WHAT ARE YOU DOING NEW YEARS?

Photo courtesy of www.stockfreeimmages.com      
     When my husband and I were newlyweds, we were both in showbusiness and didn't have much money. On weekends, I earned enough cash to pay for groceries while he danced in the chorus of Broadway Shows and paid the rest of the bills.
     New Year's Eve was a big night for me and I usually played three clubs with an act I had put together with stock arrangements that could be bought for a few dollars. When I sang at the first club, I usually brought down the house with tipsy patrons joining in to sing along as I belted out the last few songs. (When I stopped the show, the owners often offered a sandwich on the house.) The show over we would jump into our car and drive to the next club where the patrons were feeling no pain. While I did my act, it wasn't unusual to see someone wobbling across the floor but I still garnered a decent amount of applause. On to club number three--it usually became the new year as we were driving and we blew kisses to each other. The third show didn't do too well. Customers were bombed, heads were cradled on the table, couples were kissing in corners and occasionally someone made a hasty trip to the bathroom. My act was completely ignored. But we looked forward to a New Year and I knew for the next few weeks the budget was in good shape and I believed the New Year would bring me a coveted spot in a hit show. If you believe, your wish comes true.

Bests,

Elise

GOING TO THE DOGS AT CHRISTMAS

    

     We were filled with enthusiasm and energy, a troupe of stage-struck, starry-eyed and--though not one of us would admit it--slightly homesick singers and dancers. Our bus and truck musical would play 101 cities across the United States and Canada. After months of one, two and three night stands the cast and crew settled down in Los Angeles for a six-week run.  We rented furnished apartments, did our laundry, took dance classes and one day, our leading lady – who loved dogs – asked for a ride to DeWolf’s Toyland Kennels in Temple City, California. The kennel, located just outside LA, bred toy poodles. Five of us just went along for the ride but we all succumbed to puppy love.

     My husband, an ex-dancer who became a stage-manager, lost his heart to an energetic six-pound, white toy poodle with a freckled nose and ears that resembled first Lady Jacqueline Kennedy’s bouffant hairstyle.  Naturally, we named her Jackie.

     One of Jackie’s kennel-mates, the elegant Missy enchanted our leading lady while sweet and cuddly Debbie beguiled the dance captain and the smallest of the poodles, Big Daddy, made off with her partner.  Mimi, a black and white mischief-maker, reeled in a tenor. When other members of our troupe met our puppies, they too were smitten and within a week, Mr. Kelly, a Sheltie, and Ming Toy, a Pekinese had joined the company. By the time we left Los Angeles, a Yorkshire terrier and two dachshunds had been added to the entourage. All of the puppies were of breeds small enough to adjust easily to hotel rooms and sit comfortably on the buses and trains we used for transportation. Wardrobe trunks now held dog blankets, sweaters, squeaky toys, cans and boxes of dog food and boots to protect paws from salt when we hit the snows of winter.

     “Look!  A dog show,” the words greeted us every time the tour bus made a stop. Our star performers were ignored as puppy after puppy left our bus to investigate and rate each rest stop.

     When the curtain came down at 11:00 p.m.; we’d return to our hotel rooms, unlock the doors and stand back. The race was on. Dogs would chase each other up and down the hotel corridors, in and out of rooms, around and over the furniture and through our legs. Missy would pause for any leftover dog biscuits. 

     Jackie, a dancer’s companion, became the Pavlova of poodles--though too shy a dog to tread the boards professionally--developed the ability to leap from one side of the bus to the other. 

     Our dogs were the family we needed on the road. They brought the company closer together and made us all less homesick. The cast exchanged feeding and training tips, admired newly clipped and shampooed puppies, celebrated birthdays, and established enduring friendships. And we celebrated Christmas by throwing a party for our dogs.   

