There is a statistic I heard on the news the other day, and I had heard it recently before that. Here it is: kids stay off drugs and out of trouble when they have dinner with their family. That was it. Yeah. Somebody probably did a “study” to come up with that one. My parents could have told them that (and my grandparents, too).
We’re Greek, and in a lot of Mediterranean families (I know it’s true for my Italian friends) - we eat together. I know other cultures do that, too. What a concept. Food isn’t just physical nutrition, it’s mental and spiritual as well. Dinner with ecoyennia mou (my family) is an essential part of our culture.
Tonight we had such a dinner - at a restaurant, but nevertheless, it was a family dinner: me, my two sisters, my brother-in-law and my niece and nephew. It’s what we do on a regular basis. My sister has family dinner with the kids and her husband daily. My niece and nephew don’t know any different. You eat with your family - don’t you? Yes, is their answer.
What this means is, if you have trouble, or need help, you know you can go to your family, because you’ve been eating meals with these people since forever. You’re a tight group. You have actual conversations. You share food. You actually like each other. My family and I all *love* each other (wow, another concept, right?).
It all started with my grandfather -a Greek from the “old country”. The man was a chef. He had a little café in Austin before I was born. He could come into your house, take your leftovers out of the fridgie and rustle up something marvelous for dinner. You would be asking yourself “These are *my* leftovers?” You wouldn’t recognize that food (in a good way) after he got done with it.
We have a saying in my family (a joke): When two Greeks get together, they open a restaurant. It’s almost true. Of course, as I said above, food for us is more than just food.
Tonight over our family dinner we discussed our plans for Thanksgiving this year, and that lead to a remembrance/conversation about my grandmother (maternal, not on the Greek side) and her fried apple pies.
First of all, I need to tell you about love. This woman was not my actual biological grandmother. She was my great aunt. My grandmother died when my mother was two months old. My grandmother and grandfather had five (count ‘em) children! My grandfather was a farmer (again, this is on the non-Greek side of the family). My grandmother was dying, they had a two-month old baby (my Mom) and they had to have a plan. My grandfather could not run the farm and take care of the other four kids and an infant. My eldest aunt (then only eight) had to help him manage the other three kids. She couldn’t manage the infant either - since she was eight - you know - years old.
My grandparents decided before my grandmother died (at the age of thirty-one) that my mother would go live with my grandmother’s older sister. So, the woman I referred to as my “grandmother” was actually my great aunt. In order for all of this to come to pass, my great aunt had to agree to take on this responsibility (she had two biological children of her own).
She met the task.
As children, we would go to my grandfather’s farm house and spend time with him, and also go to my “grandmother’s” house (great aunt) and spend time with her and her husband (who we called “Pop”).
On Sunday afternoons, this woman would lay out a spread that would feed the Dallas Cowboys. I kid you not. There was cold ham, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, green beans, peas, carrots, squash, green salad, fruit salad, rolls, bread... are you getting the idea yet?
We would sit down at that table and have Sunday dinner with “Grandmother” - the woman who raised my mother and told everyone we were her “grandchildren”.
The Grand Finale to this meal would be her homemade fried apple pies. Yes, people, I said *homemade*. Pie crust from scratch rolled and cut into a round shape, apple filling from scratch spooned into the middle of the round crust, crust then folded over into a half moon, sealed around the edges with the tines of a fork and plopped into hot oil and quick fried. Then she drained them on paper towels over a plate and dusted them with cinnamon and sugar.
My father (who was her son-in-law, technically her nephew-in-law) loved these things (hell, who didn’t?). He often could not come with us on Sunday, because, as a mechanic, he was frequently making extra money working on cars.
Grandmother would pack up three or four (or more) of those delicious apple pies in a big piece of foil and send them home with us. She would say: “I know Louie likes these, so they're his, since he’s working hard and he couldn’t come.”
You didn’t touch those pies when you got home. They were Daddy’s - from Grandmother - and Mama would swat your hands if you tried to snag one of those.
Daddy would sit down to supper and then afterward dive into Grandmother’s homemade fried apple pies.
We had dinner together every night, and we had family dinners with grandparents and cousins on a regular basis. Family was, as my Greek grandfather would say, “number one”.
The fried apple pies? They were far more than just a tasty treat. They were all that love my grandmother had to give: the love she gave to her sister’s child, her sister’s grandchildren, and her sister’s son-in-law.
Love like that will keep you out of a whole helluva lot of trouble in life, people - and it tastes damn good, too.
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
HOMECOMING
I have been a long time away from this blog, and I have no real excuse except that it has been a long, hot summer, and I have been working on the next book. Now, to more important matters.
I am from Austin (born and bred), but I lived in Dallas for many years before moving back here to Central Texas (I live just outside of Austin now). Austin is not the same as it was in my youth, and that is a bad thing. I cannot bear what the interlopers have done to it. In their ignorance they irrevocably changed that which drew them here in the first place. Stupid. Consequently, I have taken to living in the hills outside the city, near Lake Travis.
Why I left Dallas and moved back to the CenTex is a story for another day - hell, that’s about three or four different blog posts.
Next week I am going to Dallas for five days. That may not sound to you as exciting as the trip I took to San Francisco last year, or the trips to New York City I dream about and pine for on this blog (ah, New York, how I miss you!). It may not seem exciting to you; but I am longing to see Dallas.
You see, Dallas is my second home. I wasn’t born there, and I didn’t grow up there by conventional definitions of “growing up” in a place; but it *is* my second home. It is changing and never changing. Dallas’s charm is defined by change. Whereas, Austin’s charm *was* defined by its unique and previously never-changing spirit. Gone are those days - and if you didn’t grow up in Austin like me, with a Dad who also grew up there, then you cannot debate this point with me. You simply don’t know enough to know what you’re talking about. Now, back to Dallas, because I have digressed into my “Austin Ain’t What It Used To Be” rant.
