Groundhog Day for Hillary and Obama

This is not a putdown of PA. For goodness sake, it's my home state. It is a discussion of how a month anywhere can distort your agenda, which I think has happened here. Love PA, hate the current method of choosing candidates that dumped these two here for all this time.

You remember the movie Groundhog Day, of course. How every day was the same in Punxsutawney, PA for Bill Murray's newsman. So it is now, after three weeks in the foothills of Central Pennsylvania, for Hillary and Obama. The same blueplate special (meatloaf most days) at the Somerset Dinner. The same three former steelworkers or coal miners showing up at the VFW luncheon chat. The same motels with moldy carpetting and a leaky window. I lived here for part of my life. I travelled back and forth across this terrain for the next forty years. Nobody wants to richocet along the turnpike and through those mountain tunnels too often unless you're born to the life. Newcomers lose too much oxygen. The relief in hitting Philly or Pittsburgh is palpable.

After a while in Central, PA, any outsider would say stupid things. You might claim you went hunting with your father and the right to bear arms is pretty damned important. You'd talk about bitterness and clinging to your gun and church. After all, churches and hunting are the primary recreational options here. They become part of your speech pattern. You forget a world beyond this one exists.

And the other candidate, the one who cares not an iota about these people, speaks of elitism. But nobody takes him up on it. Nobody says how out of touch he is. The Battle for Pennsylvania makes him look reasonable--which he is not.

Come out of the foothills, Hillary and Obama. Remember that Central Pennsylvania is just a state of mind. Just leave that gun behind.

My Town Monday: Made in Detroit by Paul Clemens

In 2005, Doubleday published Made in Detroit by Paul Clemens. It received excellent reviews and went on to be chosen a Notable Book of the Year by the New York Times.

The book details Clemens’ childhood growing up on the eastside of Detroit in the nineteen eighties in a city that was almost entirely black. His father worked in auto industry-related jobs, his mother mostly raised her children, taking the occasional housecleaning job in affluent suburbs. Clemens love for his parents shines through on every page. Listening to his account of his father's ability to shift gears without use of a clutch is a favorite section of the book for me.

The work also deals with the Coleman Young mayoral years, which Clemens faults with breeding an “us against them” mentality in the larger Detroit area. The book was brutally honest and beautifully written. Some readers found his picture of Detroit troubling, but he never claimed to speak to every experience, just his own.

Clemens went on to contribute several op-ed pieces to the New York Times and local Detroit papers. But with two children to support, Clemens continued working at his job as Assistant to the Dean of Liberal Arts and Sciences at Wayne State University. He wanted to be involved in the lives of his wife and children when he had a spare moment so the writing got put aside.

Last week, Paul was awarded a Guggenheim to our great joy. Hopefully, he will now have the opportunity to follow Made in Detroit up with another piece of writing. How often does a kid from a blue-collar, Catholic family without a Ph.D. get a Guggenheim? If you haven't read Made in Detroit, it's worth looking for. It's sad, funny, frustrating and authentic, just like Detroit.

FOR LINKS TO OTHER MY TOWN MONDAY BLOGS: http://traviserwin.blogspot.com/

Dreams

I had a dream last night where one man was holding me down while another carved "Jesus
Loves" on my toes. Was this


1. Proof that I have been reading and writing too many crime stories?
2. A new story idea?
3. Punishment for putting a comment on someone's blog that people read the Bible too much?
4. An invitation, albeit a nasty one, to come back to the fold?
5. A bit of undigested potato?

Does This Happen to You?

Don't you hate it when a very improbable first line for a story pops into your head? It happens quite regularly to me. This one was generated by a comment from Todd Mason a few days ago and now it's stuck in my head like a old Motown song:

No one knew when the day began that it would end with us eating Martin.

Now where do you go with that? What lines have you eventually discarded or, better yet, worked out?

Would anyone care to add a second line to this tale? Maybe you can point me in the right direction.

The Seventies

Little did I know when I was staying home with two small children in the seventies that Hollywood was making some the best movies in cinematic history. This sort of movie is only made by independent film makers now. Steven Spielberg taught Hollywood at the end of this decade that they should only be concerned with blockbusters and they learned that lesson well.
I spent the last two nights watching two of them: Payday and Electric Glide in Blue. Both recount a few days in the lives of their protagonist and things don't turn out too well in either movie. They're beautifully filmed, scored, edited.
What you notice most is the pace of these dark movies,
Because we all had so much more time in the 70s, the director/and or writer was in no hurry . We got to see the characters develop over 120 minutes. I especially liked Payday-- recommended by my daughter--I'd never heard of it although I like Rip Torn a lot. Robert Blake was also very fine in Electric Glide although I'm not so fond of him nowadays. If you haven't seen these, both made around 1972, give them a try.

What are your favorite 70s films? I may have missed them too.

Am I Nothing More Than a Killing Machine?

At some point in the movie, Stranger Than Fiction, the character played by Emma Thompson worries about the number of characters she’s killed off in her novels over the years. Of course, in her case, she’s come to believe that her character, played in the film by Will Farrell, is now a living breathing person. But do you ever give this any thought? Do you wonder if your writing is too blood-thirsty? Or that you watch movies or read books and feel little remorse at the body count? Do you watch Dexter and don't feel a bit guilty for loving it?

I have killed off about a dozen characters in my stories. They have died by a variety of methods, none pleasant. Do you ever pull back from this either in reading or writing? How far is too far? Do the novels of 50 years ago show more restraint?

