've loved David Cook from the beginning and his joy kicked my Hope-o-Meter into action
Life right now is not where it should be
but a little faith
a little healing
a little redemption
can't be too far off,
can it?

... and a flashback to a few weeks ago in April and one of the sweetest moments of all this American Idol season... I simply cannot get this song out of head (and there's a LOT of stuff in there vying for my attention, ouch) ;}

"Always Be my Baby" (David Cook-style)

Quiet on the Set

Fri, 02 May 2008 03:37:55 GMT

Just holding my place in the universe of Live Journal.

Posting a brief entry to ensure my words don't fade away into that long day's journey into night.

Wishing you all well.

p.s. to Doc, docstymie: Thanks for the gentle nudge. It would take a truck dumped on my head to help open the ol' brain veins and let the words out. This is all I've got. For Now.

CARRIE ON, CARRIE JONES! THE MAINE STATE LEGISLATURE AWAITS!

Mon, 31 Mar 2008 10:58:27 GMT

CARRIE JONES FOR MAINE'S STATE LEGISLATURE

The fairest spot on earth is Maine
Oh lucky is the state
to serve as Carrie Jones' home
in District #38

To serve her neighbors, serve them well,
Lift every voice to say
"Maine is Mine. Make our Maine Shine"
Vote JONES Election Day!

When Memories Will Be Made
Like lighthouses that guide the water
Carrie Jones will pave paths for The People
For their hopes and dreams to matter
For their voices to be heard
Carrie Jones: Trust the Word

I proudly support CARRIE JONES for the MAINE STATE LEGISLATURE. Get to know her through her words, her stories, her actions. Her dreams are yours. Make them come true!

Carrie Jones. She will CARRIE Maine to BETTER DAYS!

Make Maine Shine!

Inspiring "CARRIE JONES" Logo Art courtesy of TORI @ britlitfantwin

“The world is all gates, all opportunities, strings of tension waiting to be struck.” (Emerson)

Sat, 29 Mar 2008 10:10:13 GMT

I met with my writing circle (Can three of anything be a group?) this morning. My beloved writer/friend M shared the final page proofs of her upcoming picture book-- her first-- due out this September with Chronicle. I now understand why editors say leave the art to the artist. That the art brings another level of the story to the page. I knew the artist was well-known and I was prepared for his style. In a way, I was nervous for my friend because she was worried her vision would not mesh with his.

Hold the presses. Stop the worrying.

Her picture book is absolutely, overwhelmingly beautiful and perfect. A work of ART in every sense of the WORD. (And I mean it. Even the words in the text are ART.) We wept as we studied the page proofs at our meeting this morning. It is that good. That Great. We should all find such treasure at the end of the rainbow. This book is a golden child and I can't wait for the world to read and see what I have read and seen. I am still floating on air, as if it were my own. (After living and breathing this book in progress for g-d knows how long, one does begin to feel a sense of ownership and protectiveness to a close colleague's manuscript!) And now...oh now it is truly a Book. More than anything I could have imagined with this ol' imagination of mine. Stunning. Stunning!

I am grateful for M's friendship and mind and spirit. She's waited a long time for this moment--and now the moment is here. It's dizzying. It's happening. And it is worth the wait. Bears and cubs. Tear down these walls. Get outside. Live. Be. Write!

I know the weather has been unkind to many of the writers in our community. I suspect you've all had more than your unfair share of snow, ice storms, blizzards, and drenching rains this past, endless winter. (Don't throw beans. We never had significant snow falls down my way. Not enough to close a day of school and hence we've accrued days off in April and May. Sweet.) It's the end of March and I predict hope is just around the corner. Think butter yellow, curling flowers and damp, cool green grass and open-toe sandals and skin the color of sand, not chalk.

To help you prepare for your imminent spring awakening, I celebrate Our Spring Training by gifting this amazing concert footage of Bruce on Aug 31, 2003, his last of 10 shows held at Giants Stadium (which houses the New York teams but "is actually in New Jersey!" as Bruce likes to tease).