When I left my parent’s home, I moved to Big D to begin my “day career” (that is the thing I do while I work on the writing gig). It was in Dallas where I first began to seriously water the seeds of my writing dream. It was also there where I truly “grew up” (to the extent I can at all be considered to be grown up - although, I can fake it pretty well for short bursts).
Dallas is more home to me in many ways than any other place. Even after many years away, I still know it like the back of my hand; and I know its nature, its pulse, its hidden magic.
Dallas puts on a face like a sprawling, glittering metropolis; but it has heart - real heart. It is a heart it hides from the superficial traveler; but it will open itself to the dreamer who explores its depths, and who is open enough to understand its warmth.
I leave one week from today. I will relax and breathe in My Great City, My Home Town of Dreams. I will see old friends and very familiar places. I will look at that great dazzling skyline and remember exciting days as I began a new life there, and that excitement will bloom in me anew. I rejuvenate some of the best parts of myself in that place and take them away with me each time.
I will feel Dallas in my blood again in that way only I can know, but can’t describe. Whenever I go back, it claims me again. I feel as if the time that has passed from my last visit is no time at all. Dallas and I are old friends and too close to ever truly grow apart. The familiarity will wrap itself around me as soon as I look out that airplane window and see it sprawled across the north Texas plains.
When I leave it five days later, it will break my heart again, as it has every single time; but as always, I will promise to return. For I never say goodbye to Dallas. I only ever say “Until next time, my old, good friend.”
Polla Filia,
J.F.
I am from Austin (born and bred), but I lived in Dallas for many years before moving back here to Central Texas (I live just outside of Austin now). Austin is not the same as it was in my youth, and that is a bad thing. I cannot bear what the interlopers have done to it. In their ignorance they irrevocably changed that which drew them here in the first place. Stupid. Consequently, I have taken to living in the hills outside the city, near Lake Travis.
Why I left Dallas and moved back to the CenTex is a story for another day - hell, that’s about three or four different blog posts.
Next week I am going to Dallas for five days. That may not sound to you as exciting as the trip I took to San Francisco last year, or the trips to New York City I dream about and pine for on this blog (ah, New York, how I miss you!). It may not seem exciting to you; but I am longing to see Dallas.
You see, Dallas is my second home. I wasn’t born there, and I didn’t grow up there by conventional definitions of “growing up” in a place; but it *is* my second home. It is changing and never changing. Dallas’s charm is defined by change. Whereas, Austin’s charm *was* defined by its unique and previously never-changing spirit. Gone are those days - and if you didn’t grow up in Austin like me, with a Dad who also grew up there, then you cannot debate this point with me. You simply don’t know enough to know what you’re talking about. Now, back to Dallas, because I have digressed into my “Austin Ain’t What It Used To Be” rant.
When I left my parent’s home, I moved to Big D to begin my “day career” (that is the thing I do while I work on the writing gig). It was in Dallas where I first began to seriously water the seeds of my writing dream. It was also there where I truly “grew up” (to the extent I can at all be considered to be grown up - although, I can fake it pretty well for short bursts).
Dallas is more home to me in many ways than any other place. Even after many years away, I still know it like the back of my hand; and I know its nature, its pulse, its hidden magic.
Dallas puts on a face like a sprawling, glittering metropolis; but it has heart - real heart. It is a heart it hides from the superficial traveler; but it will open itself to the dreamer who explores its depths, and who is open enough to understand its warmth.
I leave one week from today. I will relax and breathe in My Great City, My Home Town of Dreams. I will see old friends and very familiar places. I will look at that great dazzling skyline and remember exciting days as I began a new life there, and that excitement will bloom in me anew. I rejuvenate some of the best parts of myself in that place and take them away with me each time.
I will feel Dallas in my blood again in that way only I can know, but can’t describe. Whenever I go back, it claims me again. I feel as if the time that has passed from my last visit is no time at all. Dallas and I are old friends and too close to ever truly grow apart. The familiarity will wrap itself around me as soon as I look out that airplane window and see it sprawled across the north Texas plains.
When I leave it five days later, it will break my heart again, as it has every single time; but as always, I will promise to return. For I never say goodbye to Dallas. I only ever say “Until next time, my old, good friend.”
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
TEACHER, FRIEND, HERO - FATHER
“I have come to believe that a great teacher is a great artist and that there are as few as there are any other great artists. It might even be the greatest of the arts since the medium is the human mind and spirit.”
-- John Steinbeck
In honor of Father’s Day the below is a re-write of two posts I previously put up here about my Dad. Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!
My father was a great father. Like all great fathers, one of the things which made him great was that he was a great teacher. He also managed to be those things and be a friend. Combine all of it, and he became one of my greatest heroes as well.
My Dad died some years back. He got out of the shower one night, had a massive heart attack and that was it. As bad as it was (and for me it was a great darkness), I still say that’s the way to go - so fast you don’t know what hit you.
Dad was a tough guy - a man’s man; but, he was loving and giving to his kids. He would praise us often for doing well in school, or in some other effort. He didn’t spank or yell, but if you dis-obeyed the rules you would be grounded - and you DID NOT ask for early reprieve on a grounding. There were no bicycling privileges when you were grounded. We were required to spend our time only in our yard, and in contemplation of how we would improve ourselves and amend our ways. Consequently, we followed Daddy’s rules.