My Hero

For those kind enough to ask, here's a link to "My Hero" in Muzzlelflash: http://www.muzzleflashfiction.net/2007/08/my-hero-patricia-abbott.html#comments

Obama V. McCain

You can't live with a political scientist very long without considering elections. Maureen Dowd today had a op-ed piece where she contended that the contest between Obama and Clinton was most useful in preparing Obama for his ultimate fight with McCain. Defeat Hillary and McCain is a piece of cake (pardon the cliche).
But I wonder if the general election will be about the same set of issues at all. In the primary season, it's been mostly about personality. Whom do you trust? Who has more experience?
I wonder if those old unsettling issues the Dems faced in 2000 and 2004 will rear their ugly heads.
In particular, when did the Republicans begin to own the issue of patriotism? My husband says, "Always," Is this true? Will Americans look at the candidates and say, "Well, I hate the war and the economy stinks, but damn it I'm a patriotic American and I'm voting Republican." Will their priests/ministers remind them about issues such as pro-life and gay marriage, those old bugga boo concerns? What do you think? Can a national candidate triumph over these issues? Can we elect a candidate who triumphs liberal concerns? If Obama is rated as the most liberal Senator in office, can he win?

Derringer

A flash fiction piece of mine that appeared in Muzzle Flash has been nominated for a Derringer Award from the Short Mystery Fiction Society. If you read the story, "My Hero," and liked it, you can vote for here: Or you can vote for one of the other outstanding stories in the flash fiction field. I think that's the one up there now. I hate to BSP, but.... https://login.yahoo.com/config/login_verify2?.intl=us&.src=ygrp&.done=http%3a//groups.yahoo.com%2Fgroup%2FShortmystery%2Fsurveys%3Fid%3D2683108&rl=1

I'm a Sucker for Caine

although my affection for him has taken me to some bad pictures over the years.

The one in question, and what brought this discussion up, was Flawless. Maybe Demi Moore drives me away from a movie as much as he brings me to it. So the two of them together create problems. Flawless was full of flaws starting with an unbelievable heist scene. I'll say no more because what I'm interested in is which actors will you pay money to see even if the movie is probably not your cup of tea. And which ones turn you off despite their role in a movie you might have interest in.
For me: Michael Caine, Ben Kingsley, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Ryan Gosling, Tom Wilkinson, Johnny Depp, Christian Bale, Edward Norton, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Laura Linney, Kate Blanchett, Kate Winslett attract my attention.
On the negative side: Bruce Willis, Demi Moore, Lily Tomlin, Goldie Hawn, Kate Hudson, Owen or Luke Wilson, Robin Williams.

How about you?

My Town, Monday, Tyree Guyton and the Heidelberg Project

Any discussion of Detroit will eventually lead to a discussion of the Heidelberg Project and Tyree Guyton. For an in depth look at it, simple google his name. For the purposes of My Town Monday, here's a tease. Twenty years ago, Guyton was looking for a way to express both himself and his frustration with the deterioration of his city. Guyton, with little money sought to make a statement about this via his own neighborhood.
He began to paint colorful pictures on the neighboring abandoned house. He began collecting discarded objects and creating fields of vacuum cleaners, car hoods, dolls and shoes --all painted in bright colors. Easy to do in Detroit, where streets had begun to look rural due to demolished or falling-down housing. He nailed objects ro the houses themselves, hung bikes, did whatever he could to transform Heibelberg Street into a living work of art.

Not everyone approved of this. Some of the neighbors thought his work was mocking their poverty. Or that is wasn't art at all. It became controversial, a subject that divided the city. Was it art or an eyesore? The courts entered the debate and although they ruled his work was constitutionally protected as a genuine artistic expression, he City of Detroit in 1998 served Guyton with an order to dismantle the project or they would demolish it. Odd for a city that couldn't demolish the abandoned house he had painted his work on.
In 1999, the City demolished the site.
It's not over yet, however. Parts of it reappear. Guyton's art turns up in museums and private collection. Its still a part of Detroit.
Is it art or an eyesore? Look at the streets around Heidelberg and make your choice.

For more My Town Monday, go visit Travis Erwin at:http://traviserwin.blogspot.com/

When is it time to give in

and change my protagonist to a nicer person. Problem is-it makes her more generic. But three agents have all found her unlikable so I have to consider changing her before I send it out to anyone else. Why do we want to like our protags? We've been down this route before on this blog but if three agents said the same thing, would you change it?

The Burnt Orange Heresy

is about an up and coming art critic who is offered (by a rich patron) the chance to interview a reclusive French artist whose entire work may have perished in a fire. The catch is: he must steal one of the paintings in exchange for the opportunity to interview the artist. The deal is made on a handshake.

Now right here, and I'm only on page 35, I am incredulous that Willeford can make me believe this rising art critic is willing to steal a painting for the sake of an inteview. In many books, I would stop reading right there, thinking the whole concept is bullshit and the writer isn't giving us a realistic character. Who would risk imprisonment for an interview at the start of a promising career. But I am reading on, betting Willeford will pull it off. He'll find a way to make this credible. He's playing with the reader. I think this because I have read four of his books I trust him and his ability by now.

Do you ever put a book down because the concept or setup doesn't seem plausible or do you usually assume the writer will make it work by the end? Do you ever write your way into such a quagmire?

The Nod

Three months ago, we were excited over the Democratic Primary. We said, how could we lose with so many good candidates to choose from.

But something's happened, and now it seems possible that no matter which candidate gets chosen they'll lose because we've let the genie out of the bottle: the genie being that a candidate can perceive their candidacy as more important than seeing the Democrats take the White House.

