Tag: links

Wednesday’s Child

About this 1966 film: The Quiller Memorandum was based on a novel by Adam Hall. This well-wrought espionage adventure attempts to take a realistic look at the world of spies as it chronicles the adventures of an American agent who is assigned to go to Berlin and report back on the activities of a new generation of Nazis.

Too early for the age I was then, and now I don’t generally tend toward this type of movie. Still I’m surprised I never saw it.

I’m always interested in finding more John Barry scores.

Add some music

This is a really good time to order music and merchandise from musical artists you support. The ones who already struggle to do the work they love and entertain and inspire you.

It’s not a good time to flash mob, but I love this video from 2012. Music is so powerful and brings such a diverse group of listeners together. Never have I more fervently wished that I had musical talent, as I try so hard to escape current reality by writing. It isn’t working very well. The world is too much with me.

New Obsession

I don’t mean to tease, but I have a new obsession, and I’m not ready to get into it. However…

This is a photograph of the Hotel Pariz in Prague taken by Roman Boed because for once I am GIVING CREDIT for what I’ve lifted from the Internet.

This is my current writing inspiration from a shelf in my living room.

That’s all.

Except: Hi, Ben.

Plus thinking of my late mother on her birthday. And happy birthday to Timmy–wanna go to Prague? =)

Photo Friday, No. 680

Current Photo Friday theme: Family


I’ve shared this photo before. It was Christmas of 1983 and I was using my tripod and the timer on my Canon AE-1 to shoot family photos. This one is me trying to get into the picture and somehow falling into David while Debby turns her back to protect herself. Daddy, ever the good soldier, is following orders and smiling at that damn camera no matter what, while Mother is laughing at us and the dumb bow David has slapped on his forehead.

I wasn’t supposed to be there. Debby’s family and my parents were living in Kentucky at the time, and I’d gone up for Thanksgiving because I wouldn’t have enough time off at Christmas. Except then I was fired by the second-worst employer I ever worked for. I’d immediately started another job, but that business was closed for a couple of weeks, and David offered to drive us up for a family Christmas.

I will share more than I usually share on here because recent conversations make me understand these things can be important. I never know who’s reading. The man I was dating at that time was angry that I went to visit my family at Christmas, reminding me that we’d gone at Thanksgiving because I couldn’t go at Christmas. My holiday plans didn’t interfere with his at all (he didn’t go with me in December because of his own job and family), and it was eye-opening to me to realize he resented me for going and begrudged me time with my family.

There were other reasons why that relationship had to end. He was emotionally and physically abusive. I rarely speak of him even privately, much less publicly. It took me a while to have the courage to end it, and I’m relatively sure this was one of the final nails in the coffin.

When a person tries to poison your relationships with your friends and separates you from a family who loves you (and who you love), GET OUT. Don’t waste time. Don’t think it will get better. Don’t think it’s your fault.

When a person physically hurts you, GET OUT. Don’t waste time. Don’t think it will get better. Don’t think it’s your fault.

Lean on your support system. Find a safe space. Nothing about you, no action, no character trait, no flaw, no strength, deserves emotional and physical abuse.

This was the Christmas when the one I call my Muse died, and I was with my family and not alone when it happened. This Christmas was my father’s last healthy one, and I could never have known that. I will always be grateful that I went despite the pressure on me not to. I will always be grateful that my family, who had no idea what was going on in my relationship, were exactly the goofy, fun, clever, sometimes maddening bunch we could be. Their love and that bond sustained me then, and even though our parents are gone, everything my family has given me through the decades sustains me still.

If your birth family is not that support for you, find your people. Find your tribe. Your framily. Let them love you the way you deserve to be loved. Love yourself the way you would love others. Take care of yourself.

Use this resource if you need it: National Domestic Violence Hotline.

Yes, promote yourself

I don’t know, maybe I mentioned this on here before. Maybe I talked about it on Instagram. There was a week when my writing involved two particular characters: one a movie director, one a musician. Both young, very early in their creative careers.

Note: When I Instagram about music I do hashtag #musicislife (same with #writingislife if I talk about my writing or about other authors).