What are you waiting for this spring? Fresh air, cool drinks with tinkling ice cubes, the sprite dance of butterflies in the backyard, blue skies and late sunsets? Are you waiting for a sunny day? You've come to the right place. Sit down. Feast your eyes on all this glory and joy and euphoria.

A Heads Up (er, actually, Heads Down, ahem) Alert for those out there who enjoy seeing Bruce wrap his wet legs around a microphone: Pay particular attention to the 4:44 mark and beyond. You can thank me later. ;>

Your head says winter but your heart says "Is it hot in here or is it just me?" ;>

Tick tock...

So? Did you watch the video yet? What are you waiting for? Wake up. Wake up!

It's Not Just You. Swear. Now watch. Do it for me. And For You. I bet you're feeling alllll better already. ;> (Remember: Moment 4:44 on the clip. Write it down. Pay attention. This is going to be on the test.) ;>

"You're off to great places. Today is your day.
Your mountain is waiting, so get on your way."
-Dr. Seuss, OH THE PLACES YOU'LL GO

Someone Ought To Open Up a Window. Maybe it's You.

Fri, 28 Mar 2008 08:24:56 GMT

I'm frustrated.
I've done nothing this week that hints of writing.
I'm angry.
I'm tired of yelling at the news I read and the news I see.
I'm waiting on the world to change but I have to start with myself.
And...
I'm tired of yelling at myself
when I'm the only one who can save my world-- and save myself.

Presented without song or dance because...
this is
Pure Poetry in motion.
Madness and writers make comfortable bedfellows.
Poetry isn't always pretty.

Join us and shake your iambs out : If it's Friday, it's 15 WORDS OR LESS Friday at laurasalas's place.

Idol Talk: Has BILLIE JEAN (yes, the one you danced to in 1982) ever sounded This Good?

Wed, 26 Mar 2008 08:31:32 GMT

Now plugging: David Cook on Tuesday night's American Idol performance show. I haven't connected with the show in a while, as much as it used to be my one shameful reality television vice. But tonight, someone's voice made me look up and listen.

I taped the show because PBS's FRONTLINE'S excellent 2-part series, BUSH'S WAR, stole my attention two nights running. I expected to fast-forward through much of the American Idol tape, but this number stole my heart. I like this guy. Different. Raw. Genuine. The rest of the singers fall into the high school talent show contest category-- except your kid isn't on stage so you're not paying attention.

But this one...Well... I was drawn in. How about you? (Billie JEAN? Michael Jackson's Billie JEAN? The song we all squealed over way back when Michael Jackson was still cool? Don't worry. No sparkly silver gloves here. Chill.) I think I can only get away with saying "Chill" online. In real life, I would sound like a doofus trying to be hip. ;}

What We Talk About When We Talk About Race: Poets, Politicians, and People all... Follow that Dream

Sun, 23 Mar 2008 06:36:54 GMT

http://booktv.org/program.aspx?ProgramId=9067&SectionName=&PlayMedia=No

Noted YA Author Marc Aronson will be featured on BOOKTV.ORG at 7:00 PM, Sunday night, March 23rd, 2008. (BookTV airs on on the weekends over your C-SPAN 2 cable channel.) Aronson addresses the history of race relations in his book RACE: A HISTORY BEYOND BLACK AND WHITE. This talk was taped at the Brooklyn Public Library on February 27th, 2008. (There may be a brick or two with my name on it in libraries in my home town branches. I believe that over the years, I accrued enough late fines to be considered an investor in the infrastructure.)

Aronson tells us: "I wrote this book to make sense of race and racism now by tracing out their long history. This is a book about deep, disturbing, and personal feelings. And yet it is also about people and events hundreds, even thousands of years ago. As you'll see, I think the two are connected. Race is our modern way of handling emotions that go back to the very beginning of human evolution. That is one reason why race is so hard for us to deal with: in one way race seems as current as science, in another it taps our oldest fears." For more, please see: http://www.marcaronson.com/archives/2007/04/race_a_history.html

Without injecting personal politics into this blog entry, it goes without saying the issue of race is timely, timeless, and critical to our survival as a community of mankind.