Voters are doing this too, saying, "I'll vote for McCain rather than Obama or rather than Hillary." Severe animosity has replaced excitement.

An underground campaign, emanating perhaps from Republicans perhaps from other quarters, is tagging Obama as a secret Muslim, someone who would favor African-Americans. I've heard this several times in the last week.

Also attacks coming from both sides are beginning to take their toll on both candidates. The eventual candidate is going to have a very short time to turn this around if this drags on until August. Find a way to end this process by June. Approach each candidate about negative advertising.

We must find away to stop this. Surely anything is better than electing someone who seems the war as a hundred-year deal.

What ideas do you have about saving the White House?

My Town Monday: Borders Bookstore-the original

My Town Monday

Back in the seventies when we wanted a book in the Detroit area, there were not many good bookstores to choose from. Daltons and Waldenbooks were likely to have best sellers, some classics, and a small selection of other books. There were a few independent stores and although their stock might be more eclectic, it was no more reliable and often the book you wanted had to be ordered. There were some decent used bookstores that were fun and cheap but there was never any guarantee you’d find what you wanted. Locating a book two years old was often a problem: too old for the new stores, not old enough for the used bookstores.

But if we had a little time on our hands, we could drive to Ann Arbor, an hour away, and visit Borders, named for the family who operated it, an exceptional bookstore that even carried university press books for my husband. It was like a trip to heaven for the Abbott family, a whole day affair, something truly special. And for 20 years, it was a single store that was packed night and day with University of Michigan students and professors, townspeople and visitors like us. Often you waited in line twenty minutes or more to buy your books---and it was just books then: No coffee mugs, no music, no toys or games. Borders was known for requiring their clerks to pass a stiff test and treating their employees well. They weren't as cultish as the staff at Trader Joes' but close.

And then came the nineties and a buyout from Kmart, stock options and eventually there were 1100 Borders competing with even more Barnes and Nobles bookstores and Amazon and Powell online and a public that didn’t read very much. And those online stores sold used books at a quarter of the price.

I was skeptical that the public who read books really needed a megabookstore within five miles of their home. Donuts, yes, Coffee, yes, drugstores yes. But books? Right from the start, they looked too empty to sustain their size and inventory. But I crossed my fingers.

Now it appears Borders days are numbered. The store on our corner is likely to close because there is a Barnes & Noble within three miles. I am sad about this. Maybe a new independent bookstore will eventually open in Ann Arbor. Oh, yes it’s already there and called Shaman Drumm. Maybe we’ll drive there again to get our books. But probably we’ll order them online. You can’t go home again and with the price of gas…

For more posts about My Town Monday acorss the globe, see the blog of creator, Travis Erwin http://traviserwin.blogspot.com/

The TBR Pile

How do you decide what to read next? What comes into consideration? Having just finished Christine Falls, a book I liked as a novel but not as much as a crime novel, I don't want to pitch headlong into something too similar. Having just finished The Wire, I don't want to read something about urban decay.
These are the top three books on my TBR pile. Well, Lush Life wasn't up there but it's a library book and I only have two weeks to read it. I've started the Chabon book three times and something puts me off each time--even though I liked The Wonder Boys and The Mysteries of Pittsburgh. The Willeford book has extremely small print which can also put me off. But I love his books and would probably force my eyes through it.
Maybe I'll just read blogs. Oh, yeah, that's one reason why people aren't reading books anymore so I'd better make a choice.

Yesterday's Lessons

Yesterday two African-American men brought me to tears and strangely enough their messages had a common theme--something I'd never considered before.

The first man, of course, was Barack Obama, who made one of the most lucid, carefully considered, meaningful speeches on race I've ever heard.

The second man, was a character on IN TREATMENT, the bereaved father of a suicide victim. In thirty minutes, the actor Glen Turman brought this man and his issues, grievances, and sadness to life.

This is where there narratives converged. Both the fictional character and the very real Obama made it clear that the generation of black men who grew up in the forties and fifties were very different from the generation that followed. These men had almost no hope that avenues for success would ever open to them. This hopelessness made them harder and more bitter than those who would follow, and rightly so. Thus ministers from that generation might read America differently than some of their parishioners.

Their sons--in the sixties and seventies had some reason to hope for more-as Obama pointed out, he's the prime example of it--a candidate for President. Racism is still a huge problem but we recognize its existence now and can work to change it.

You can find Obama's speech on MSNBC if you missed it.

Setting

I've been wanting to set a story in an indoor pool for a long time. To me, indoor pools are very sinisters places. They look strange: the wavering water casts shadows on the tiled walls. They smell strange: all that chlorine can't escape like it does outside. They feel strange: slimey and rough at the same time. They sound strange: sounds seems to bounce off every surface. They taste strange: the chemicals and humidity choke me.

But maybe indoors pools wouldn't freak you out in a story at all. Maybe you grew up on them and it's fruit cellars or animals dressed like humans that scares you.
What motiff or setting do you want to use because it's scary or sinister to you?

My Town Monday-Part Deux

Okay, here's a better Monday story.

A.J's Cafe in Ferndale, Michigan is attempting to set a record by singing "Danny Boy" for fifty straight hours. Hundreds of people have signed on for this task, backed up by instruments as varied as kazoons, guitars and organs.

This song has special meaning to A.J. O'Neill (on the left) who last sang it as his father's funeral. The fifty hours will finish today at five.

One elderly woman, on hearing it sung for several hours and perhaps a bit tipsy, asked. "Does nobody here know 'When Irish Eyes are Smiling?"