I was the worst of the three of us, getting a two-week grounding (with the bicycle put up on high hooks in the garage). I had ridden said bike outside of the approved area for riding my bike without an adult. I rode it all the way down to the creek and was riding it through a culvert when Dad came looking for me. I had been gone a long time. This rule was (of course) one for my own safety. I never did it again.
My Dad was a mechanic and a machinist. He did the machinist thing as his main livelihood (the man could fix or fabricate *anything*), and he did the auto-mechanicin’ at night and on the weekends. When I was a kid, he raced go-karts. Before my time, he raced other stuff. All of it was just local - in Texas; but, I grew up with cars on my mind, and racing as my favorite sport to watch.
When I got old enough to hold a wrench (or any other tool), I was out in the garage learning from Dad, and when I got old enough to know what I was doing (about 15), I was actually working on cars with my Dad.
Dad didn’t work on new cars - he restored and worked on old American cars (you know, the kind before they put computers in them). I was right there with him, up to my elbows in grease.
Once the work was done, it was time for a cold brew (when I was legal). I would go inside and get two bottles and bring them out to the garage. The two of us would lean back against the workbench with our refreshment and feel the relief which can only come from cold beer after a hard day’s work. Then the family would all get dressed and we’d go out for Mexican food. Daddy and I would frequently go play pool afterward. We were notorious for playing until three in the morning.
While hanging out with my Dad, I was learning a lot more than just cool stuff about cars and racing. I was learning about work ethic, integrity, and the importance of approaching a project with organization, focus and the right state of mind.
My Dad was a high-school dropout who later got his GED, but the man was wicked smart. He was an autodidact. He read anything and everything, and absorbed it like a sponge. He had a red-neck Texas accent, but you’d be a fool to think he wasn’t smart. He made straight A’s in high school English before he dropped out. He could speak perfect English if he wanted to, and he could discuss physics with you if you were smart enough to keep up. It was from this Renaissance man I learned to value the acquisition of knowledge, and to strive for constant improvement of myself.
All men should strive to be the kind of father my father was.
Think about it - this man disciplined his children without threats, spanking or yelling. He was firm and consistent, and he showed love and praise often.
Don’t get me wrong, he got angry; but, his anger was a controlled and calm kind of anger. His was a stern look and “Don’t ever do that again.” And that was it. No histrionics or drama. Just a firm and serious reminder of what was right and what was wrong. I never argued with him, or questioned him - not out of fear, but out of admiration and respect - and *love*.
He was a man of remarkable character and ethics. Streams of people consistently remarked on this at his funeral - and it was standing room only that day. A man such as this compels people to come and pay respect.
He also had a great sense of humor, and a terrific laugh. He was, and still is, the best Dad a girl could ever have. He was Louie - teacher, friend, hero - Father.
I wish you could have known my Dad, because you would have been like every friend I ever had who knew him. You would have said “Your Dad is soooo COOL!”
Yes, he was.
Every race I watch on TV, or go to live, I know he’s right there sitting next to me enjoying every second. I know he’s in my corner no matter what I’m doing. He’s ready to whisper advice in my ear and remind me about the right way to do things - anything. His spirit will always be near me, because he’s there, and because he left so much a part of himself in *my* spirit.
He was Louie, and I am lucky enough to be Louie’s Kid.
I know he’s out there driving down Heaven’s roads, winding through Elysian fields, golden sun shining down, wind across his face, laughter in his wake.
Drive on, Daddy, drive on!
Polla Filia,
J.F.
-- John Steinbeck
In honor of Father’s Day the below is a re-write of two posts I previously put up here about my Dad. Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!
My father was a great father. Like all great fathers, one of the things which made him great was that he was a great teacher. He also managed to be those things and be a friend. Combine all of it, and he became one of my greatest heroes as well.
My Dad died some years back. He got out of the shower one night, had a massive heart attack and that was it. As bad as it was (and for me it was a great darkness), I still say that’s the way to go - so fast you don’t know what hit you.
Dad was a tough guy - a man’s man; but, he was loving and giving to his kids. He would praise us often for doing well in school, or in some other effort. He didn’t spank or yell, but if you dis-obeyed the rules you would be grounded - and you DID NOT ask for early reprieve on a grounding. There were no bicycling privileges when you were grounded. We were required to spend our time only in our yard, and in contemplation of how we would improve ourselves and amend our ways. Consequently, we followed Daddy’s rules.
I was the worst of the three of us, getting a two-week grounding (with the bicycle put up on high hooks in the garage). I had ridden said bike outside of the approved area for riding my bike without an adult. I rode it all the way down to the creek and was riding it through a culvert when Dad came looking for me. I had been gone a long time. This rule was (of course) one for my own safety. I never did it again.
My Dad was a mechanic and a machinist. He did the machinist thing as his main livelihood (the man could fix or fabricate *anything*), and he did the auto-mechanicin’ at night and on the weekends. When I was a kid, he raced go-karts. Before my time, he raced other stuff. All of it was just local - in Texas; but, I grew up with cars on my mind, and racing as my favorite sport to watch.
When I got old enough to hold a wrench (or any other tool), I was out in the garage learning from Dad, and when I got old enough to know what I was doing (about 15), I was actually working on cars with my Dad.
Dad didn’t work on new cars - he restored and worked on old American cars (you know, the kind before they put computers in them). I was right there with him, up to my elbows in grease.
Once the work was done, it was time for a cold brew (when I was legal). I would go inside and get two bottles and bring them out to the garage. The two of us would lean back against the workbench with our refreshment and feel the relief which can only come from cold beer after a hard day’s work. Then the family would all get dressed and we’d go out for Mexican food. Daddy and I would frequently go play pool afterward. We were notorious for playing until three in the morning.
