authors – beckycochrane.com

Tiny Tuesday!

Received this keychain recently from adamjk.com. Since I don’t drive a lot, I think I’ll probably leave it here on my desk for a while as a reassuring reminder. Even when all of it might not feel true. Maybe especially when all of it might not feel true.

I did try to work on the Neverending Saga Monday. But mostly I just made edits. When I got to the page of the chapter where I intended to resume writing, my mind was as blank as the page.

Today is the tomorrow of “tomorrow is another day,” Scarlett.

reading and coloring

Very glad I followed the recommendation of a commenter to an article about Quincy Jones and read this autobiography. I settled with my iPad and read it as an e-book before bed every night, spellbound by the life this man led. He worked with everybody! I learned so much, not just about him, but about music and music history, ranging from classical composers to hip hop.

He had his demons and made mistakes, never quite escaping the damage of a tough childhood, but he remained full of love for his work and the world, along with his family, friends, and fellow artists. You know a man’s special when he had several children by several wives, and he and the kids loved each other unconditionally, and the wives spoke kindly and lovingly of him even when their relationships ended. No telling how many lives he impacted during his 91 years. I finished the book last night. Rest in peace, Mr. Jones.

After I ran errands this morning, I found a good way to make myself feel better about things while I color: play old music I can sing along to. Not the kind of music I normally listen to, but music that takes me back to times when I was really just the daughter of two, and the kid sister of two. For example, Saturday mornings when we cleaned house, my mother would stack albums on the stereo. They’d be her favorites, mixed with some of Debby’s favorites to sing along to, and some of my favorites, too. That’s how today, while I colored, I ended up on YouTube listening and singing along to many songs by Andy Williams, the Righteous Brothers, Tom Jones, Patsy Cline, and Hank Williams Sr. while I colored.

I’d forgotten how singing is a great mood lifter. That’s true even though I’m not much of a singer (Debby is and Mother was). Luckily, nobody’s hearing me but the dogs; Tom’s been in and out of the house a lot so far today.

This is the book I was coloring from. I’ll share those I’ve finished as part of my Sunday Sundries post tomorrow. I did my first from this book in 2020, and I haven’t removed any of them to put in my sketchbook. I’ll explain why in tomorrow’s post. A unicorn’s always worth the wait.

When listening to YouTube today, I made a discovery. My parents had an album of instrumentals that included an English clarinetist, Acker Bilk. For all I know, the entire album was Acker Bilk. My father’s favorite from the album was Bilk’s rendition of “Stranger On The Shore” (England’s biggest selling single of 1962). For the first time, today I heard the lyrics. The words are so sad, maybe because as I listened, one of my characters came to mind, and it broke my heart for her. Then, as I pondered how to work it in as a reference in book seven (the current work in progress), I realized it’s even more heartbreaking for a different character in the series that would follow the Neverending Saga (should I ever actually complete the NS). I’m WAY too hard on my characters, and consequently on myself, sometimes. But as one of her mentors, who may have gotten it from Robert Frost, once told Marika, No writer tears, no reader tears!

Here’s the song with an orchestra and Andy Williams singing the lyrics:

And the instrumental version with Mr. Bilk and his clarinet:

words for today

I will now get to learn how to manage depression and anxiety. I’ll be seriously curtailing my online time. This morning, I read the social media post of a personal friend. He’s a really good human. A gay man. Gifted. Smart. Compassionate. He was being encouraging to people who feel wounded by the election results. Reminding his readers to take the long view, knowing there are still ways we can make our world a better place for ourselves and the marginalized. There was nothing hateful in his words. Nothing objectionable. But his comments began filling up with people mocking him, verbally attacking him. Gloating. Even low-key threatening him.

I’m sure he’s not surprised. I’m not surprised.

