"A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME"

    

     Courtesy of Dreamstime.com

     In the March/April editon of Writer's Digest, I found myself engrossed by an article titled Go Organic by Steven James. He writes about outlining being taught as the right way to shape a story and continues that if you don't follow the formulas you'll be labeled an SOPer--a "seat-of-the-pantser," or just a "pantser." James advises writers to develop a more organic writing process.
     I thought he's talking about me--I had never heard or read the term pantser before. People inspire characters for me and, in turn, the characters influence the plot. I have a pretty good idea how they will react to each other and the events that occur and I know how the story will end. But my characters often surprise me and change the direction of the book or story and then I will have to go back and discover why and how she or he took a different turn. The villain I had originally chosen for Scene Stealer changed my mind and I believe the villain in the cozy I'm working on now is about to do the same thing. I have another suspect in mind--time to go to work and question him.

Bests,

Elise

THE NANCE

Photo courtesy of Koyannis Quatsi @en.wikipedia 

     I experienced an unforgettable theatrical performance by Nathan Lane when I went to a matinee of a play, presented by Lincoln Center Theatre, at the Lyceum. Written by Douglas Carter Beane, the play explores the hazards suffered by Chauncy Miles, a conservative, homosexual, performer who plays the part of The Nance an effeminate male character) in burlesque house sketches during the latter part of the 30s. The great depression still held the nation in its grip and jobs were hard to find.

     Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia wanted to sanitize the city before the World’s Fair and LaGuardia who was a progressive mayor in many ways decided to curb and close burlesque theatres and hide what he considered the seamy side of the Big Apple. Homosexuality was considered a mental illness and a deviant lifestyle and the police imprisoned men trying to socialize with others. Chauncy falls in love and love is returned but the Burlesque House is raided and Chauncy spends time in jail and is asked to change his act. He refuses. The theatre closes. Chauncy is a victim of the past, and his lover needs to move on and they part.

     A Chauncy Miles would be amazed at many of the changes we see today. In many states, homosexuals marry, have children, serve the United States in the military and government and are accepted by the majority of their fellow human beings.

     But hate is alive in the world. Lower Manhattan saw the murder of a gay man walking down the street. A drunk assaulted a friend when he learned he was gay. A couple walking together were attacked by antigay, statements and one of the men suffered minor injuries.

     Will the time ever come when instead of being frightened by differences, every community concentrates on the miracle of life and the love that should be bestowed to honor that life?

Bests,

Elise

SCENE STEALER

Scene Stealer's secondary characters are having their say on Shelf Pleasure today. Please stop by and say hello. www.shelfpleasure.com/read-scene-stealer-by-elise-warner

My characters tend to be highly opinionated.

Bests,

Elise

FAMILY STORIES

   

    Mother's day is Sunday and I miss my mom. She's been gone awhile now and I remember the good times, the fabulous stories she told, the encouragement she always gave me and the woman I wish was here so I could share the stories I make up with her.
     When I was a little girl, she always made up tales to pass the time on rainy days and told me, "true yarns," about the family. Mom would never hesitate when it came to adding local color. For a while she sold inexpensive hats to make a few extra dollars and she was quite the salesperson. She'd adjust the hat on the customer and tell her how becoming it was. Tilt the hat in another direction and encourage the lady to look in the mirror. "You look just like the model in Vogue, that's the way she wears the hat." The customer always bought the hat, sometimes two or three and returned often to buy more.
     Mom grew up in Rhode Island and told me how she and my Uncle Johnny were crossing a field when a bull attracted by her red dress began to chase them. They ran faster and faster and took refuge in the Old Soldiers Home where they were served cookies and milk. After my uncle returned from the war, mom told him he would always be able to live at that home when he was old and frail.
     There was the story about the landlord of the little house that they rented visiting them at Thanksgiving. Grandpa--a new immigrant with seven children--thought the landlord wuld disposess them. Instead, he gifted grandpa with seven chickens--one for each child.
     My favorite story is the one mom told about the Russian Countess who had no children of her own and took a great liking to my Aunt Betty. When the Cossacks rode through their town, the Countess hid my grandparents and Aunt Betty until they could escape to America--the promised land. My cousin said it was a neighbor who hid the family but I like the story much better the way my mother told it.