While hanging out with my Dad, I was learning a lot more than just cool stuff about cars and racing. I was learning about work ethic, integrity, and the importance of approaching a project with organization, focus and the right state of mind.
My Dad was a high-school dropout who later got his GED, but the man was wicked smart. He was an autodidact. He read anything and everything, and absorbed it like a sponge. He had a red-neck Texas accent, but you’d be a fool to think he wasn’t smart. He made straight A’s in high school English before he dropped out. He could speak perfect English if he wanted to, and he could discuss physics with you if you were smart enough to keep up. It was from this Renaissance man I learned to value the acquisition of knowledge, and to strive for constant improvement of myself.
All men should strive to be the kind of father my father was.
Think about it - this man disciplined his children without threats, spanking or yelling. He was firm and consistent, and he showed love and praise often.
Don’t get me wrong, he got angry; but, his anger was a controlled and calm kind of anger. His was a stern look and “Don’t ever do that again.” And that was it. No histrionics or drama. Just a firm and serious reminder of what was right and what was wrong. I never argued with him, or questioned him - not out of fear, but out of admiration and respect - and *love*.
He was a man of remarkable character and ethics. Streams of people consistently remarked on this at his funeral - and it was standing room only that day. A man such as this compels people to come and pay respect.
He also had a great sense of humor, and a terrific laugh. He was, and still is, the best Dad a girl could ever have. He was Louie - teacher, friend, hero - Father.
I wish you could have known my Dad, because you would have been like every friend I ever had who knew him. You would have said “Your Dad is soooo COOL!”
Yes, he was.
Every race I watch on TV, or go to live, I know he’s right there sitting next to me enjoying every second. I know he’s in my corner no matter what I’m doing. He’s ready to whisper advice in my ear and remind me about the right way to do things - anything. His spirit will always be near me, because he’s there, and because he left so much a part of himself in *my* spirit.
He was Louie, and I am lucky enough to be Louie’s Kid.
I know he’s out there driving down Heaven’s roads, winding through Elysian fields, golden sun shining down, wind across his face, laughter in his wake.
Drive on, Daddy, drive on!
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Monday, May 10, 2010
MERCY MERCY ME
This is for our precious Gulf of Mexico which is being damaged beyond any kind of repair in the next decade - and maybe longer. I won’t say what I think about offshore drilling or BP in particular because none of it is good. The whole situation makes me furious.
I will say that I have been a card-carrying, and very proud member of the Sierra Club for a very long time. There are ways for us to have the fuel we need and grow a robust economy in the process. In fact, the one would create the other quite nicely. We are smart enough to do it. We must do it.
On top of what they have done to our ocean and shorelines, eleven men - ELEVEN - are dead. Their families grief-stricken. May their memory be eternal, and may God bless their loved ones.
My heart also goes out to all the people who live along the Gulf Coast which is being beset by this ecological disaster, and especially to those hard-working people who are losing the livelihoods they have worked so long to build. May God bless you all!
The late and blessed Mr. Marvin Gaye wrote this outstanding tune around 1971. It appeared on his “What’s Going On” album of that year. You can read more about the tune here: Mercy Mercy Me on Wiki
Click on this and you may read the lyrics below while you listen to the Great Mr. Gaye sing his song which is so fitting to our current situation: Mercy Mercy Performed by Mr. Gaye
Mercy Mercy Me
Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
No, no
Where did all the blue sky go?
Poison is the wind that blows
From the north, east, south, and sea
Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
No, no
Oil wasted on the oceans and upon our seas
Fish full of mercury
Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
No, no
Radiation in the ground and in the sky
Animals and birds who live nearby are dying
Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
What about this overcrowded land?
How much more abuse from man can you stand?
My sweet Lord
My sweet Lord
My sweet Lord
Polla Filia,
J.F.
I will say that I have been a card-carrying, and very proud member of the Sierra Club for a very long time. There are ways for us to have the fuel we need and grow a robust economy in the process. In fact, the one would create the other quite nicely. We are smart enough to do it. We must do it.
On top of what they have done to our ocean and shorelines, eleven men - ELEVEN - are dead. Their families grief-stricken. May their memory be eternal, and may God bless their loved ones.
My heart also goes out to all the people who live along the Gulf Coast which is being beset by this ecological disaster, and especially to those hard-working people who are losing the livelihoods they have worked so long to build. May God bless you all!
The late and blessed Mr. Marvin Gaye wrote this outstanding tune around 1971. It appeared on his “What’s Going On” album of that year. You can read more about the tune here: Mercy Mercy Me on Wiki
Click on this and you may read the lyrics below while you listen to the Great Mr. Gaye sing his song which is so fitting to our current situation: Mercy Mercy Performed by Mr. Gaye
Mercy Mercy Me
Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
No, no
Where did all the blue sky go?
Poison is the wind that blows
From the north, east, south, and sea
Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
No, no
Oil wasted on the oceans and upon our seas
Fish full of mercury
Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
No, no
Radiation in the ground and in the sky
Animals and birds who live nearby are dying
Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
What about this overcrowded land?
How much more abuse from man can you stand?
My sweet Lord
My sweet Lord
My sweet Lord
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Friday, April 23, 2010
SPRING FORTH
Now, with more rain, the plants are *covered* in blooms. Even this is just the beginning! I wish I could post the fragrance of that pink one. If it could be bottled, it would sell for thousands! :)
The hedge goes all the way across the front of my house from one side to the other. I can't believe I had the presence of mind to plant these like this, because I had no idea how they would fill out and become something this lovely and thick.