My Town Monday

And yes, I know it's Sunday but Mondays are a bad day for me to spend time on my blog. There's that thing called work I go to sometimes.
As often as I find frustration with being in Detroit, I also find areas where I am lucky to live where I do. For instance, we have four venues for independent and art house movies within forty minutes from us. It's a rare film we don't have a chance to see and I know that's not true for everyone out there.
Most of the audience at these art houses are over fifty--well, really over sixty so the future of these films in Detroit concerns me but for the moment, I am very satisfied. When we arrived here in the seventies, it was considerably harder to find these films except at the Detroit Film Theater, part of the Detroit Institute of Arts.
We see at least one movie a week at a theater. Seeing them at home on DVD is far less satisfying to us. I need the smell of popcorn and sticky floors to be transported. I could do without the people talking behind us but...
How does your town measure up for foreign and independent movies?

Home Again, Jiggedy Jig

Being in a place like this, makes returning to














a place like this awfully hard.
Not that I'm not grateful for the brief respite.

More later, but you Florida people are pretty darned lucky.

Being in a place like this: Makes returning to this hard.

My Town Monday

It isn't my town but I can pretend it is for a bit.
The fifty degree improvement in temps is pretty enticing. Stay well.

FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS

I know saying one more good thing about this show is like dropping a pebble in the ocean, but I think it's one of the best shows ever done for television. I just learned a third season is going to be financed by NBC and Direct TV.
If you haven't given it a try, do. It's not just about football or even mostly about football. It's about life in a small Texas town, good and bad parenting, the stigma of being poor or black, paraplegic culture, what it's like to be a teenager, what it's like to be a friend. The production values are superior, the acting sublime, the writing superlative. And if you haven't given it a good try, please do. You're truly missing something.

SPRING BREAK

And if anyone knows of any fabulous restaurants or sites in the Keys or Miami, let me know. And it better be spring in Michigan by the time we return.

(Hey, we're gonna meet Vicki Hendricks. My husband's REALLY looking forward to that.)

Have a great week.

Artwork by Pat Dosine.

Margaret Selzer et al

I'm trying to come to an understanding of why writers like Margaret Seltzer, James Frey and the rest of the growing number attempt to dupe the reading public. Do market demands value a memo over a novel to this degree? Or is there a pathology at work with these writers? Is it just more fun to become the character in your work? Is the game afoot from the beginning or at some point, do they begin to see either a monetary,a personal or psychological advantage in turning a novel into a memoir?

Clearly Ms. Seltzer went to a lot of trouble, coming up with collateral witnesses to boost her deception. Yet wouldn't any sane person realize that such claims were just too far from the truth not to be invalidated. And by a sister who didn't want the family name besmirched. Did she want to be caught? What do you think?

POV

Is it always clear to you what POV to use in a story? I usually use the third person limited POV. I like the slightly more distant and atmospheric setting you can create with this approach.
First person is good for getting inside someone'e head but you're limited, I think, in describing anything more than what the "I" can see in front of him. It requires a very dynamic "I" like Ken Bruen's creation of Jack Taylor to pull it off.
And the third-person omniscient POV is just too remote for me. Those long shots can be fuzzy.
Much like in film I like the middle-range shots.
But every once in a while, I'll find a story isn't working from my preferred vantage, shift to first person and suddenly things fall into place. What about you? What do you like to read/write?

My Town Monday

Detroit's Eastern Market

The Eastern Market is one of the few places in the racially divided city of Detroit where people come together on a weekly basis.

Every city of any size has one: Reading Terminal in Philly, the Farmer’s Market in LA , the Union Square Market in Manhattan. In Detroit, it’s called the Eastern Market and it’s a permanent group of retail and wholesale structures with the outdoor component offered on Saturdays. This is our version.

Detroit's Eastern Market (1891) is the largest historic public market district in the United States. Every Saturday, Michigan's market attracts more than 100 farmers and vendors from Michigan, Ohio, and Canada selling fruits, vegetables, breads, baked goods, jellies, jams, honey, apple cider, cheeses, spices, herbs, plants and flowers. Flower days in mid May are incredible with acres of flowers to choose from. At Christmas, Michigan’s many tree farms sell their wares.

More than 26,000 Detroiters, suburbanites and tourists shop here most weeks during the spring, summer and fall. The prices are outstanding as is the selection. But the experience is even more exhilarating.

Right now the Eastern Market District has made plans to revitalize itself. The district would like to be more than a once a week destination for veggies shoppers. To see the plans, go to

http://www.detroiteasternmarket.com/

Do you have a market like this in your town?

Kevin at Fifteen Months.

Kevin Louis Abbott at fifteen months. I don't know what the thing with wearing the hat all the time is cause he's got hair under there but we couldn't get it off of him.

Hate to Write a "Me" blog entry

but I am feeling somewhat frustrated by where to go next. Can I really keep turning out stories that most of the zines that are active right now don't quite like. Almost all of them want a fairly high-degree of violence and bedlam in their stories. You only have to look at the names of the zines to see this.

I love to write stories where a crime takes place or where the protagonist is a marginal character but I can't always amph up the action to the necessary degree. Sometimes it's about what's going on behind the scenes or in the guy's head that interests me. This is not complaint about any of the zines. Most have published a story of mine along the way and I am very grateful. This is my purely my frustration with what to do next.

I could start a second novel, but until I hear from more than one agent who's read it, this seems premature. Maybe I don't have what it takes to write a novel. Better to find out before starting another one. And how long should I expect an agent to keep it? One has had it for five weeks. At this rate, I will 107 before I go through the list.