I’ve never tolerated hatefulness on this blog since I began it in 2004. I will ask you do not comment here or speak to me elsewhere and tell me ALL [fill in the blank with whatever descriptor you identify as] are not like that. I know. I’ve been around a while. I’m not the one making hateful generalizations. In so many places in my life, I have to choose my words and remain kind with people I know, people who are friends and family members, who vote in ways that literally threaten the health, peaceful and full life, and happiness of people I love. Their choice.

But never try to justify to me that chaos, division, demonizing, mendacity, and mental, emotional, and physical cruelty are okay. Hide yourself in a cloak of something abhorrent to me, and know that even then, I will listen, for a while, anyway, to all the things you say and all the things you don’t even realize you say, and the only, ONLY, point when we are done is if you begin to insult and demean me or the ones I love. If you don’t like me, respect me, or love me, for who I am, step off. Find a better way to fill your time than wasting it on me. (I have people in my life who build me up. Who comfort me. Who started bright and early this morning sending messages of love and commiseration, and the reminder that I can breathe with them. We can speak frankly whether we’ve been friends since we were eighteen, or since 1989, ’92, ’93, ’94, ’97, 2005, 2007, 2011, or 2015, I’m there for them. They’re there for me. We connect in so many ways.) To them (or you if you need to hear it) I say:

And to the others of you…
If your candidate won, celebrate. Sit at home with a big smile on your face; have some champagne. Crack a beer. Grill your favorite meat. Call or gather with your likeminded friends and repeat all the things you’ve been saying out loud since 2016. Actually, since 2008. You’ve gotten what you wanted. You’ve taken the White House, the Senate, the Supreme Court, (as of this writing, the jury’s still out on the House), and you’re already anticipating how all your “enemies” will be punished, controlled, vanquished. Do that instead of traveling social media and finding the accounts of strangers (and celebrities, because they are your very favorite targets) to pester them. Go and live the idyllic life you’ve been promised.

Today, I’ve spent lovely hours with my dogs. (Starting at about 4:30 am, when they began nudging Tom and me to GET UP. He took them out but then made them come back to bed and wait for breakfast.) They’re all a little crazy in all their different ways, but they have so much love to give. I don’t mean to aspire to craziness when I try to be more like them. It’s just a bonus, I guess. I showered, dressed, left the house to wash my car (the weather is lovely), make a bank deposit, and grab Starbucks.

My heart hurts. I want to be nice to myself. I’m not sure if I have the focus to write. There’s so much I’m unsure about. But I sure am grateful for the love in my life. I’m grateful for the values and strength I was given by my family, and the family I’ve made since. I feel far away from and lonely for many of them, but I also feel the love. Thank you.

Mindful Monday

Wishing you all peace of mind. Happy Monday.
For me, I hope it’s writing, home, husband, dogs, music, and nourishment. For you?

Was sad to hear about the death of Quincy Jones today, though he lived a long and eventful life. What an impact he had on music and culture. Someone in comments to the obituary I read strongly recommended Q: The Autobiography of Quincy Jones, and just like that, it’s in my Kobo ebooks. Research!

Questions, No. 8

I haven’t done one of these since March of 2022. Took it from the shelf, randomly opened it, scrolled down the page until a question caught my eye: What is your favorite author whose name begins with the letter R? As my mental search engine kicked into gear, I promised however it turned out, I’d go with the first name that came to mind.

That would be U.S. author Tom Robbins, who is still with us at 92 years old. He was born in North Carolina and is considered a post-modernist, and I have my brother to thank for getting me to read my first of his novels, Another Roadside Attraction. I never looked back.

I’ve mentioned on here before that had I finished my Masters program, I knew I’d either pick the works of Tom Robbins or Larry McMurtry as my thesis subject. That thesis (and a foreign language requirement) are the only two things I didn’t complete. Did well in all my classes. Passed my masters comps. Then somehow it all slipped through my fingers and I moved away without finishing the program. These things happen.