Ah, and now it rains again outside my window. :)
Here they are - as always click on the photos for a larger view:
The hedge goes all the way across the front of my house from one side to the other. I can't believe I had the presence of mind to plant these like this, because I had no idea how they would fill out and become something this lovely and thick.
Ah, and now it rains again outside my window. :)
Here they are - as always click on the photos for a larger view:
Thursday, April 22, 2010
THE ALIGNMENT OF FORTUITOUS CIRCUMSTANCES, FIREWORKS,THE BOSTON POPS, AND HEAVY CANNON
The thing that always astounds - always comes through for me somehow in this crazy writing game, is how things seem to just line up for me in these stories. You work - no, slave over details. There is some problem in this part of the plot, or you need to nail down the motivation for this character here or there, or the sequence of something is off, or (God forbid) you just can’t get a handle on the “hook” - and then, BOOM!
There it is.
Some crazy thing that lands at your feet and it starts the wheels turning, and an idea forms, and the “what ifs” start... and oh, sweet Lord, you have just found a way to save that freakin’ story you thought might be a goner! Except in your heart you loved it, and you just could not pronounce it DOA. Now, thanks to the Alignment of Fortuitous Circumstances, you don’t have to. IT IS ALIVE!!!!!
I have a series I’m writing which I call the “Art of Crime”. I am currently revising manuscript number one (ms #1), writing ms #2, and I have ms #3 banging around in my skull.
Ms #1 is basically in the bag. The revisions are just clean up stuff. Ms #2 is fully fleshed out and I’m already writing text on it. I have some research yet to do, but it’s all stuff I know where to go, and what I’m looking for, etc.
Ms #3 has been begging - BEGGING for more form - a more cohesive high concept. The basic concept was there, but certain pieces of it wouldn’t gel! I could not get a string of events fitting together the way I needed them to in order to make the story really work. Pardon the pun here, but I needed a skeleton upon which to overlay the story. This would give me a framework for my plot, which gives me a framework for all the details, and so on.
So I’m having a conversation with someone today. This person told me an offhand story in support of a point they were making. The story they told isn’t important for purposes of this post. What is important is that two small details in that story - its location within a certain Houston neighborhood, and the presence of certain cemeteries - those two details, which were insignificant in the story the person was telling me - those details absolutely LIT UP THE SYNAPSES IN THE DULL GREY MATTER OTHERWISE KNOWN AS MY BRAIN!
Bright lights! Bells! Whistles! Dizzying and thrilling electric currents!
So, I call my best friend who lives down in the H-Town and start telling her about these details because she is an actual, bonafide HOUSTONIAN. As soon as I mention this particular neighborhood (which she and I have been to before), and the cemeteries, she’s like “Oh yeah.” Then she goes on to tell me about ghost stories in a certain place near there, and bayou stuff, and oh, Oh, OH!!!
MORE LIGHTS GOING ON IN THE GREY MATTER!
Ding, ding, ding!!!!
After I got off the phone with her, my brain would not shut down.
I brain stormed. I printed maps. I had a detailed high concept now, and I was laying the plot over it. There will be more plotting soon. There will be trips to the H-Town, and photographs, and notes, and excitement, and more plotting, more excitement, and then detailed outlining, and even more *excitement*, and then actual, Honest to Mike writing of MS #3!!!
YYYYEEEEEEESSSSSSS!!!
I love days like this when some one little thing gets laid in my lap, and I see how a seemingly insignificant detail can start a creative fire.
I add a little extra spark to it and suddenly I have a Creative Fire Works Display - with Boston Pops playing the 1812 Overture, and heavy cannon firing right on cue! Metaphorically speaking...
*Breathing now.*
These are the kinds of days a writer lives for. The stuff that makes you deliriously happy and totally nuts at the same time - deliriously happy for what it has brought to the story, and totally nuts because it was pure fortune.
What the Hell would I have done if that one story with those two insignificant details had not been told to me?
I will not dwell on the way in which fortune deigns to visit or pass me by, as the case may be. No, I will simply revel in what is here for me tonight, because...
It. Is. Good.
I only have one problem.
You know, with all the fire works, and symphony, and cannon fire...
How the Hell am I going to get to sleep now?
Polla Filia,
J.F.
There it is.
Some crazy thing that lands at your feet and it starts the wheels turning, and an idea forms, and the “what ifs” start... and oh, sweet Lord, you have just found a way to save that freakin’ story you thought might be a goner! Except in your heart you loved it, and you just could not pronounce it DOA. Now, thanks to the Alignment of Fortuitous Circumstances, you don’t have to. IT IS ALIVE!!!!!
I have a series I’m writing which I call the “Art of Crime”. I am currently revising manuscript number one (ms #1), writing ms #2, and I have ms #3 banging around in my skull.
Ms #1 is basically in the bag. The revisions are just clean up stuff. Ms #2 is fully fleshed out and I’m already writing text on it. I have some research yet to do, but it’s all stuff I know where to go, and what I’m looking for, etc.
Ms #3 has been begging - BEGGING for more form - a more cohesive high concept. The basic concept was there, but certain pieces of it wouldn’t gel! I could not get a string of events fitting together the way I needed them to in order to make the story really work. Pardon the pun here, but I needed a skeleton upon which to overlay the story. This would give me a framework for my plot, which gives me a framework for all the details, and so on.
So I’m having a conversation with someone today. This person told me an offhand story in support of a point they were making. The story they told isn’t important for purposes of this post. What is important is that two small details in that story - its location within a certain Houston neighborhood, and the presence of certain cemeteries - those two details, which were insignificant in the story the person was telling me - those details absolutely LIT UP THE SYNAPSES IN THE DULL GREY MATTER OTHERWISE KNOWN AS MY BRAIN!