     Jackie continued her travels after the show closed; accompanying us as we traveled with national tours and industrial shows. She visited Wilmington, Delaware during pre-Broadway try-outs, watched soybeans grow in Waterloo, Iowa while we performed in a show that featured dancing tractors, plows and earth moving equipment and suffered a severe case of indigestion in Hershey, Pennsylvania, when she mistook a bar of chocolate soap for a slab of candy.  Between jobs, Jackie practiced Grand Jetes, if we left the dining room to answer the phone, Jackie would spring to the table and devour homemade baked beans or rice pudding--her favorite dishes. On our return, we’d find a happy poodle, stretched out next to an empty bowl, grinning at us and belching indelicately.

     Although her entire life was spent in the theatre, Jackie remained a morning dog; if the rising sun and washing our ears didn’t wake us, a quick nip on the derriere would.

     We were rehearsing a musical in Seattle, Washington when Jackie, almost sixteen years old, passed away. She missed our stop at Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C.; I know she would have enjoyed walks along the Potomac. We were consoled in our grief by cast members, who had loving relationships with their own traveling companions: dogs who understood the adventure to be found on the road; show business gypsies with four paws.

Happy Holidays, Jackie.

Elise

 

CLASSIC CHRISTMAS MYSTERIES

Photo by Dana Rothstein Dreamstime.com     
     "Ooh, my feet, my poor, poor feet." Do your tootsies hurt after a day spent looking for the perfect gift? Are your arms aching? Do you want to stretch out on your bed and read? It's the time of year for Christmas mysteries and many have been written by our favorite authors.
     Silent Night by Mary Higgins Clark takes place in New York when the Catherine Dornan's family comes to the city for her husband's surgery. When a light-fingered thief picks Catherine pocket, one of her sons sees and follows him into the subway and faces danger.
     Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot's Christmas begins in a locked bedroom when Simeon Lee's body is found. His throat has been slit. Will the murderer be caught by Poirot before he repeats his dastardly deed?
     Claire Mallow is present at a fete celebrating the winter soltice. One of the attendees is murdered. Will Claire find the culprit in A Holly Jolly Murder by Joan Hess?
     Charlotte Macleod's anthology titled Mistletoe Mysteries: Tales of Yuletide Murder presents stories by Marcia Muller, Isaac Asimov and a treasure trove of other prominent authors.
     In Jerusalem Inn, a Richard Jury mystery by Martha Grimes, Jury contemplates a dull holiday until he meets an attractive woman. Unfortunately, the woman departs our world but the death does liven up the holidays for Jury.
     Many other writers have turned to the holidays for suspense and intrique and murder. Amongst them are Rita Mae Brown, Lee Child, Patricia Cornwell, Colin Dexter, Carter Dickson, Reginald Hill, J.A. Jance,Ed McBain, Elizabeth Peters, Ellery Queen, and Dorothy L. Sayers.
     I've never written a Christmas Mystery but I have written a play. How about you? Have you ever written a mystery that takes place during a holiday?

Bests and Happy Holidays and a bright, shiny New Year.

Elise

SPECTATORS OF LIFE

    
Palette Color by OCAL

     Visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art yesterday to see The George Bellows Exhibit. Bellows was an early 20th century "realist."On the walls of each room were quotations and I believe this one, written in 1917, can apply to the work of every artist whether a painter, sculptor, performer, or writer.
      "It seems to me that an artist must be a spectator of life; a reverential, enthusiastic, emotional spectator, and then the great dramas of human nature will surge through his mind."
     Each room is dedicated to a period in his development. One exhibits his brutal paintings of bloodied fighters watched by fans driven by their lust for more of this cruel "sport." Another gallery has his paintings of young boys--newly arrived and poor immigrants swimming and diving on "Splinter Beach," the Hudson River near Manhattan's lower East side. War paintings of the First World War show the cruelty visited by man upon man and the last gallery shows his work with lithography and his use of brighter colors. Bellows died in 1925--much too soon--of a ruptured appendix. He  painted the enthusiasm and enrgy of America.