We should be better than what we are.
We can be better than what we are.

And yes, our words matter. Words DO move mountains. Big and small.
A speech can change a life.
Think "I Have A Dream."
Words on paper, written by someone who loves words, like you, like me. And yet those words moved a nation and changed a nation. Never underestimate the gift that comes from your fingertips!

Here's something to think about.
A strange confluence of historic events:
King's I HAVE A DREAM speech: Washington, DC, August 28th, 1963.
The last day of the Democratic National Convention: Denver, Colorado,
AUGUST 28th, 2008 (See http://www.denverconvention2008.com/ )
Someone will accept the nomination of the Democratic Party on August 28th, 2008, 45 years to the day since I HAVE A DREAM entered our nation's collective conscience.

The dream goes on. For better and for worse.

Here's the For Better.
Follow That Dream.
A seriously haunting performance of a song I hold so dear to my heart. (And Audrey, if you're out there... This is for us.)

Now every man has the right to live
The right to a chance to give what he has to give
The right to fight for the things he believes
For the things that come to him in dreams

EDITED TO ADD, 4:42 PM:
John Lundberg is one of the bloggers on THE HUFFINGTON POST I have marked as a favorite. When he posts something new, an alert appears in my e-mail. I just opened such an alert. And what did Lundberg post about? POETS writing poetry about race and racism. Will worlds stop colliding today?

One of my favorites, also cited by Lundberg:
I, TOO, SING AMERICA:

I, Too, Sing America
by Langston Hughes

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.

Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--

I, too, am America.

Who said the pen is not mightier than the sword? When we stop writing, we stop fighting for the dreams of a nation, dreams of our lives.
"And the poets down here don't write nothing at all.. They just stand back and let it all be..." (Bruce Springsteen, JUNGLELAND)

We are ALL America. Keep writing. Words mean everything. They are what bind us as a community and a nation. From the Declaration of Independence to the Constitution to the words of song that goes to the core of who we are and what we are meant to be: As newport2newport reminded me in her eloquent comment below: "This land is your land. This land is my land."

You Write the Books. They Make Best Sellers out of You. ;>

Wed, 12 Mar 2008 08:40:12 GMT

From http://www.wnyc.org/shows/lopate/episodes/2008/03/03/segments/94399

The Leonard Lopate Show
What Makes a Best-Selling Children’s Book?
From the Goosebumps to the Harry Potter series, some children’s books become enormous best-sellers. Jean Feiwel, Senior Vice President and publisher of Feiwel and Friends and Square Fish Books, Diane Roback, Senior Editor of the children's section of Publisher’s Weekly, and Micha Hershman, a manager of Borders Group children's department, discuss what makes a best-selling children’s book.

In case you missed this interesting segment on Leonard Lopate's radio show, originally aired earlier last week, you can click and listen here:

Silence is Golden: The Can't Speak Edition

Fri, 07 Mar 2008 12:05:37 GMT

I did not have an easy recovery period after the oral surgery yesterday. Five ungodly hours in a dentist's surgical chair. Oh yes. The last place on earth I wanted to be but... so be it. I call it: I want a birthday do-over. {}

The e-mails, posts, and phone calls were my saving grace. I will get to them as soon as humanly possible.

Right now, the "human" touch is not there. Hard to talk and hard to walk. Pain and dizziness and nausea. Not the trifecta of delicious concoctions.

I slept all day, all night, except for routine and involuntary trips to de-spew. I can't think of a kinder way of phrasing it. Please bear with me.

All is well, technically. It's the aftershock. Like having a baby. There's this gorgeous new life in your arms and all you can do is shiver, shake, throw up and sleep. The baby can wait.

Other than that, everything is perfect. ;}

THANK YOU, ALL OF YOU. Not to get all Sybill-ish on you but I Hear Your Voices in my Head.

And I thank you for being there for me. You didn't even know the pain I was suffering (nasty nasty effects, who knew I was such a wimp? I used to be invincible!) and yet the cards and letters and calls kept coming for the ol' birthday. I wish I had not been mentally unconscious. So much love and I hallucinated through it all!