I could return to writing literary fiction. I just had a story published in Bayou Magazine. As far as I know, no one will ever read it there though because it's in print. I like the zines because I think people do read stories on zines. I can write literary stories forever and not become part of any community, which I did for five years. I like being part of a writing community. I liked knowing who Stephen Blackmoore and Greg Bardsley are when I read their stories in PWG. I like this little blogosphere we have here.

I almost had a story accepted this week in Ellery Queen. They asked me to send another story along. But guess what? All my other stories are too violent for them probably because I've been trying to write for the crime zines. Maybe I can drain a story of its more violent aspects. Have you ever done that? Made it more or less violent for a publication. I wrote that story specifically for them-using a stack of EQMM that Bill Crider sent me to gauge the kind of story they liked.

Can I send that story to Alfred Hitchcock or is that not done?

This is going to be one of those blog entries that sits all alone out there because its whiny and narcissistic. Sorry. It's snowing again in Detroit, I discovered my new treadmill makes my back hurt and even now it hovers over me, silent and scolding at the same time. So too does my Dell.

Goodbye, Boogie Man of My Youth

There was no one who struck greater fear in my teenage heart than William Buckley. He articulated a right-wing, hawkish agenda with more skill than any other pundit of the time. He could make mincemeat of almost anyone on his television show and I watched it, hands held to my eyes. His voice alone, arrogant. educated, sinewy, serpent-like terrified me. Is there anyone out there now who encapsulates an ideology like he did? The right-wing radio/tv hosts today get by on rage and accusations, not through a rigorous mind. Maybe I was too young to see the holes in his arguments, but I was always secretly afraid he was right. He wasn't, of course.

Trvivializing Ralph

Truthfully, I must chastise myself for even putting his name on this space. For even giving him one more chance to get recognition. And I did hesitate but rage overcomes good sense sometimes.
He has said on announcing his candidacy that he won't be trivialized. And really that's what it's all about, isn't it? He can't sit an election out due to his monumental ego, his towering narcissism.

Despite being one the single greatest causes of what has happened in this country in the last eight years, he won't be trivialized by allowing a man who represents all of the same things he does to run unimpeded against someone who clearly doesn't. I had some friends who voted for Nader in 2000. None of them did in 2004. If anyone out there can make a case for him, please enlighten me because in my mind, he's just in it for the sound bites, for the ego trip, and doesn't give a hoot if he saddles us with another hawk.
Care about America. No bloody likely.

Making it Real

I’ve been thinking a lot about authenticity after seeing two movies recently. How does a writer/director imbue his/her work with authenticity?

In the movie Definitely, Maybe, I never for a minute believed the protagonist or his colleagues were campaign workers for Bill Clinton. They looked like models on a lunch break on West 57^th St. So right from the first frames, I failed to buy into the concept.

In the movie Cockfighter though, the milieu of the cockfighting circuit was wholly believable. Warren Oates and Harry Dean Stanton, in the lead roles, perfectly captured Willeford’s character and world, thanks to the talents also of director, Monte Hellman.

Does casting actors who look like real people give more credence to a movie or TV show? I think so. This is one of the reasons, I think, The Office works wonderfully. No one doubts these are the sort of people found selling paper products in Scranton. Very few characters of The Wire come from Hollywood casting offices. British television recognizes this, but American television largely believes that viewers want Jennifer Aniston and Matt Perry on every show. Do we demand beautiful people on the small and large screen? Would you go to a romantic comedy where the main characters looked like the couple you spent last Saturday night with?

My Town Mondays

Michigan has lost more jobs than any other state and the impact of that reverberates around the state, especially in Detroit. One of our greatest losses is a first-rate newspaper. The Detroit Free Press has a venerable tradition but at the moment, it is sliding into an equal footing with newspapers from very small cities that are forced to import news reports and, in this case, reviews of TV, movies and books. The newspaper has lost all of this coverage over the last year. This means that our reviews are plucked willy-nilly from the newspapers still able to finance such pages and it means we lack a consistent voice in these affairs. (We have a second paper, the Detroit News, but as I have never subscribed I can’t speak to its quality).

I am watching the same thing happen to the Baltimore Sun on The Wire, of course. The ultimate outcome may be a few national papers that have local inserts. England, for instance, goes with national papers but that is a much smaller country. Oh, for the days when my kids delivered papers (Josh delivered, Megan collected) and every front step had a paper sitting there. Now it’s a rarer thing.

Would you forgo a local paper if a NYT or Washington Post was delivered to your doorstep with an insert that gave local news?

Or is your local paper still a viable publication?

Mr. and Mrs. Bryon Quertermous

are on their way to Florida now after the loveliest of weddings. Although we were strangers at the event, their gracious friends and family made us feel very welcome. The bridesmaid wore elegant black gowns with white sashes and carried red roses. Becky was the classic stunning bride. I'll let Bryon tell you what he wants to about this event, but our friend carried himself like the Cary Grant he was always meant to be. And what a nice guy to ask his father to be his best man. A good time was had by all and we shed a tear or two in his honor. Best wishes to the happy couple who seemed to enjoy every minute of their special day. And thanks for one of the nicest wedding we've ever attended.

Dexter

Sometimes the TV or movie version of a novel lets you down. Often it does. But in the case of Dexter, I found the novel too dark and expected to find the TV version even darker. But because of the talent of Michael Hall, I am able to watch it.