Bright lights! Bells! Whistles! Dizzying and thrilling electric currents!
So, I call my best friend who lives down in the H-Town and start telling her about these details because she is an actual, bonafide HOUSTONIAN. As soon as I mention this particular neighborhood (which she and I have been to before), and the cemeteries, she’s like “Oh yeah.” Then she goes on to tell me about ghost stories in a certain place near there, and bayou stuff, and oh, Oh, OH!!!
MORE LIGHTS GOING ON IN THE GREY MATTER!
Ding, ding, ding!!!!
After I got off the phone with her, my brain would not shut down.
I brain stormed. I printed maps. I had a detailed high concept now, and I was laying the plot over it. There will be more plotting soon. There will be trips to the H-Town, and photographs, and notes, and excitement, and more plotting, more excitement, and then detailed outlining, and even more *excitement*, and then actual, Honest to Mike writing of MS #3!!!
YYYYEEEEEEESSSSSSS!!!
I love days like this when some one little thing gets laid in my lap, and I see how a seemingly insignificant detail can start a creative fire.
I add a little extra spark to it and suddenly I have a Creative Fire Works Display - with Boston Pops playing the 1812 Overture, and heavy cannon firing right on cue! Metaphorically speaking...
*Breathing now.*
These are the kinds of days a writer lives for. The stuff that makes you deliriously happy and totally nuts at the same time - deliriously happy for what it has brought to the story, and totally nuts because it was pure fortune.
What the Hell would I have done if that one story with those two insignificant details had not been told to me?
I will not dwell on the way in which fortune deigns to visit or pass me by, as the case may be. No, I will simply revel in what is here for me tonight, because...
It. Is. Good.
I only have one problem.
You know, with all the fire works, and symphony, and cannon fire...
How the Hell am I going to get to sleep now?
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
FIRST BLOOMS
The front hedge is just beginning to bloom, but not in the splendour we will have in a few more days. We must be patient for that.
Meanwhile, the first blooms are showing their pretty heads. Enjoy!
Click on the photos to get a larger view.
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Meanwhile, the first blooms are showing their pretty heads. Enjoy!
Click on the photos to get a larger view.
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
BLOG REDUX: BE THE GARDENER
I'm still working on manuscript revisions, so here's another blog redux.
BTW, yes, the roses are actually my garden. Annual pruning coming up in early March. Photos will ensue after the pruning, then we'll contrast that with mid-Spring's lush green canes and thick floral abundance.
How gratifying to take such care, work with such precision, invest so much muscle and sweat, and anticipate such beauty with so much confidence. Ah yes, to make our lives such a garden!
December 26, 2009
BE THE GARDENER
“Out of damp and gloomy days, out of solitude, out of loveless words directed at us, conclusions grow up in us like fungus: one morning they are there, we know not how, and they gaze upon us, morose and gray. Woe to the thinker who is not the gardener but only the soil of the plants that grow in him.”
-- Friedrich Nietzsche
Attitude is what it is all about.
I have two weeks off of the “day job”. I covet these two weeks. I covet them passionately. I am almost through the first week. I have a bit more than one week left.
I have been working on a project here in my house. I am moving some books around from one room to another and vice versa. It is a re-organization project I have needed to do for a long while. It relates to the office I have in which I do my writing, and it relates to cleaning up another room in the house.
Also, I am going to clean out my bedroom closets when I am done with the book project. Goodwill is going to “inherit” the stuff I get rid of (that is, the stuff which doesn’t go to the trash can).
I was fretting yesterday about knowing these two projects are going to take another three to four days to complete. The projects are eating into the remainder of my two weeks off!
I was getting my knickers into a little twist over it.
Then I took a deep breath. I took a few more deep breaths and said to myself, “Self, you have two brilliant weeks off. They are being used for a good purpose. There will be ample time to play after the projects are done, and you will feel refreshed when they are finished. You will be satisfied to finish them, and it will make the remaining time off all the better. Quit your lame whining and knickers twisting.”
Attitude switch over occurrence. **click**
It is the day after Christmas and yesterday I got quite a lot done, thank you very much. I had my Christmas festivities with the fam yesterday. Then I came home and did some work on the computer, and I worked a bit on my book re-org project. I am very happy I was industrious enough to accomplish a good deal - especially for a holiday.
So, I am going to be the gardener come what may. Out of damp and gloomy days, solitude, and any loveless words directed my way, I will not allow anything to grow like fungus. I will not be the soil of the plants that grow in me. I will instead be the gardener and cultivate something more - more than fungus, more than whatever plants grow of their own accord. I will be the gardener who tends the plot and brings it to beauty.
Click on the photo for a larger view.
So, my friends, let us all Be The Gardener.
Polla Filia,
J.F.
BTW, yes, the roses are actually my garden. Annual pruning coming up in early March. Photos will ensue after the pruning, then we'll contrast that with mid-Spring's lush green canes and thick floral abundance.
How gratifying to take such care, work with such precision, invest so much muscle and sweat, and anticipate such beauty with so much confidence. Ah yes, to make our lives such a garden!
December 26, 2009
BE THE GARDENER
“Out of damp and gloomy days, out of solitude, out of loveless words directed at us, conclusions grow up in us like fungus: one morning they are there, we know not how, and they gaze upon us, morose and gray. Woe to the thinker who is not the gardener but only the soil of the plants that grow in him.”
-- Friedrich Nietzsche
Attitude is what it is all about.
I have two weeks off of the “day job”. I covet these two weeks. I covet them passionately. I am almost through the first week. I have a bit more than one week left.
I have been working on a project here in my house. I am moving some books around from one room to another and vice versa. It is a re-organization project I have needed to do for a long while. It relates to the office I have in which I do my writing, and it relates to cleaning up another room in the house.