From my bookshelf, his eleven novels:

Another Roadside Attraction; Even Cowgirls Get The Blues; Still Life With Woodpecker; Jitterbug Perfume; Skinny Legs And All; Half Asleep In Frog Pajamas; Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates; Villa Incognito; Wild Ducks Flying Backward; B Is For Beer; Tibetan Peach Pie

Sunday Sundries

Friday, I purged our living room bookcases. I set aside around 120 books to rehome.

A few are paperback cozies that I took to various Little Free Libraries in or near our neighborhood on Saturday. Do you spy Jack on the right in the above photo?

The rest, Tom will box and take to a reseller. I doubt I’ll get any money for them, but they need to move on to new readers. I listed the titles so that if Jim and Tim want me to hold any of them back for them, I will.

A lot of those books are nonfiction, particularly related to the early years of HIV/AIDS. Maybe if people had read some of them, they’d have a better understanding of so much that happened with COVID. It’s called “woke” to think we should learn what science, medicine, sociology, and human experience can teach us from our history. I think it’s funny that “woke” is used as a pejorative.

Mostly, there’s a lot of great fiction in those stacks. The ones I love most I’ve read more than once; they’re only collecting dust here. They deserve to find new readers.

I also needed the shelf space–too many books were crammed in. They’re better arranged now (still divided by genre, and the two bookcases on the right changed very little). Tom adjusted a couple of shelves to make them look more uniform. Here’s how they are now.

I know I need to do this for the library shelves, too, but those contain literature, classics, and books I know I won’t get rid of for the foreseeable future. There’s really not a lot to rehome.

Little Free Library visits on Saturday:

Easiest for me to get to, but it’s often full, so I mostly use it when I have a single book to drop.

This one isn’t in great shape, but those LFLs may need books even more.

A return visit from when I spotted it a few days ago, only this time, I left books.

This is probably the LFL drop I use the most because I know the person who installed it.

Couldn’t resist leaving some good books at this Astros-themed LFL.

Sunday Sundries

If I read anything over the next week, I plan for it to be a reread of Mary O’Hara’s wonderful series. I first read a condensed version of My Friend Flicka as a kid, and my mother owned a copy of the third in the series, Green Grass of Wyoming. I think I was able to check out and read Thunderhead from the University of Alabama library when I was a student. I treasure this collection of library bound hard copies. If my memory is right, I had help getting them from my friend Steve V, who worked at a Houston independent bookstore (Detering Book Gallery) that helped customers find and acquire rare or long out-of-print books.

I’m putting the most recent musical homage photos from my Instagram feed behind the cut. There are some fun recollections, or if nothing else, the photos offer an interesting look at some of the T-shirts at Houndstooth Hall belonging to Tom, Timothy, and me. =)

Continue reading “Sunday Sundries”

Early* Saturday post

*early as in 12:30 AM

I haven’t gotten done some of the things I wanted to this week. When I was taking care of at least a few of those things during Thursday errands, I spotted these on my way home.

A Little Free Library. Even skeletons like to read.

And they’ll also invite you over to shoot the breeze.

I’ve had my eye on this Jolly Grinning Giant for a while. If I ever saw his people, I’d have asked if I could bring my skeletons over for a photoshoot with him. But his people are never outside.

Friday had some sadness. The first time I let the dogs out, they spotted a young squirrel. He barely got away from them, just a few feet up a tree, where he rested in the V where the tree splits. It was obvious he was either injured in some way, or maybe dehydrated, or just terrified. With help from Debby, I was able to get my frantic dogs inside, while the neighbor’s dogs were very vocal on the other side of the fence. We coaxed the squirrel out of the tree so Debby could carry him in a cloth pillowcase outside the fence to the side of the house. Then Tim got him into a box, tucked inside a towel, to take him to the SPCA’s Wildlife Rehab unit. Unfortunately, the young squirrel died en route. At least he didn’t die from either my dogs or the large neighbor dogs attacking him, but in an air-conditioned truck with a kindhearted, calm driver taking him for help.