Before I pass out (and I am headed that way), please join me in whooping and hollering a happy birthday chant of my own to the lovely saraclaradara and cathyipcizade. This has been a busy birthday week for Live Journal scribes, including carriejones and docstymie. You know Pisces-types are known for their creative side and this list is proof for the pudding. ( Hhm. Pudding is soft. Can I eat pudding without losing it?) ;>

Forever Young: Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, and Me (just wanted to see my name near Bruce's name)

Thu, 06 Mar 2008 08:20:21 GMT

Okay. Wake up. It's all right. It's all right. You're safe.

I just had a horrible dream.

I met someone in a concentration camp.
He was a musician and actor. Someone Almost Famous.
I remember him wrapping a sheet around me. As if to hold me close. Keep me warm.
We fell in love. (Survival instincts make strange bed-fellows.)
I remember the kiss that sealed our fate.
And we knew we had to run. We held hands, our thin cloth coverings wet and dirty and flapping in the rain. I was barefoot. I remember the feeling of the mud drenching and swallowing my toes, slowing me down. He kept running.

And there are the Nazis chasing me through the forest, Nazis holding me down, making me scream my allegiance to Hitler as the guns are drawn and I am sobbing.

It's not good to cry on your birthday.
Very superstitious. {}

The day can only get better-- if you call going to the dentist for major mouth surgery "better." I know. Could he have picked a worse day and told me "That's all I have"? He made me an offer I couldn't refuse. ;}

Thanks to you for the lovely thoughts here (can LJ entries be copied and pasted from one entry to another?) and in e-mail.

I need to erase this nightmare from my memory. Too real, too painful.

May God bless and keep you always,
May your wishes all come true,
May you always do for others
And let others do for you.
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung,
May you stay forever young

Added to edit after posting: Too bizarre. Check out the time this entry was posted on Live Journal. 3-0-6. Shiver me timbers! Oy! Seriously unplanned but maybe it's a sign.. The Powers that Be work in Mysterious Ways. Is it too early to start drinking? I have a feeling it's going to be ONE OF THOSE DAYS.... ;}

Brooklyn is Cool and What are You?

Tue, 04 Mar 2008 08:19:46 GMT

In my ever-obsessive need to stake my claim as a Native Daughter of the lovely borough other writers now think they discovered circa 1985, I post this hip, hot essay from author Colson Whitehead as originally read in this Sunday's New York Times Book Review section:
I WRITE IN BROOKLYN. GET OVER IT. (his title, not mine)

I started reading Colson's novel JOHN HENRY DAYS and I can't remember why I put it down. It was during Springsteen's Seeger Sessions tour and I was big on learning more about the iconic John Henry, the Steel Driving legendary hero.
(I think I stopped reading more due to my Springsteen show schedule and less because of the quality of the writing. I remember the reviews. They liked it.)

statue of John Henry

In case the memo has not reached your desk yet: Brooklyn has always been cool and kind to writers. I should know. Stamping foot, pouting lips. I was there before you. So get over it. ;>

pretty little map of Brooklyn; double click to enlarge for a better view

My cordless mouse is dying so I am about to melt into the ether, like the Wicked Witch of the West. Foiled by technology. And I have no idea where the replacement batteries are. What kind of modern convenience is this?

I so wanted to write about the biography I just bought from Amazon. I could not find it in the stores. I can't wait to crack it open and fall in: it's the biography of Betty Smith, author of one of my favorite books... wait for it... A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN. (Click link to browse its glorious, Brooklyn-authentic pages.) Better yet, because I don't want you to leave here without a gift, Browse Inside here (and don't say another disparaging word about Brookly bum-types again): ;}

Browse Inside this book

Get this for your site

To Tell The Truth

Tue, 04 Mar 2008 06:29:07 GMT

Another huge reveal of a fake memoir.