Bests,

Elise   

Two Plays

photo 1.1.1PD/1923 Wikipedia Commons     
     Had the good fortune to see two delightful comedies this month. the first was The Mystery of Edwin Drood. The first--from an unfinished novel written by Charles Dickens and interrupted by his unfortunate departure from this world--finally found a home on the stage. Several writers had tried to fashion an ending that would have satisfied Mr. Dickens but none succeeded until the book was turned into a bawdy music hall presentation with book, music and lyrics by Rupert Holmes. The multi-talented cast includes Chita Rivera and the role of John Jasper played--during the performance I attended--by Sspencer Plachy. Great fun and I'm sure Charles Dickens would have enjoyed himself and perhaps gone on the road with the show.

Photo 1.1.1PD/1923 Wikipedia Commons     
     The second play--Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike, written by Christopher Durang who must have been imprinted with works by Checkov. The comedy takes place in a farmhouse in Bucks County instead of Russia and the family dynamics are touching and hilarious. Again, a fantastic cast and a tirade by David Hyde Pierce in the second act is worth the price of admission.

Here's to playwrights, novelists and writers.

Bests,

Elise

Beethoven and Me

     When I was a little girl I thought that Ludwig van Beethoven wrote For Elise for me. I was the muse for a great composer even though we had been born centuries and cultures apart. This month is Beethoven Awareness Month and while listening to WQXR--our public, classical music station--I learned that he wrote it for a woman named Therese (one of the many he is thought to have loved.) There was a mistake in the transcription of the title and Therese's loss became my childhood fantasy.
     The composition is the only one that I know of that bears my name. Alice has her "Sweet Little Alice Blue Gown." There is a song for Carol and one for Dinah. Evelina has been around for awhile. Georgia was on someone's mind and Ida remains "Sweet as apple cider." Jeannie is famous for her light brown hair and the First World War made Katie famous. There's also Kiss Me Kate and every breeze whispers Louise and Astaire loved Louisa. Then there is Laura. Mary remains a "grand, old name," and what about Marie (from sunny Italy?) Sinatra sang about Nancy and Rosemarie had Nelson Eddy singing about her. Guess I'll keep Beetoven as my composer.

Bests,

Elise
 

EXPECTATIONS

     Dare to Stand Out Photo by Jamie Wilson Dreamstime.com

    

      What do the characters we write about want, need, expect and wish for? Our characters emerge from our imaginations and, like their creators, they would like to be someone a reader thinks about, discusses with friends, and recognizes after the last page of the novel where he or she resides is reluctantly closed.

     The baddie prefers to be a multi-dimensional scoundrel—a rakish fellow—perhaps someone the reader finds attractive. Does he despair of ever being understood and does he ask you to blame his childhood, his parents or his genes? Did someone do something that made her vow revenge? Is she immoral? Reprehensible? Why? She/he certainly doesn’t want to be a common, everyday stereotype.

     Heroines tire of being just another buxom, big-bosomed blonde or an innocent, big-eyed waif—they need that special something that no one can name. It? Sex appeal? Depth? Perhaps a touch of wild ginger?

     Our heroes want more than divine ancestry, muscles, courage and a body to drool over. They often request intelligence—more of those “Little gray cells,” Hercule Poirot talks about.

     And what of our secondary characters, they yearn to be noticed. Casting directors are fond of saying, “There are no small parts, only small actors.” We are asked to insert a quirk, a tick, a line that enables the secondary character to keep the chapter and plot going. Tidbits that will make the person stand out without overshadowing the plot or the principals.

     Do you give your characters what they ask for?

Bests,

Elise

EDITORS LOVED LOST REMEMBERED

Photo by Fairoesh Nan I Dreamstime.com

    

     I believe every writer has an editor they’ve been extremely fond of. The one that you key in with, who thinks your piece is perfect for his/her publication. Who can communicate quickly and with ease what changes, cuts or additions he would like.

