Clive Woodall
If you enjoyed Watership Down chances are good that you'll like One for Sorrow, Two for Joy, as well.
Set solely among the denizens of Birddom (the world of birds that co-exists with our own), this is an epic tale of politics, romance, and the courage of a young robin named Kirrik. Pretty typically the magpies are evil, the owls are wise and ancient, and the birds in between are all, well, in between.
Enjoyable, if a little tiresome.
Rebecca Reisert
It's The Scottish Play from the point of view of the youngest of the weird sisters, a young woman who shocks her elders by bathing twice a week, and doesn't care for robbing the dead on the battlefield. Has all the requisite romance and heroism, as well as a fairy-tale ending. Cute, but unsubstantial.
Mary Sheepshanks
Mary Sheepshanks usually writes manor house stories laced with humor. In Off Balance, however, the humor is sadly lacking, and it ends up being an unexceptional story of relationships (mainly dysfunctional) in a country house in Scotland. Lovely scenery, depressing story.
I say… And you think… ?
Like this meme? Play along here.
The neighbor's dog has been barking its head off all night, in tones of alarm and distress, changing to a frenzied attack of the fence when Cleo explores the trough on our side. It's either a boxer or a rottweiller, with a head almost as big as Zorro's body. Hence our aversion to peeking over the fence.
I recognize that in rural places dogs are often kept outside, but even then non-stop barking would capture someone's attention. Can someone explain why suburban folk have no problem leaving their animals alone and upset, making enough noise to wake the dead?
Late last night, Zorro ran in from the back yard, barking his head off. He doesn't generally bark, so this alarmed us enough for Fuzzy to head out back armed with a yellow flashlight. He returned confirming my theory: bats. We have bats buzzing the back yard at night, and they register as 'rodents' to the dogs. Zorro doesn't like rodents – the terrier in him wants to go to ground and find them, and the chihuahua parts want to flee in terror.
We did what any good dog owners would. We told Zorro and Cleo that they were smart, and good, and had done a great job of defending the yard from the flying rodent things.
Then we sent them to bed.
I had just emerged from the bathroom, when I saw them, curled up together, but when I moved to grab the camera (I used my cellphone as the real camera was upstairs), Cleo sat up. Still they look so cute in the soft light of the reading lamps, that I had to share.
“I'm not sure ink fits into my lifestyle,” I said to a friend via instant message, last night. We were talking about tattoos, an idea I've flirted with on and off for years, but never moved forward with. As I've said on other occasions, I can't even commit to a blog template or a hair style, so putting permanent art on my body seems a bit unwise.
And yet, I like the idea of tattoos, this indelible outward symbol of creativity, freedom, a slight streak of wildness. It's somehow the antithesis of suburbia, and yet, certainly suburbanites sport such art.
If I were to get one, it'd be small, subtle, and imbued with a meaning personal to me, beyond the outward image. (This is, I think, the case with everyone.) I think my right ankle would be the location. Or near there. But there isn't a design I've ever seen that has grabbed me. I like suns and moons, I like seahorses (dolphins are over-done), and sunflowers. And geckos. A gecko could be fun. An inkpot and quill would be equally appropriate.
Of course, my friend commented on the irony of the original statement about ink, considering that I'd just been babbling about not having written anything this week. I did give myself the end of August as a sort of holiday, to recharge the batteries.
Somehow I think the tattoo would serve as a sort of outward committment to writing. “You put ink on your skin, now ink must also flow from your pen.”
It's an inky dilemma.
I've noticed that many people post their playlists on Thursday and Friday. Inspired by this sharing, I'm spotlighting some of my favorite words and music.
I met a man without a dollar to his name
Who had no traits of any value but his smile
I met a man who had no yearn or claim to fame
Who was content to let life pass him for a while
And I was sure that all I ever wanted
Was a life like the movie stars led
And he kissed me right here, and he said,“I'll give you stars and the moon and a soul to guide you
And a promise I'll never go
I'll give you hope to bring out all the life inside you
And the strength that will help you grow.
I'll give you truth and a future that's twenty times better
Than any Hollywood plot.”
And I thought, “You know, I'd rather have a yacht.” (1)
I was first introduced to the music of Jason Robert Brown when I heard Audra McDonald sing “Stars and the Moon” at a concert in San Francisco a few years ago. While it was Audra I went to hear (we'd been classmates throughout high school), it was this song that I went home humming. It's a sad song, really – poignant – but the melody is catchy and the lyrics have a hint of snark, and more than a hint of natural speech.
I liked the song, but promptly forgot the name of the composer, as I was more intent on learning to sing it. I'm a natural mimic, so putting my own spin on songs is difficult for me, but this one made sense to me, and I responded to it, not just as a singer, but as a writer.
It's been in the back of my head ever since, but it's only recently – in the last six months – that I've bothered to accumulate more from its composer.