Also, I am going to clean out my bedroom closets when I am done with the book project. Goodwill is going to “inherit” the stuff I get rid of (that is, the stuff which doesn’t go to the trash can).
I was fretting yesterday about knowing these two projects are going to take another three to four days to complete. The projects are eating into the remainder of my two weeks off!
I was getting my knickers into a little twist over it.
Then I took a deep breath. I took a few more deep breaths and said to myself, “Self, you have two brilliant weeks off. They are being used for a good purpose. There will be ample time to play after the projects are done, and you will feel refreshed when they are finished. You will be satisfied to finish them, and it will make the remaining time off all the better. Quit your lame whining and knickers twisting.”
Attitude switch over occurrence. **click**
It is the day after Christmas and yesterday I got quite a lot done, thank you very much. I had my Christmas festivities with the fam yesterday. Then I came home and did some work on the computer, and I worked a bit on my book re-org project. I am very happy I was industrious enough to accomplish a good deal - especially for a holiday.
So, I am going to be the gardener come what may. Out of damp and gloomy days, solitude, and any loveless words directed my way, I will not allow anything to grow like fungus. I will not be the soil of the plants that grow in me. I will instead be the gardener and cultivate something more - more than fungus, more than whatever plants grow of their own accord. I will be the gardener who tends the plot and brings it to beauty.
Click on the photo for a larger view.
So, my friends, let us all Be The Gardener.
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING
Yeah, I know. I didn't do what I said I was. I didn't keep up with this. **sigh** All I can say is, life intervened. So, while I get myself collected again, so I can post something better, here is a Blog Redux. Enjoy!
Oh, and I am STILL missing that Big Apple. **sigh**
NEW YORK STATE OF MIND
I am missing New York City lately. I haven’t been to the Great City in a while. As soon as I am able I will arrange a trip there, but it may be a bit. Meanwhile, here are some photos I like.
I shot all of these on two separate trips - in fall one year and in early spring in another year. The last photo of the Flatiron building in snow is not mine. It’s an old photo shot in 1920, but I just love it, so it’s here, too.
Meanwhile, click on the link below and listen to the Piano Man himself sing the song while you enjoy the photos. :)
New York State of Mind-Billy Joel
Click on the photos for a bigger view.
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Oh, and I am STILL missing that Big Apple. **sigh**
NEW YORK STATE OF MIND
I am missing New York City lately. I haven’t been to the Great City in a while. As soon as I am able I will arrange a trip there, but it may be a bit. Meanwhile, here are some photos I like.
I shot all of these on two separate trips - in fall one year and in early spring in another year. The last photo of the Flatiron building in snow is not mine. It’s an old photo shot in 1920, but I just love it, so it’s here, too.
Meanwhile, click on the link below and listen to the Piano Man himself sing the song while you enjoy the photos. :)
New York State of Mind-Billy Joel
Click on the photos for a bigger view.
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
POST HOLIDAY BLUES
I heard it on the evening news.
Monday, January 18th, the bluest day of the year.
This is supposed to be because we have all suddenly awakened from our Holiday Bliss to discover: a) credit card bills from Christmas; and b) back to work responsibilities (collectively hereinafter referred to as “Freaking Sucky Reality”).
Okay, maybe that was a little harsh...
No.
It wasn’t.
I will not retract it. It was good sarcastic legalese (see “See More Here” on the right-hand sidebar, or click on this link, scroll down under “Specialized Training, etc”, read that last line there, and you might understand). :)
Who needs Monday, January 18th?? Crap, I was blue beginning Monday, January 4th, when I had to go back to the “day job”. I have been existing in a seriously blue Post-Holiday Fog ever since. **sigh**
I’m working on it, though. I believe in good attitudes. I believe in making choices about who we want to be, and how we want to feel. That doesn’t mean it’s easy, instantaneous, or without the occasional temporary failure.
I’m in such a state of Temporary Attitude Failure right now.
I’ve tried the chemical boost. No, not drugs (per se). I’m talking about red wine, margaritas (no, not in the same day, and not everyday - and not in excess - well, okay, I had 3 margaritas at one sitting last weekend but I had a heavy TexMex meal and a designated driver), chocolate - dark and milk, mac and cheese... **sigh** Alas, no joy. LITERALLY.
No.
Joy.
I’ve tried making sure I’m getting 8 every single night (hours, not minutes).
I’ve tried the Patchouli/Sweet Orange Bubble Bath Solution. Very nice, but no go.
I’ve been on the indoor bike off and on, but I’ve only done one really hard weight workout after the holidays.
It has become obvious this calls for the following Absolute Guaranteed Cure for the Blues. Here’s the recipe:
1. Put on your workout clothes and socks, dummy (dummy is me, not you).
2. Plug the iPod into the surround sound system and set it on the Absolute Guaranteed Rockin’ Workout Playlist.
3. Turn that mother on and rock that volume up so the walls vibrate just enough to feel it, but not so much it scares the cat (or so the neighbors can hear it - which would have to be pretty loud, because their houses and mine have a reasonable distance between them). Luckily, kitty doesn't scare easily - he's a rocker at heart.
4. Go into the gym (f/k/a one of the spare bedrooms in my house).
5. Slip your mitts into those weight-lifting gloves, put your butt and back on that bench and start pumping some serious freakin’ iron!!!
6. Then rock out some curls, overhead tri extensions, upright rows, bentover rows, etc. - you get the picture.
7. After all that, sit your butt down on that indoor bike and pedal off some serious speed for some serious minutes (like 18 or 19 mph for 45).