     Alas, in our world today, Editors often move on to other publications, their magazine or newspaper may close and their new job may not allow them to use the type of material you write. You have to go on the hunt and search for another magazine, another editor but you think—she was so perfect who can possibly take her place?

     The first article I ever wrote and submitted was rejected by the editor but he took the time to encourage me to send it out again. I did and it was accepted. I often think of him.

     I wrote freelance pieces for an international company beginning with on-line travel squibs and soon longer travel articles were accepted for their print magazines. The editor became a favorite of mine but eventually the magazine was sold to another company and immediately their articles all related to selling property. My editor (I tend to be possesive) moved on to a technical magazine. Every once in awhile, I write something and catch myself thinking wouldn’t this be perfect for...then I remember...the magazine is gone.

     The search begins again and I think of an editor who addresses me as Miss--our relationship is formal-- but she purchases most of my submissions and encourages me to send more. I'm extremely fond of her. A new magazine (for me) recently published another piece of mine--after we were hit by Sandy, she wrote and asked how I was.

     Now these are editors I love and would happily write for any time they wish. Are there editors you feel the same way about?

Bests,

Elise 

DRIFTING AND DREAMING

     

     Today is Charles Camille Saint-Saens birthday. Born on Oct. 9, 1835, he was a child prodigy composing his first piece of music at the age of three. He was a songwriter, pianist, journalist, playwright and poet. Symphonies, concerts, songs, choral music, piano and chamber music all poured from this Renaissance man. He wrote the opera Samson and Delilah, Danse Macabre and Carnival of the Animals.
     A French composer, he received more acclaim in the United States and England. I remember hearing The Swan in music appreciation class in elementary school. I closed my eyes and my mind wandered picturing water, swans, weeping willows--branches of leaves lightly touching the bank. Clouds slowly wandering the blue sky. Classical music makes me dream and paint mental pictures that can be used when I play with words. Happy birthday, Charles Camille Saint-Saens.

     Do you paint mental pictures when you hear music?

     Bests,

     Elise

LOST AND FOUND

Photo by Olgalis Dreamstime.com

    

     Sometimes a former love will become a character in one of my short stories or books. The outer appearance will change—at times it’s an improvement—but his essence becomes part of a new man. The outer shell may be used later in another character.  I guess you can change someone for the better although we’ve been told you shouldn’t even try—but that’s in real time not in fiction.

     The first—a neighbor with the stereotyped red hair and freckles usually found in descriptions of mischievous boys—pulled my braids because he liked me. Much to my mother’s dismay, I chopped off the braids. In a short story, the hair remained and a romance began.

     In my teens, I danced all evening with a fellow who made me feel like the most beautiful, intelligent and charming woman in the world. But we were two different faiths and he was studying to be a minister. I later heard he became a television producer instead. His faith lost a lot of converts but I gained writing material.

     Then there was my season as an apprentice in summer stock. I met an actor who was jobbed in one week to star in a play and we met after the show. He wanted to go into the wood and explore, I just wanted to talk about Shakespeare. We both were disappointed. Both in theatre and writing—use the material.

     As we mature, we often travel different paths from people we once held close but memories come back when we write and their traits, manners and features often appear in our stories.

     I offer a toast to those that we once loved and haven’t completely lost.