Family stories, anyone?

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

Elise

EARTH DAY IN QUEENS

                                                                             

DOVES ARE TRILLING
PIGEONS COOING
SQUIRRELS CHATTER AWAY
GRASS IS SPRINGING
BIRDS ARE SINGING
SPRING IS HERE TODAY

Happy Earth Day,

Elise                                                                                

AH...VENICE

The ice cream colors of Torcello

     When we dream of Venice, we dream of romance, sitting with the man or woman of your dreams in a gondola as it’s piloted through the canals. Listening to the gondolier sing a ballad of love and seeing the water lap against the old palazzos where pots of brilliantly colored flowers relax on terraces, and smile at the sun. We board a vaporetto and pay a visit to Murano where the art of glassmaking industry has made everything from bowls to chandeliers since 1251 and Burano, a fishing village known for its lace and, the third and most charming village—Torcello, with an ancient stone bridge and the Cattedrale di Torcello with its Byzantine mosaics. For shoppers a walk across the single arched Rialto Bridge is an invitation to luxury boutiques and inexpensive souvenir stands. We flock to St. Mark’s Basilica, the Peggy Guggenheim Collection, the Academy Gallery and walk, and walk, and walk—losing ourselves in the streets—perhaps the most fun of all.  

     But there is another side to Venice, there is the Piazzetta San Marco, a minute square next to the Doge’s Palace that faces the Grand Canal. Here, the infamous medieval justice of Venice was carried out—Victims lost their head or were hung after being held in torture chambers where they were interrogated. Inquisitors known as The Terrible Ten were appointed by the city to dispense justice. The prisoners first crossed The Bridge of Sighs—the name descends from the wail of sorrow by victims forced to cross the bridge knowing they would suffer torture and almost certain death. The Palace of the Doges dates back to 1309—a fire in 1577 damaged much of the building and many magnificent artworks were ruined but a number of the finest Venetian artists of the 16^th century contributed to its restoration by replacing the frescoes and paintings of old masters.

     A city filled with beauty, fine shops and restaurants and like any other—a city that has known evil.

Bests,

Elise

FRANKENSTEIN

     Mary Godwin Wollstonecraft, eighteen years old in 1815, spent a frigid, summer when she and her lover and husband to be—Percy Bysshe Shelley paid a visit to Lord Byron at his Villa by Lake Geneva in Switzerland. The rain and gloom cancelled a summer filled with the pleasures of the outdoors and the trio stayed inside the Villa Diodati consoling themselves with warmth and conversation. One of the subjects discussed was the achievability of returning a cadaver or accumulated sections of the body to life. The trio read ghost stories and at Byron’s suggestion each would write an unnatural narrative.

     Mary Shelley created Frankenstein after she had a dream that aroused sensations of fear and horror. In the nightmare, she watched as a “student kneeled beside a thing he had put together...a man stretched out, and then, on the working of some powerful engine, show signs of life...” The short story Mary Shelley began grew into a novel where Victor Frankenstein is passionate about science and believes he can channel the power of lightning. He develops a course of action that will return the dead to life and plans on the creation of a beautiful creature, instead thing that emerges is—in his eyes—a monster and Frankenstein rejects his own creation.

     We craft our own individuals when we write—taking physical characteristics and eccentricities from strangers, relatives and friends, we use parts of stories never finished but overheard in restaurants and plot their endings. We borrow a pithy line that made us laugh while eavesdropping during a dull subway ride—and combine them all into characters that we hope will live and breathe in the pages of our stories and novels. Sometimes our characters rebel and add a twist to our plot. The beautiful heroine has a fatal flaw; the villain has undiscovered good in him waiting to be discovered. When we pick up our pen or sit down at our computer we use our gifts as writers to animate and bring our characters to life just as Victor Frankenstein through the writing of Mary Godwin Wollstonecraft Shelley used electrical power to bring his creature to a life that is remembered generation after generation.

Bests,

Elise