He gives a humanity to Dexter I was never able to find in the book. Although he may tell the viewer, he can't love, you can see that he can indeed experience love when he looks at his sister, or his girlfriend's kids or perhaps even his girlfriend. The message in his voiceovers are softened by the glint in his eyes, the delicacy in his touch.

Can you think of other examples of actors that made a character from a novel more palatable or lovable or real. Usually it goes the other way. Although Anthony Hopkins created a memorable Hannibal Lector it wasn't bu softening him, but by creating a character you couldn't take your eyes off of. In a TV series, that probably wouldn't work.

Election

I'm getting a little worried. Hillary is beginning to resemble the Reese Witherspoon character, Tracy Flick, in Election, feeling a sense of entitlement, willing to resort to dirty tricks. As it becomes clear that Obama may be the people's choice, will Senator Clinton resort more and more to personal attacks in the coming debates. If you were her advisers, would you suggest this as her only possible chance to win the next few primaries? Can she possibly win without doing this? Does she care about the Democratic Party enough to bow out gracefully or will she risk sabotaging their chances in November?
I have been of two minds about Hillary since the beginning, wanting a woman to be elected President but maybe not this woman. Now I want her to do the right thing and let the people speak. Don't gut Obama in the debates. Play nice.

Titles

On his blog "Dot Dead Diary," Keith Raffel has been polling readers with choices for a title for his new novel. He's at the end of the project without one. A friend told me a few weeks ago that a title was the first step in the process for her. The title pointed the way. I have heard of other people who have changed the title on the way to the printer practically.
For me, it works both ways. The title sometimes comes early and sometimes late. Only rarely do I pick one that I really think sums up the story very well. I think some of the best titles are just one or two words:
The Drowning Pool
The Shining
Mystic River
Officer Down
Priest
Bloodwork
Night Gardener
Brighton Rock
Miami Blues
Miami Purity
The Poet
Trashed
Queenpin,
Moneyshot
Tomato Red.
None of these titles tell you much about what the book is about, but they catch your eye and maybe set a mood. Do you find it hard to find the right title? What are some of your favorites?

Kwame on The Wire

I can't help but see parallels between the fictional State Senator Clay David on The Wire and Detroit Mayor, Kwame Kilpatrick. Both know how to manipulate city residents, getting them to believe that a lack of support for their antics, even in the black community, is racism. Getting them to believe, in Kwame's case, that voting for the other African-American running for mayor in 2006 was racist. That he is the authentic African-American.
Of course racism exists and is a serious problem but it seems like it's being used as a shield, as a defense.

Both men know what words to use and their style of delivery comes from the black church and appeals to black voters. They know how to make the audience cry. They can play the victim of a plot to bring them down.

Unfortunately in Kilpatrick's case, the charges are probably real not fictional. He's likely guilty of a number of crimes, but will the Wayne County Prosecutor, Kim Worthy, have the guts to indict him, coming up for reelection. Will the Michigan Supreme Court turn down his appeal to suppress tapes/text-messaging?

Kwame had everything needed to be a good and decent mayor in a hard time, but he craved the perks that came with it--women, parties, expensive cars and vacations. Maybe he was just too young. We should cry, but for Detroit, not him.

The Song Is You

The Song is You is out in paperback this week with a nice front cover blurb by James Ellroy.
This is my favorite book of Megan's three novels because it is set in fifties Hollywood, about the movie business, and is both tragic and romantic. Plus I like the protagonist, Gil Hopkins, a flawed character who can only do good for so long. I also enjoy the portraits of real Hollywood actors in it--like Barbara Payton. Watching Megan write and illustrate her stories as a child, watching her watch movies as much as we'd allow, this was the book I'd have expected her to write. So if you put off buying it because of its hardback price, here's your chance now.
Sorry for the blatant daughter promotion, but it seeps out of me every now and then.

In Bruges

Sometimes a movie just strikes the right note for your mood and this one rang the bell. Funny, tragic and with the added treat of seeing Bruges on film, it couldn't have been more fun. Two days ago we saw Definitely, Maybe which had all the authenticity of a Hallmark card, but this one just felt like the real deal. I think it's Colin Farrell's best performance and Brendon Gleason and Ralph Fiennes (is he ever bad?) were ridiculously good. Maybe it traded too much on dwarf jokes but other than that, a good time.

The "Just Doesn't Fit in Anywhere Story"

What do you do when you have an idea for a story but you pretty well know you're going to have a hard time placing it if you write it? Do you write it anyway if it's pretty well plotted in your head? What if it's a humorous story that really isn't all that dark. Most venues want dark. If I go the literary route, I'm screwed too because they just don't want people to die. Those crazy bastards. Sometimes people gotta die. Just in humorous or not too dark ways. It's not a cozy; it's not-hardboiled; its not suspense. It's just...well, it is what it is. I need a new zine for stories that just don't fit in other places.

One Last Story--"A Day Late" by Wellesfan

http://wellesfan.blogspot.com/2008/02/day-late.html

Plus Christa's story should go up sometime today (see below). She lost her power yesterday.

A Final Story for V'Day

Afterward
by Todd Mason

It wasn’t until he knew she’d been murdered did he realize how much he missed her, and how terribly fast that came to him. There it was, right in front of him, in the paper. It was a freak story, or else there wouldn’t’ve been a reason for the wire report to be carried from one city/suburban cluster to another, every city has its share of routine murder, young men (usually young men, not always either) drunk on despair and testosterone and whatever substance was supposed to make things easier right then, angry spousal equivalents, payback abuse or just abuse.