Bests,

Elise

Happy Birthday, Mr. Gershwin

Courtesy Wikepedia Commons     
     Today is George Gershwin's birthday. Born on Sept. 26, 1898, he left our world on July 11, 1937 at the
age of 38. He left us with music that brightens our lives whenever and whenever it is played. The son of Russian immigrants he began playing the piano at the age of 11 when his parents bought a second-hand piano for his older brother, Ira--who became a brilliant lyricist.
     A school dropout at 15, he began playing in New York night clubs and as a song plugger in Tin Pan Alley and he kept studying music with noted piano teachers. He worked as a rehearsal pianist for Broadway performers and had his first song published in 1916, titled "When You Want 'Em, "You Can't Get 'em." He wanted to study with Ravel but Ravel turned him down saying,"Why do you want to be a second rate Ravel when you are a first rate Gershwin?"
     Gershwin wrote hit after hit  with brother Ira. A motion picture starring Janet Gaynor and all time favorites for Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. He wrote for Ethel Merman's Broadway debut titled "Girl Crazy," and Of Thee I Sing--a political satire. His opera, Porgy and Bess just received another production, and his "Rhapsody in Blue," and "American in Paris," continue to bring joy to music lovers everywhere.
     Stories are told of him sitting down at a piano and performing at every party. If there is a heaven, I'm sure he's playing right now.

Bests,

Elise

    






 

SMOKE AND MIRRORS

Courtesy of StockFreeImages.com 4639549 

     One of the definitions the dictionary assigns to the word Medium is—an intervening substance through which something is transmitted or carried on. Another is—An Agency by which something is accomplished, conveyed or transferred. As writers we fit that description as we summon events from the past or gaze into the future, ask long-gone friends about their life in another sphere and transform their words, their history, their period into a happening that transports the reader into another time and place.

     Some Mediums claim to be taken over by spirits who use their voice. We listen to our characters who often change the way we first envisioned them. A hero may turn into a villain and the plot we’ve worked so hard on will be altered as the people that inhabit the pages of our short stories or novels choose a different path.

     Near the beginning of history attempts were made to communicate with spirits and mentioned in the Old Testament. In 19^th century England and America Mediums gave lectures and became authors. Some even wrote best-sellers. A Medium will do a reading for a particular client known as a “sitter.” We read our manuscripts aloud to ourselves and support groups who sit around a table waiting to offer suggestions that will help us to see if the manuscript is ready to be submitted to publishers.

     Then there is the Trance Medium where a spirit uses the Medium’s mind to communicate and said to center attention on the thoughts being conveyed. When we sit down at our computers or tablets or pick up a pad and pencil, we focus our attention on the words that we write. We do without trumpets, cabinets, levitation tables, darkened rooms and smoke but we do employ mirrors.

When you tell your story, do you ever think of yourself as a Medium?

Bests,

Elise

WALLANDER

Photo be IvanChuyev Dreamstime.com    

     Wallander and his Masterpiece Mystery! Series III began last Sunday evening on our public television station. The landscape and his new home on lush land—complete with lover and her young son and dog are destined to be immersed in gloom and doom. Wallander—his jaw marked with the stubble of an unshaved face and his sad tired eyes won’t be getting a much deserved rest—he finds a corpse on his property. And will soon find two more—all related to his case. Usually, I like my mysteries spiked with a touch of humor but played by the magnificent Kenneth Branagh, Wallander’s story—though I guessed the villain—hooked me and I look forward to episode number two. I’m sure the body count will grow during this four part series.

    What television mystery series are your favorites?

Bests,

Elise

CHAPLIN THE MUSICAL

    
     Had the pleasure of seeing a preview yesterday of an engrossing new musical about the life of Charlie Chaplin. One of two sons of English Music Hall performers. He survived his father's desertion and his mother's mental illness to become a comedian for Fred Karno. While playing in NYC, he was discovered by Mack Sennett who was a major silent film producer and offered the then grand sum of $150.00 to come to Hollywood. The musical traces his life from his early childhood, to his exile from America, partially due to the vindictivness of a Hollywood gossip columnist, and his late life welcome back to the hearts of the public with an honorary Academy Award.
     The play is well done and Chaplin performed by Rob McClure--new to most theatre-goers is a multi- talent that we'll be seeing and hearing a lot about. Chaplin would be stirred by his portrayal. His rendition of what is sometimes called an 11:00 o'clock number--titled Where Are All the People? brought the house down. The vido/projection design by Jon Driscoll is one of the best I've ever seen.

