Two Spirits Dancing

So long ago.
Was it in a dream?
Was it just a dream?
I know, yes I know.
It seemed so very real,
seemed so real to me.
Took a walk down the street.
Through the heat
whispered trees.
I thought I could hear.
Hear. Hear. Hear.
Somebody call out my name (John)
as it started to rain.
Two spirits dancing
so strange…

Dream, dream away.
Magic in the air.
Was magic in the air?
I believe, yes I believe.
More I cannot say.
What more can I say?
On a river of sound.
Through the mirror go
round, round.
I thought I could feel.
Feel. Feel. Feel.
Music touching my soul.
Something warm, sudden cold.
The spirit dance
was unfolding…

John Lennon, “No. 9 Dream”

Last night, I was on the phone with Marika, looking back through my e-mail filing cabinet for something. I realized that I’d fallen completely silent and quickly told her goodbye. I’d stumbled across some e-mails from 2004 between Riley and me, and as usual with our interchanges, talk turned to John Lennon and his artistry–John Lennon being Riley’s forever muse, inspiration, hero…

Today would be John Lennon’s sixty-eighth birthday, and I try to imagine how many ways he’d have stayed relevant and rebellious as he aged. But mostly, I think of these two kindred spirits moving across the infinite dance floor.


      John Lennon         John Riley Morris

Riley archives for my reference

The first of I don’t know how many posts today

Or maybe it’ll be my only post today. We’ll see.

Greg Herren is supposed to read from James Joyce’s work at the Garden District Bookshop’s Bloomsday Celebration tonight. Wish I could be there.

On this day in 1904, James Joyce took a walk in Dublin with a chambermaid he’d met at a hotel. Their outing became the basis for Leopold Bloom’s fictional odyssey in Ulysses, another of those books I’ve never read. And the chambermaid, Nora Barnacle, became Joyce’s lover, companion, wife, and muse.

One of the most fun parts of writing fiction is when some chance moment from life–a meeting, an overheard conversation, a vignette told to me, a piece of art, a song, or a photograph–either inspires something I’m writing or gets woven into one of my novels. If the story hasn’t involved me directly, I generally ask and am given permission to use it.

Lynne has family in town, and last night I had a conversation with Aunt Lil. She’s never read Three Fortunes in One Cookie so it was fun to tell her some of the little stories I “borrowed” from her family for Phillip and his family. Though those things we writers lift from our lives may not have the impact on the literary canon that Nora Barnacle had, I think everyone’s fiction becomes a little truer and more alive because of them.


Aunt Lil with her great-great niece, Lila.

He is NOT Satan’s Kitty

I do have a lot of New Orleans photos to post, but the one below is my favorite of all those I took. When I got to the Lost Apartment, Greg gave me a strand of beads he’d picked out from his massive Mardi Gras bead collection. He also gave me a throw from the Krewe of Muses. And Nicky, who I’ve heard called Satan’s Kitty and The Vicious Beast, took my beads away from me and then went after my throw of Muses shoes.

Bead thief notwithstanding, Nicky’s really more the sweet little Skittle Greg and Paul sometimes call him–you can tell by that adorable face.

Musing

We are so close to finishing TJB5 that it’s making me crazy. I want to be finished, and I’m sure when I say goodbye to it, I’ll be relieved. The past has taught me, however, that some of the most difficult writing experiences are the ones that linger in my heart, that I don’t want to let go of. Maybe it’s because in the final analysis, all their difficulty means there was more of me invested in them.

Although I can’t honestly say that any of the novels I’ve written or helped write are less meaningful to me than any of the others. I think one of the easiest books–for ME, not necessarily for all of my writing partners–was HE’S THE ONE. It was written after 9/11, but it covered a time in NYC before 9/11. As much as I fell for Adam, its narrator, my real love affair in that novel (and this, I think, is also true of my writing partners and of Adam) was with New York City. Which is why we dedicated our book to the city.

HE’S THE ONE was a fairly uncomplicated love story and remains a novel we get a lot of reader mail about, even though it’s four years old. Almost all of that mail is positive. However, some people say it contains too many coincidences, and others say Adam just has things too easy. I say that coincidences are the magic of life and don’t have to be ignored in fiction, and Adam works hard for everything he has. If it seems effortless, it may be because Adam’s not a whiner and doesn’t focus on the negative.

I needed Adam when he came to us. In fact, there are times even now when I need a boost that I’ll daydream about Adam and what’s going on in his life. I know he’s happy, because Adam seeks and savors happiness. I adore him.

HE’S THE ONE will also always make me remember a reader who came to our signing for the novel and quietly shared the story of his lover, who had died, with Tim and me while our writing partners were signing for some other readers. I still cry when I think of that gentleman, and the memory that our novel touched him has gotten me through some moments when harsher critics made me second-guess my writing ability.

Last night I was looking at the web site of another author who was talking about one of her muses, a poet. Although I would not necessarily be inspired by that particular poet, I loved that she is. I loved the way she spoke of him and his work and what it meant to her. I felt for her when she said she was a little insecure about saying he was her muse because other people might not find her muse worthy. Bah, I say to that. Inspiration is always a gift, whether that inspiration is a wonderful or horrible experience, a great or mediocre artist, an enemy or friend, a lover or someone unobtainable.

What or who is your muse? What fires your creativity? Treasure it.

Riley and me

Riley and I started being friends when I was 14. Several shared interests brought us together, among them The Hobbit, that we both thought of ourselves as writers, and our love of music. In Riley’s case, he actually was a musician who could play any instrument he picked up. He didn’t have the greatest singing voice in the world, but that was okay, because after all, didn’t we love Bob Dylan?
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