AUTHOR ADMITS ACCLAIMED MEMOIR IS FANTASY:

From the NYT article:
In a sometimes tearful, often contrite telephone interview from her home on Monday, Ms. Seltzer, 33, who is known as Peggy, admitted that the personal story she told in the book was entirely fabricated. She insisted, though, that many of the details in the book were based on the experiences of close friends she had met over the years while working to reduce gang violence in Los Angeles.

“For whatever reason, I was really torn and I thought it was my opportunity to put a voice to people who people don’t listen to,” Ms. Seltzer said. “I was in a position where at one point people said you should speak for us because nobody else is going to let us in to talk. Maybe it’s an ego thing — I don’t know. I just felt that there was good that I could do and there was no other way that someone would listen to it.”

The book, LOVE AND CONSEQUENCES, was recently published by Riverhead (Penguin).

More from the TIMES article:
Sarah McGrath, the editor at Riverhead who worked with Ms. Seltzer for three years on the book, said she was stunned to discover that the author had lied.

“It’s very upsetting to us because we spent so much time with this person and we felt such sympathy for her and she would talk about how she didn’t have any money or any heat and we completely bought into that and thought we were doing something good by bringing her story to light,” Ms. McGrath said.

“There’s a huge personal betrayal here as well as a professional one,” she said.

I have to admit I have little sympathy for the purported writer. I wonder if she ever browsed the FICTION section in the library. I heard there are a few good books in there. My heart broke for the editor. What could it feel like to wake one morning to find out all the words you fell in love with were lies?

WILLIAM STEIG: Y R U A Writer? Because You Want To Create Deep, Funny Stories Just Like He Did

Mon, 03 Mar 2008 11:31:47 GMT

A fascinating essay in today's New York Times reinforces my love for children's books and children's authors. A must read: a true fan piece spotlighting William Steig's world and the current exhibition of his work on display at The Jewish Museum here in New York. Better get thee to the exhibit soon as it ends March 16th. (Why do I feel as if I am the last to know all the good stuff?)

Things I didn't know: Steig was Brooklyn boy. (Instant rapport.) A Brooklyn Jewish boy. (Who knew?) That he sold his first cartoon to THE NEW YORKER magazine when he was 23 to help support his family. That he began publishing his children's books when he was 61 years old. (Okay. I am not giving away my age. All I am saying: there's hope, there's time, there's time! I feel better now.) ;}

Things I did know: some of his books have been my best friends as both a writer and children's book aficionado. The less-talked about, less seemingly impossible BRAVE IRENE was a story I read over and over again to my children-- and to myself. Irene was the girl I never thought I was, the girl who never gave up, despite the obstacles of the wind, the snowstorm, the darkness, the impossibilities...

If I couldn't be that girl when I was little, I am determined to be her now. {}

*******************
From the William Steig website:

double click to enlarge

From ART KNOWLEDGE NEWS: “I often ask myself, ‘What would be an ideal life?’ – I think an ideal life would be just drawing,” William Steig said in 1992. He died in 2003 at the age of 95.

“I MEANT WHAT I SAID AND I SAID WHAT I MEANT" random notes from the desk of WriterRoss

Sun, 02 Mar 2008 12:12:45 GMT

Are any of your books loooking for a new home? Here's a novel idea. Pun intended. It's awkward it never occurred to me before: bring your books to homeless shelters. Head on over
to the ABC news site for an eye-opening piece on book clubs forming in these shelters. In my book, food, clothing, and shelter provide the traditional necessities, but let's not forget that other basic need: to read, to connect, to share, to see ourselves in stories and to feel less alone.

From the article:
"At a time when book-reading is declining and is especially low among poorer people according to a recent Associated Press-Ipsos poll, the book club at 2100 Lakeside seems ill-fated. But, while 1 in 4 people polled admitted to having read no books in 2006, homeless men here are reading two a month."

I know I am preaching to the choir when I say there "is no frigate like a book." (Why argue with Emily Dickinson?)

There is no frigate like a book (1263)
by Emily Dickinson

There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away,
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry –
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll –
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears a Human soul.