     If you're in or coming to NYC, buy yourself a ticket to a great evening.

     Bests,
   
     Elise

A SENSE OF PLACE

    

     While straightening out my files, I came across an article I had written about the Holy Meteora in Greece on the north-west border of Thessaly where clusters of surreal, rugged black masses of rock stand guard over the villages of Kalambaka and Kastraki. On their giant pinnacles, disciplined communities of monks and nuns live in isolated monasteries known as the Holy Meteora. By the end of the 15th century there were 24 monasteries that served as a repository for Greek culture. A system of ladders, nets, ropes and pulleys, in a winching tower suspended over an abyss, transported food, bulding materials and the monks. Religious faith (or a sense of humor) would be needed--the ropes--the story goes--were only replaced when they frayed and snapped. Seems like the perfect place for a mystery. Agia Tridada, the monastery of the Holy Trinity, located on a narrow spire, was the site for the James bond film, For Your Eyes Only with Roger Moore.
     I began thinking about how place affects the mystery and my first thought was about Ellis Peters and her books about Cadfael, a monk who lived in the 1100s in Shrewsbury, England in the monastery of Saints Peter and Paul. Could Cadfael have lived anywhere else?
     Then there's Donna Leon's Commissario Guido Brunetti who lives in Venice, well respected and well-fed by a loving wife. Where else but Venice?
     Tony Hillerman's mysteries take place in the southwest amongst the Navajo tribes. Here Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn and Officer Jim Chee solve crimes and keep criminal behavior in check. the land was made for Hillerman's mysteries.
     Mention Oxford, England--the fictional Oxford England and the reader is enthralled with Inspector Morse and his fictional heir, Inspector Lewis. Walk around Oxford and you'll find fans of the series wandering around looking for the places where they solved crimes usually committed by Professors and students.
     What mysteries and authors and places can you suggest?

     Bests,

     Elise

ROMANTICIZED MYTHS

    
     I'm a great fan of WQXR and though I'm just a kid on the inside, I love listening to Naomi Lewin's program created for youngsters and broadcast on Saturday mornings. Last Saturday, Zoltan Kodaly's opera Hary Janos was featured. The opera begins with a musical sneeze. In Hungry, where Kodaly grew up there is a superstition that says, If you sneeze while telling a story that makes it true. That superstition made me think of writing.
     Novels have the disclaimer that states that the characters are fictional and any resemblence to real people--living or dead--is purely coincidental. But what if one of our characters rising from our subconscious? A forgotton relative, friend or enemy who made an impression--good or bad--that emerges when we sit down at our computers and begin a novel. Does the story stem from a forgotton childhood trauma? A lover the writer was determined to forget? Perhaps it's an urban legend handed down from generation to generation and transformed by an author into a contemporary tale or gossip overheard and made real between the covers of a book. Do we begin our fiction with a sneeze?

Bests,

Elise

YOU CAME TO ME FROM OUT OF NOWHERE

Photo by Ed Isaacs Dreamstime.com     
     Sometimes I awake in the middle of the night with an idea for a short story, a novel or an article that cries out to be written. I reach for the pad and pen on my bedside table while trying not to wake my husband and--in the dark--scrawl down the idea in what will turn out to be partially unreadable. In the  morning, it will either be torn out off the pad or, if the thought holds up in the light of day, carried to my computer
     Then, sometimes, an image of the school bully may appear--and she's perfect for the antagonist in a novel I'm planning to write. A photograph of my grandmother inspires the elderly lady in a short story. Art and sculpture in theMetropolitan Museum of Art lets me travel back in time to another place and other beliefs. Travel frees my mind and opens it to the world's pleasures and pain. Discussions and disagreements make me think and sometimes change and broaden my opinions and misconceptions leading to another piece, another story, another novel.

Where do you discover and mine your ideas?

Bests,
Elise