Also on Friday, I was able to finish this book. Another political thriller that I couldn’t put down. Now it’s time to take a break from reading and work on my own novel.

Mysteries and Politics

Reading is what I’ve been up to, and these books were purchased locally at Murder By The Book.

New this year:

I can’t believe Requiem For A Mouse is my friend Dean’s sixteenth book in his Cat In The Stacks Mystery series. I feel like I just started reading them! Writing as Miranda James, his cozy series features a librarian/widower named Charlie Harris and his helpful Maine Coon cat, Diesel. The books are set in a fictitious college town, Athena, Mississippi, and every time I read one of the novels, his characters make me feel like I’m spending time with old friends. There are other cats, the occasional dog, and enough bad guys and murders to keep Charlie busy as an amateur sleuth. Plus: a library and plenty of good Southern cooking!

Martin Walker’s Bruno series includes 24 works, including novels, novellas, and a short story collection. There’s also a Bruno cookbook he wrote with his wife Julia. The series features Benoît Courrèges, aka Bruno, a former soldier turned policeman, enjoying the “pleasures and slow rhythms of country life” in the fictional village of St. Denis in the Périgord Region of France. The novels’ horses, dogs, townfolk, and meals are part of those “slow rhythms,” but Bruno’s romances, the crimes he solves, and the historical context Walker provides season the novels with delicious details, while the international intrigue adds a soupçon of suspense. I’ve learned so much from Walker’s books and his booksignings, and an offhand post-war diplomacy tidbit he once mentioned at a signing inspired me to research and develop an intricate part of my own Neverending Saga.

I got this one a couple of years ago and have finally raced through it in two days because I COULDN’T PUT IT DOWN.

I would hope anyone reading here knows who Hillary Rodham Clinton is, and Louise Penny is the author of the Inspector Gamache mystery series set in the fictitious Three Pines, Québec (the nineteenth novel in that series is due the end of this month, and I can’t wait). The real-life story of how the two woman became friends, and how publishing figures and life events brought them together to write a suspense thriller, is naturally fascinating to me–friendships having been not only a huge part of my adult life, but also because I co-authored novels with friends. Though I only occasionally read thrillers, political or otherwise, this one held me spellbound. It features a new administration in the White House, including a new president and his female secretary of state. She was the head of a publishing empire, and the president may have chosen her only to settle an old grudge and ultimately disgrace her. We get to travel the world with this one, and meet plenty of heroes and villains, though sometimes we’re not exactly sure who’s who. Though published in 2021, the themes and ideas explored remain topical, and I appreciated reading about strong, smart women, complicated and often painful family dynamics, and fascinating settings (the political leaders and figures throughout are fictionalized, though there are effective references to real-life international figures, as well). I also was delighted to find Easter eggs in mentions of Penny’s Three Pines village and characters (Clinton was a reader of the series before she and Louise Penny were introduced). I hope one day these two will write another together.

Abyss

I didn’t date the poem below, so I don’t know when I wrote it. Can’t even be sure what prompted it (other than its suggestion in this book). It’s possible I’ve put it on this site before without using the right tag to find it again. If I don’t remember sharing it, I feel confident no one else will, either!

I was glancing through different places where I can find poems I’ve written, including the “Write The Poem” book, and I realized how often the below phrase, taken from a source on Instagram, is true of my poetry.

“They” say real people from our lives who we write into fiction don’t recognize themselves. I think that’s possibly even truer with poetry. As a form of self-expression, we can generalize in writing things we don’t want a specific person to hear. In my case, it’s usually to express my own pain without causing pain to someone else. Sometimes, however, my lyrics may be coming from one of my characters instead of myself. There are a lot of voices in my head. That can make it tricky for readers.

I’ve known other writers who use words as weapons, most often in essays, but sometimes in their fiction and poems (songs included). How we choose to express our honesty often reveals more about the writer/speaker than the “target.”

ETA: I just learned today is National Poetry Day. Timely.