Many moons ago, I found refuge in the pages of a book. That was X thousand books ago as well. (Numbers schmumbers.) One of the first books I ever read to myself-- and then to my parents-- was AND TO THINK THAT I SAW IT ON MULBERRY STREET. The man who launched 10,000 children's book editors pleas for "No Dr. Seuss imitators" celebrates his birthday today, March 2nd. Happy Birthday, Theodor Seuss Geisel. I'll always love you. Not green eggs. Not ham. (The food. LOVED the book.) When I realized I Could Read it Myself, hello, I found nirvana and I never, ever looked back. Not sure what would have become of me but I suspect none of it would have been good.

I guess you could say what I found on Mulberry Street was... me.

Dr. Seuss, still looking good at 104

P.S. Seuss's Mulberry Street was in Springfield, Massachusetts, Geisel's birthplace. Not the infamous Mulberry Street in Little Italy more familiar to residents of the New York area. In a 6 Degrees from Kevin Bacon way, it pleases me to know I touched Seuss DNA somewhere, sometime in the course of the six years I lived in Springfield, Mass. His love was in the air. Everywhere. And now that I look back on those years, I sort of miss Springfield, too. Oh the things I could think about, all those things that happened in my life in Springfield. But that's another story.

"Nothing," I said, growing red as a beet,
"But a plain horse and wagon on Mulberry Street..."

As the Good Book says, according to Dr. Seuss:
“Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one.”

(In truth: today was okay. Too busy for a Saturday. A little too much pressure and angst. But tomorrow is another one and another chance to make it better. You know, as in Hey Jude... "Then you can start to make it better..." I'm here, I'm not. I know. I'm lost in the bowels of parenting and real life and calendars and checkbooks. Wake me up when the bat mitzvah's over.)

Don't ask. It's all right, Ma. Just accept. Yes. That's Bob Dylan. Must See Hava Negila. ;>

Send in the Clowns

Tue, 26 Feb 2008 05:15:36 GMT

I know.
Get a life.
But seriously.
I just read Great News online.

This news makes me happy.
Gleeful.
Bordering on ecstatic.

Comedian Lewis Black is getting his own show!

Coming to COMEDY CENTRAL on March 12th. What sounds like one of the wackiest premises to come along since Mork moved into Mindy's hometown: a plaintiff vs defendant courtroom-like challenge, wherein Black presides over debates to decide the greater of two evils. Hot button controversies lined up for this show include American Idol vs High School Musical, Paris Hilton vs Dick Cheney, etc. I love it.

The show is "The Root of All Evil" and it may be just what Lewis needs to become the break out star he almost is.

It may bomb. It takes a while for funny people to find their place.
They make great sidekicks. They make great "best friends."
But it's tricky when the star IS the Funny One.

SEINFELD knew best: he was funny but he surrounded himself with friends that were even funnier.

CURB YOUR ENTHUSIASM is hysterical because the comedy is brilliant. And Larry David isn't being funny. He's being Larry David-ish.

LUCILLE BALL was in a class by herself. We loved her because her wit was always a vehicle to a destination. Her antics kept the Ricardos from falling apart.

MARY TYLER MOORE was a brilliantly funny show. Mary on her own was white bread. But her family of news colleagues made me laugh like nothing else could.

I love Lewis Black.
Smart, funny, a mirror of my frustrations and angst.
I hope this show is as great as his talents.

Here's Black doing his best Chris Crocker "Leave Britney Alone" sendoff. Just think what this could do for Huckabee!

p.s. Happy 2/26 birthday-- happy THIRTEENTH birthday-- to my baby. I love you more than...anything. Bruce included. Even though I played Bruce CDs over and over in the labor and delivery room until you finally showed up-- and showed the world your pretty and brainy face. The doctor almost dropped you. The next morning, he thought you were a boy and it took an extremely post-partum angry me to remind him who and what you are. And...we haven't stopped laughing since. {}

"And I'm just like that bird, oh, oh, Singin' just for you..." (Dylan)

Sun, 24 Feb 2008 14:49:53 GMT

Why oh why did I quit taking guitar lessons?
(There's a good story there. It involves outing a family member who wishes to remain anonymous in this semi-professional writer-to-writer journal.) ;>

But oh! This kid is on the right path.
Long may she play.