So my fictional aspiring director found himself in France. And that week, I was followed on Instagram by a movie director who was working in France, but I NEVER hashtagged #directingislife or #directingfilminfrance or #filmislife, so I don’t know how the heck that happened, because really, even if Sinister Facebook is always listening, I’m not sure how a conversation I might have been having with someone while my phone was in the room would have gotten to a stranger in France. Please don’t explain their data mining algorithms to me; it will just set off a wave of paranoia in my brain.

I followed the director back on Instagram because I was interested in his work and in seeing photos of France, but he has since disappeared from Instagram.

Meanwhile, my young fictional musician was dreaming of the guitar he wanted. Now I knew exactly the guitar I’d be giving him, but he didn’t know yet. Same week as the director incident, a musician on Instagram began following me, and at least that one made sense. He was about to release his debut album (genre: “Americana” per iTunes, “folk” per google, and to me, strong country influence) and I do use that #musicislife hashtag which he possibly searches as he seeks an audience. Or, you know, Instagram could be as insidious as their mothership Facebook and suggested me to him along with nine thousand other users who hashtagged #musicislife while the application was simultaneously reading my manuscript and listening to me talk to the novel’s beta readers. I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW.

I will ALWAYS be interested in a singer/songwriter trying to break out if it’s a genre I listen to or have ever listened to. So I scrolled through his feed, saw our shared respect for Tom Petty, and followed him back. Then, on one of his Instagram stories, he shared a photo of a guitar he’d just bought and FOR FUCK’S SAKE, it was VERY similar to the guitar I’d be giving my fictional musician before too many more pages were written. I was provoked into asking him if he knew the year, I think, or some other specific question, and he told me only that it was custom-made (but I know it’s old).

So sometimes, all you artists in every field, self-promotion works. I bought the album and I like following him on Instagram. He and his family make me happy in this weird world. I’m grateful my fictional musician is in a different genre so the actual living musician won’t think I’m stealing his life. In my defense, the one in my head has been there since I was around 13, and I’m pretty sure that was long before Justin Tipton was born. But who’s counting.

From my iTunes library:

Stolen from Justin Tipton’s Instagram account because I WILL steal your photos off the Internet even if I don’t steal your life for a character:

Also, that is NOT the guitar in my novel. I’m not giving y’all all the details for free.

He’s justintiptonmusic on Instagram. He’s on Facebook, too, I think but as you know, I avoid that snake pit. After all, I have nothing to sell. Yet. And I’m kind of sensitive to Facebook’s role in selling out our democracy.

The sun in your eyes…

…made some of the lies worth believing…

I don’t remember the year I got my Walkman or if it looked like this one. I don’t remember the word “Sports” being on it, and I think I would, but it’s been a long, long time so I can claim no accuracy in my memories.

I do know the first song I heard on a Walkman–it was neither my cassette nor my Walkman. I think I remember whose it was (he was a friend). I was mesmerized by the sound both from such a tiny device and how the music sounded through that little set of headphones. So pure, so mobile. I could walk through campus with a soundtrack other than the one in my head. It’s funny how a song can blow you away when you never expected such. Still go back to that moment every single time I hear “Eye in the Sky” with its lead-in “Sirius.”

So I bought both a Walkman and the cassette and that song babysat me through a bad breakup with the most skilled liar I’ve ever known. I still struggle when anyone lies to me, but I also still feel the empowered vibes of this song. Thank you Ed (the friend with the borrowed Walkman) and Alan Parsons Project.

Show a little faith…

There are two songs that have always vied to be my favorite song of all time. But I always come back to this one and know it will kick the other one’s ass because a tough little Jersey guy can do that. I taught this song as poetry to my college classes for its “carpe diem” theme. This version makes me smile because the audience is a very cool audience. Plus: harmonica. I’ll love you always, Boss, since 1973 when you made a believer out of me and not one friend of mine got it. They got it a few years later.

Unrelated, I think, maybe not, maybe there’s some thread I haven’t picked up yet, sometimes reading what other writers say about writing makes me want to give up because I will always be breaking someone’s damn rule about what it’s okay and not okay to write. Ultimately I just have to shut that shit down and write what I write. It’s all I can do.