I'm a Napster fan. With Napster-To-Go and my cute Zen Micro, I have more tunes at my disposal than any single person really needs, and I can change the playlist out, or add more tunes, without a huge expense. I know people rave about iTunes and iPods, but this works for me. (And from what I've read, the Creative products produce better sound, anyway.)
Child, I know you're weary
And your eyes want to close
The days are getting longer
We're not getting any stronger
Trust me, Mama knows…But lie in my arms while you're sleeping
And think of the rivers you've crossed
I'll tell you the dreams I've been keeping
For moments like this
When your hope is lostHear my song:
It'll help you believe in tomorrow
Hear my song:
It'll show you the way you can shine
Hear my song:
It was made for the time
When you don't know where to go
Listen to the song that I sing
You'll be fine. (2)
Anyway, several months ago, I was browsing Napster, and decided to find “Stars and the Moon,” and while I didn't find Audra's recording of it, I did find the entire original cast album of Songs for a New World, the review from which it came.
Songs for a New World is more than a review, less than a play. Brown himself calls it a song cycle, because there are archetypical characters, and there is a connection from song to song. The musical styles vary from jazz to blues to more traditional Broadway ballads, but all of them are written with these wonderful, sensible lyrics. Natural lyrics. And the accompaniment is Brown himself (at the piano) with a small combo. I've listened to it a LOT, and every time, I find another nuance, another level of meaning.
Jason Robert Brown actually has a longer resume than I realized when I fell in love with this song-cycle. He won the 1999 Tony Award for his musical Parade, for example, and he also wrote and composed a two-character musical called The Last Five Years, in which a woman looks back on a relationship, from its end, and her partner traces the same relationship from its beginning.
This year, he released a cd of more personal work, performed by himself. It's called “Wearing Someone Else's Clothes,” which again features a lot of simple piano accompaniment and his natural, even blunt, lyrics. From this cd, I think my favorites (at least since downloading it last night) are “Nothing in Common” and “Someone to Fall Back On.”
Brown has been compared to both Billy Joel and Stephen Sondheim, and displays some of the best writing and composing traits of both. If you like show tunes at all, and if you like finding new composers who are relatively young (Mr. Brown is roughly my age), I highly recommend his music. Begin with Songs for a New World, and go from there.
I'll never be a knight in armor
With a sword in hand
Or a kamikaze fighter
Don't count on me
To storm the barricades
And take a stand
Or hold my groundYou'll never see any scars or wounds
I won't walk on coals
I don't walk on waterI am no prince
I am no saint
I am not anyone's wildest dream
But I can stand behind
And be somone to fall back on. (3)
1.) “Stars and the Moon,” from Songs for a New World
2.) “Hear My Song,” from Songs for a New World
3.) “Someone to Fall Back On,” from Wearing Someone Else's Clothes
All with words and music by Jason Robert Brown.
I'm sitting here at the round kitchen table with the fan on overhead. The dogs, and my husband, are still in bed, even though it's nearly eleven. I got up at nine, which only seems late. In reality, it's early for me, as I went to bed around three.
I'm waiting for groceries to be delivered, and using the time to just be.
I always get introspective after my birthday. I'm not sure if I'm processing the previous year or planning for the future – probably a little of both.
I can see the pool sparkling in the morning sun, and I'm watching the ripples caused by the wind. Fuzzy's computer speakers are still on and every so often a random mariachi beat issues forth. It almost sounds like cicadas, but then it doesn't.
I haven't had coffee yet.
I know once I do the quiet part of my morning will be over.
For a few more moments, I will sit here, and watch the trees and the birds.
And just…breathe.
On the way to the airport yesterday – was that only yesterday? – we stopped so J. could find some racey reading matter for the plane trip. She'd wanted Harlequin or Silhouette novels, because they're quick, disposable reads (we decided we NEED to write one together), but the store had none, so she found a couple of bodice-rippers instead, and sweetly handed them over so I could read the backs.
One, about Scottish ghosts and faery lovers and such, actually seemed almost worth reading for the story. The other was a fairly typical “twinkling brown eyes” novel, in which the sex was almost (but not quite) non-con, and the euphamisms were as plentiful as the needles on a pine tree.
Of course, in the dual interest of wanted to keep the fun going, and make the men-folk blush, we HAD to find the sex scenes, and once we did, I volunteered to read them aloud.
Such novels are pretty formulaic. We read the strip scene, and the 'sex in the privy' scene, and a dream scene which became a waking scene. Much giggling did ensue. Also, I think the windows of the car got steamy, but maybe that was just the air conditioning.
In any case, I have to thank BatB fandom for teaching me the not-so-useful skill of Reading Smut Aloud, because without it, my only association with the phrase 'moist cleft' would have to do with nose-divets or soft palates.
And Bodice Rippers should totally be sold in the 'comedy' section of bookstores.