8. Finish with a protein recovery drink (a/k/a protein fruit smoothie made in my own blender).
9. Shower - when your legs quit wobbling. :)
10. Kick back in bare feet with an nice, refreshing glass of iced hibiscus tea (unsweetened - I’m a purist when it comes to herb tea).
11. Reflect on how good life really is.
Ahhhhh......
I’m off to fill this prescription, people. Be back soon with a better post and a better attitude.
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Monday, January 18th, the bluest day of the year.
This is supposed to be because we have all suddenly awakened from our Holiday Bliss to discover: a) credit card bills from Christmas; and b) back to work responsibilities (collectively hereinafter referred to as “Freaking Sucky Reality”).
Okay, maybe that was a little harsh...
No.
It wasn’t.
I will not retract it. It was good sarcastic legalese (see “See More Here” on the right-hand sidebar, or click on this link, scroll down under “Specialized Training, etc”, read that last line there, and you might understand). :)
Who needs Monday, January 18th?? Crap, I was blue beginning Monday, January 4th, when I had to go back to the “day job”. I have been existing in a seriously blue Post-Holiday Fog ever since. **sigh**
I’m working on it, though. I believe in good attitudes. I believe in making choices about who we want to be, and how we want to feel. That doesn’t mean it’s easy, instantaneous, or without the occasional temporary failure.
I’m in such a state of Temporary Attitude Failure right now.
I’ve tried the chemical boost. No, not drugs (per se). I’m talking about red wine, margaritas (no, not in the same day, and not everyday - and not in excess - well, okay, I had 3 margaritas at one sitting last weekend but I had a heavy TexMex meal and a designated driver), chocolate - dark and milk, mac and cheese... **sigh** Alas, no joy. LITERALLY.
No.
Joy.
I’ve tried making sure I’m getting 8 every single night (hours, not minutes).
I’ve tried the Patchouli/Sweet Orange Bubble Bath Solution. Very nice, but no go.
I’ve been on the indoor bike off and on, but I’ve only done one really hard weight workout after the holidays.
It has become obvious this calls for the following Absolute Guaranteed Cure for the Blues. Here’s the recipe:
1. Put on your workout clothes and socks, dummy (dummy is me, not you).
2. Plug the iPod into the surround sound system and set it on the Absolute Guaranteed Rockin’ Workout Playlist.
3. Turn that mother on and rock that volume up so the walls vibrate just enough to feel it, but not so much it scares the cat (or so the neighbors can hear it - which would have to be pretty loud, because their houses and mine have a reasonable distance between them). Luckily, kitty doesn't scare easily - he's a rocker at heart.
4. Go into the gym (f/k/a one of the spare bedrooms in my house).
5. Slip your mitts into those weight-lifting gloves, put your butt and back on that bench and start pumping some serious freakin’ iron!!!
6. Then rock out some curls, overhead tri extensions, upright rows, bentover rows, etc. - you get the picture.
7. After all that, sit your butt down on that indoor bike and pedal off some serious speed for some serious minutes (like 18 or 19 mph for 45).
8. Finish with a protein recovery drink (a/k/a protein fruit smoothie made in my own blender).
9. Shower - when your legs quit wobbling. :)
10. Kick back in bare feet with an nice, refreshing glass of iced hibiscus tea (unsweetened - I’m a purist when it comes to herb tea).
11. Reflect on how good life really is.
Ahhhhh......
I’m off to fill this prescription, people. Be back soon with a better post and a better attitude.
Polla Filia,
J.F.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
THE FRUIT OF THE VINE
The holiday vacation is about to come to an end. **sigh**
It has been a great break - much needed. I have re-grouped and re-prioritized and I am ready to move forward on many goals.
I have some great plans for the new year, and I’m excited about that.
There were a lot of good things I thought about/discovered/decided during this time off. Most of them were big things, and too personal for this blog. I also made some real progress on the next novel, which is very exciting and good news for me.
Symbolic of good discoveries during this time is a bottle of wine I found. Finding it was total chance. I stumbled over it in the wine section of my grocery store! I had a good feeling about it. It has a good price point. I took a chance, and as soon as I un-corked it I knew my small risk had paid off in a big way. It’s a beautiful Zinfandel from Sonoma called Rancho Zabaco. It is smooth and rich and it spoiled me for some other wines I had. That’s how good it is.
I’m hoping that’s a harbinger for how my new year will go. I don’t drink champagne (it gives me a headache), so the Rancho Zabaco is what I drank to ring in my New Year. Maybe the new year will be as nice of a surprise as this new wine. I hope the year goes down just as smoothly - for all of us.
Polla Filia,
J.F.
It has been a great break - much needed. I have re-grouped and re-prioritized and I am ready to move forward on many goals.
I have some great plans for the new year, and I’m excited about that.
There were a lot of good things I thought about/discovered/decided during this time off. Most of them were big things, and too personal for this blog. I also made some real progress on the next novel, which is very exciting and good news for me.
Symbolic of good discoveries during this time is a bottle of wine I found. Finding it was total chance. I stumbled over it in the wine section of my grocery store! I had a good feeling about it. It has a good price point. I took a chance, and as soon as I un-corked it I knew my small risk had paid off in a big way. It’s a beautiful Zinfandel from Sonoma called Rancho Zabaco. It is smooth and rich and it spoiled me for some other wines I had. That’s how good it is.
I’m hoping that’s a harbinger for how my new year will go. I don’t drink champagne (it gives me a headache), so the Rancho Zabaco is what I drank to ring in my New Year. Maybe the new year will be as nice of a surprise as this new wine. I hope the year goes down just as smoothly - for all of us.
Polla Filia,
J.F.
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