He hadn’t seen her in years, hadn’t corresponded (if that’s what one did with email) in months, maybe as much as a year. He knew she was happy, in a way he was quite sure she’d never been when they were together, a way she probably couldn’t be with him. She’d gone through several changes, was settling into a new job, she loved her husband the way you’d want to be loved if you were him. An off-duty police officer who’d developed a habit of pulling over women of a certain age managed to home in on her one night as she was driving home from the night class. Officer Friendly made sure he was the last to see her alive. She was the sixth of seven they knew about. He’d really gotten sloppy by the seventh.

Sitting there staring at the paper, seeing her name there, knowing there was no reason for authorities to contact him (maybe a call from Officer Friendly’s best buddy in the Academy or at the local land-grant school,, or maybe his ex partner), didn’t make him feel any less clobbered. Her husband might’ve, but he’d’ve had his own version of real-time hell to cope with, not this sudden smack after the fact. Cold print. Gasping. Cold, blind rage. Officer Friendly had been called Davy by his family. David Miller. Pillar of the community.

He sat staring at the paper and weighed his options. He could go to the trial, try to find a way to kill Davy Miller or at least introduce him to some small measure of what the wire story didn’t detail too closely of what he’d done to at least seven women. He could go to the trial, in that other big city up north a bit, and try to get some satisfaction out of his Twinkie defense, the slam-dunk the prosecutor would have, the life imprisonment with the hope of a shiv in an ex-cop’s back .He’d never have another conversation with her, he’d never get a card from her again at year’s end, she wasn’t at least walking around somewhere else nor laughing nor thrusting her hips just so as she came, nor rolling her eyes just so at some weak joke someone else would make (she’d wiggle her eyebrows to let you know she knew how weak her joke was, if it was). He wouldn’t know that she was fine. She never would be fine again. His impotence in the face of that fact wasn’t as hard to bear as the thought of her loss, but was no more reassuring.

He sat and thought about what he would do, what he was worth, how little David Miller was worth, what she…had been. He couldn’t completely catch his breath, he wasn’t yet ready to cry, if that was coming. Maybe on his trip north.

Whatever he was going to do, he need to gather a few things, make a few calls. And he needed to know when the services were. And the trial. And whatever came afterward.

I Heart You

The day has arrived and below are the sites where our flash fiction stories appear. Mine is below the list. I hope you enjoy them all and have the happiest of Valentine's Days.

Patrick Bagley "Loving Rachel" http://patrickshawnbagley.blogspot.com/

Sandra Seamans "Bye, Bye Love" http://powderburnflash.blogspot.com/

Aldo Calcagno "Love on the Rocks" http://acalcagno.blogspot.com/

Patricia Abbott 'Tongues" http://pattinase.blogspot.com/

Graham Powell "The Last Time" http://www.myboogpages.com/

Bryon Quertermous "Stand Up on Blow Pops" http://bryonquertermous.wordpress.com/

Clair Dickson "Cupid's Bullet" http://bofexler.blogspot.com/

Cormac Brown "Warmer" http://cormacwrites.blogspot.com/

Gerald So "Connect the Dots" http://geraldso.blogspot.com/

Steve Allan "The Many Forms of Love" http://noirwriter.blogspot.com/

Christa Miller "Beautiful Trouble" http://freelancemother.wordpress.com/

John McAuley "Since I've Been Loving You" http://powderburnflash.blogspot.com/

r2 "Doctor, Doctor" http://powderburnflash.blogspot.com/

Sophie Littlefield "Rival Passions" http://powderburnflash.blogspot.com/

Todd Mason "Afterward" http://socialistjazz.blogspot.com/2008/02/afterward-vignette.html

Wellesfan " Day Late" http://wellesfan.blogspot.com/2008/02/day-late.html

Tongues
By Patricia Abbott

The girl in the dorm room next to mine speaks in tongues. I hear her late at night when all the other girls are asleep. Most of what she says makes use of the more obscure letters of the alphabet—like z,x, and k’s. She sounds angry, like the voice of God in her ear isn’t joyful.

No one else on our floor ever mentions it.

Speaking in tongues is not as common as you’d think—even at the Southern New England Bible College. My parents sent me here, not realizing that all Christians don’t play bridge and drink martinis on Saturday night. The ones at SNEBC would never slip between their starched sheets without first pressing their knees to the floor in prayer

At Karin’s church, parishioners speak in tongues, give testimony and lay on hands. Karin likes to tell her personal salvation story. It happened in a Thunderbird on a country road as she was weighing the sin in letting her boyfriend unhook her bra.

Does everyone who speaks in tongues use the same language? Can they talk to each other? Were they born knowing “tongues” or did it come to them like a taste for artichokes came to my father months after he returned from Korea? I never find the right words to ask Karin this.

It’s spooky listening to her, knowing she’s pacing her cell-like room and talking gibberish for hours. The syllables seem to rush out of her mouth and bang up against the wallboard. If I put my palms on the wall, I can feel the vibrations.

In daylight, Karin seems normal, pretty in a wispy way. She baby-sits for a woman who once dated President Kennedy and works the dinner shift at the second cash register in the cafeteria. I can see her from behind the counter where I restock the applesauce and Jell-O. Her checkout line moves much faster than the other one.

In December, Karin invites me in to watch “Color Me Barbra” on her contraband TV. She teaches me stuff, telling me that my favorite song on my Lawrence Welk album is actually a movement from Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto # 1. She plays it for me on her record player.

One night Karin comes to my room, mumbling the words I usually hear through the wall, letting her tongue flutter near my ear like a trapped moth. I can smell her breath—it’s anise or licorice and sends shivers down my spine. In the cafeteria later, I stare at the picture of Moses on Mt. Sinai over the tray table while holding a flashlight. She empties both cash registers in seconds.