Guaranteed to make you smile. Laugh. And sing along.
That's what a great song can do.
All across the universe (tipping my hat to the Beatles, of course), great words resonate and make sense to people of all ages.

I surround myself with books, hundreds of books (I Can't Stop Buying Them... Save Me Somebody) and pray for the magic in the paper to seep into my skin. I am their assistant. I tap tap tap and hold my breath, willing the trick to work. Presto change-o. Make my words appear. Shazam!

Aint woiyds grand? Where would we be without them?

Coughing, Wheezing, Shaking, Sneezing

Mon, 04 Feb 2008 20:38:32 GMT

Random Thoughts while I Nurse Myself Back to Life:

If this is what the flu feels and looks like, I will kick myself for not getting the flu shot.

I've had more hallucinations in the past 48 hours than a roomful of kids on LSD.

My bones ache in places I didn't realize I had bones.

My family was in my house for the football game yesterday. I never saw them.

Tea is good.

I can't read. Anything. That is the worst pain of all.

Edited to add the reason I came online to post here: Forgive me, friends, for neglecting your lives and stories. It hurts to be out of touch with you. A hurt worse than physical affliction.

Too Tired to Think

Sat, 02 Feb 2008 01:56:09 GMT

What goes up, must come down
My body and brain are crashing
and I must resist temptation
to post here
knowing full well
anything I say can and will be used against me

Did someone already come up with the phrase "Thank G-d it's Friday"
and how did that brilliant person know Just How I Feel tonight?

I met my writer friends at a diner today
We talked shop
I filled them in on Kindling
and the drive and the fiction strand
and the bonfire and the wishes
and the writers that welcomed me with open arms

They said I was glowing
Like I was in love
That look we get when romance is mysterious and mythical
That feeling we get that we can literally walk on water

If this is love, I hope the honeymoon never ends
(although I know it always does, the blessing or curse of getting older)

Holding on to this spirit of enchantment and infatuation won't be easy--
(I know, realistically, we are odd creatures and err on the side of angst and worries-- of which I have many and many)--

but I will do what I can to protect and defend the fire in my fingertips.

The weather is deadful: monsoon rains since early morning
and I've lost my ambition to do anything of consequence this evening
In fact, these letters I type may be the heaviest of lifting I attempt all day.

Not true.
My eyes are yearning to close
And I am fighting them,
fighting sleep,
fighting letting myself go into the abyss of
nothingness

Give me a few minutes. I'm sure I'm headed that way.
It's not nice to deny Mother Nature what's due. And what I am due for is
sleep
A Very Deep Sleep

where I am sure I will dream of
quiet revelations found in
trees and lightning bolts and magic and Mrs. Gladstone and Stanley Yelnats and handsome waiters carving slices of honey-soft steak...

No joke.
I just fell asleep
at my desk
before I sent this to Live Journal.

There was a dream in those few seconds of slumber
but I can't remember anything
and I'm shaking my legs and arms out,
trying to re-ignite my engine tonight
but, like my car last weekend,
I think my oil pressure is leaking
and I have to stop this car,
safely

Those Legendary Kindling Words Meals (Make sure you watch this on an empty stomach) ;>

Thu, 31 Jan 2008 11:35:10 GMT

When you dine at the New England Culinary Institute, only the best will do.

Unfortunately, I was so busy working on my book I forgot how to dine among the good gentlemen and gentleladies of Kindling Words. I had to brush up on table manners before I walked into the dining room. No way was I going to be caught dead selecting the wrong fork in front of Gregory Maguire.

It's good to have good people looking out for you. My culinary consultant, Chuck, passed along these helpful, courteous hints-- and let me tell you, no one at Kindling noticed I was once a mouth-stuffer. ;>

Save this for future reference. You, too, could be guilty of putting your butter knife on the wrong plate.

This is how we do it: stretching the brain, putting fire in the fingertips, before the day begins