When the campus police arrest Javier, a work-study student, Karin seems surprised. She puts a dollar in the canister being passed around. His picture from the yearbook is glued to the front. He’s smiling and you can see the gap in his teeth. Someone says they’ll be sending him back to Haiti or Trinidad or wherever he came from.

On Valentine’s Day, Karin invites me to spend the weekend at Kennedy’s mistress’ house. We take the children duckpin bowling and feed them hamburgers. Later we look for things the Sprague’s won’t miss. Karin looks over my haul with a practiced eye, telling me that paste jewelry and ceramic birds are junk.

Karin lights candles in the living room and draws my trembling hands to the flame. She makes me kneel with pebbles under my knees on the tile floor, telling me I’m a bad influence and that she didn’t steal things before I was assigned to the room next to her. I look up and see the little girls huddled on the steps. Their bare legs look like pincers in the half-light.

Two men come for Karin the next morning and take her away in a Volkswagen bus. Mrs. Sprague removes stones from my knees with tweezers and bandages my hands, shaking her head and asking me why I didn’t tell anyone about Karin.

“You two are students at a Bible College,” she tells me “How did this happen?” I want to tell her that a love for Jesus isn’t the only kind of love.

LAST CRY FOR V'DAY FLASH FICTION

If anyone has a story they haven't made me aware of as yet (or Mystery Dawg or Gerald So), please do so pretty quickly. My tech skills are such that last minute subs may drive me over the edge. Plus I want to go to the movies and lunch with my honey.

Is It Over for Senator Clinton?

Smoke Screen by Jean Pierre Jacquet.And, if so, why? Was it her negatives that sealed her fate? Would the voters have been satisfied with Clinton as a candidate if Obama hadn't come along? Was it his exceptional charisma or would other candidates have achieved the same thing? If Al Gore had entered the race, would he have pushed her off the podium too? Was it Obama's unique message of hope and transformation? Was it his race, which took the expected constituency of African-American voters away from her. Did she seem like old hat? Like we were electing her for a third time?
Was it her personality once people got a good sample of it in the debates. Was being a woman harder to overcome with voters than being African-American? Their message was virtually the same. She would seem like the more experienced bearer of that message. Was it her history that did her in? Were Bill's remarks in South Carolina the death knell? What do you think is the single greatest reason for her probable failure? I feel sad for Hillary Clinton. Sometimes you do everything right and something still derails you. Look at Ted Kennedy. Wouldn't he have been a great President?

The Wire (SPOILERS)

By Pat Dostine. (See below for website)This picture reminds me of The Wire, one of the few shows we really look forward to. This year the showdown between Omar and Marlo has completely dominated the hour for us. Although I look forward to watching Gus Haynes (City Editor on the Sun) bring Templeton to his knees, and watching whether a alcohol-fueled McNulty will end up murdering someone to get police funding to investigate last year's "bodies in houses" story, it's the dynamics of the Street that holds my interest. It's playing out like a Shakespearean tragedy. How about you? Will Omar or Marlo persevere?

"At Last"

More art from Jean Pierre Jacquet to reflect "Love Hurts," a Valentine's Day blogorama. Speaking of which, what song will you be most likely to play on the 14th. I vote for Etta James' "At Last." Lots of cover versions, but that's my favorite.

My problem in getting these links up here makes me wonder what's gonna happen on Thursday. I hope Aldo and Gerald are more proficient.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=csoMt1CiP04
http://jeanpierrejacquet.com/NewWebdocs/JPJ/Blind_Trust.html

Have You Ever Written a Love Poem?

Our artwork today comes from Pat Dostine, whose first artshow opened this week at the River Gallery in Chelsea, Michigan. http://patrickdostine.blogspot.com/

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; mere anarchy is loosed upon the world. The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned.The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.

My husband wrote me this one. Okay, well William Butler Yeats wrote it first but my husband copied it and gave it to me when I was seventeen. Asking for a poem was too much pressure to put him under. He went on to write many things, but no poems.

Have you ever written one for someone special? I hope so. There's nothing like a poem.

"Don't Squat with Your Spurs On"

Artwork begins today for our St. Valentine's Day flash fiction fun. This evocative piece comes from Jean-Pierre Jacquet, renowned for his marvelous artwork for Hardluck Stories last year. This piece is called Plumb Lines.

Sometimes I find myself going to a ridiculous amount of trouble to get a small detail ( that probably no one will ever notice) correct in a story. Right now I am trying to find the exact phrase a cowboy uses to get the cattle moving and to that end spent most of the morning looking at sites, fascinating but time-consuming to find this out. It ended with my emailing a cowboy. Let's see if he responds to my strange question.
Do you do this too or is it just me? What's the most ridiculous piece of information you got by doing this? I can't tell you how much I found out about being a midwife in England like this a few years ago. I'm still getting emails asking me if I still intend to enroll in a training hospital in London.
And you can imagine what happened when I googled "school girls" once looking for the correct dress at private schools.
The Internet, a curse or blessing.

Could this possibly be true?

That Michigan, land that I live in, may have another primary? How can this be? It would cost the financially-strapped state a million dollars. And this Super-Delegate thing is bugging me too.
Forty percent of the delegates to the Dem. convention are Super-Delegates, most of them pledged before Obama was a viable candidate. When did elections in the US start resembling those in Soviet Russia? Oh, I guess about 2000. Or was it always like this?