Brooklyn Public Library Increases Hours

We've all heard the abysmal news about libraries. The budget cuts. The closings. I don't need to recount it for you here.

So, I give you this headline, this link, just to say: keep the faith.

Brooklyn Public Library Increases Hours by 21 Percent.

I knew I lived in the right town.

What's going on with the libraries in your neck of the woods?

'Firing Off Rat-a-tat-tat-tat'

I spent a lot of time at the library when I was a teenager. When I look at the crazy schedule I had back then (tennis, track, Lit Mag, French club...the list goes on...I was a classic overachiever) I do wonder when I found the time to read the amount of books I read. And I especially wonder how I found time to read 812.

When I say 812, I am referring to the dewey decimal system. 812 is American Drama. And for some reason, my teenage self found it necessary to read 812 in it's entirety.

Some clarification: We're not talking the Library of Congress here. We're talking the Hicksville Public Library. 812 consisted of about four shelves of loosely packed, hard-cover plays (I only mention that because paperback would be much thinner and take up less room, allowing for more plays in the section) and it was my goal to read every one of them.

I did.

Add that to semesters of playwriting and screenwriting classes. Tack on a few months transcribing documentaries and several years writing scripts for children. And you have a person who is obsessed with dialogue. Who is in an ever-constant investigation of the spoken word as it is written on the page. Who struggles every day to write dialogue that rings true, voices that rise and fall a certain way, conversations that one, two, one, two back and forth at just the right moment for the time, the place, the mood. Like I said, it is my writing obsession. When I write, when I read, I pay careful attention to dialogue. And maybe I'll get it right someday in my own work. For now, all I can do is study and try.

(insert transition here)

Enter 'One Crazy Summer' by Rita Williams-Garcia. Here's a book that I admired for it's many dead-right, spot-on qualities but one I especially admired for it's beautiful dialogue. So if you're struggling, if you're investigating, as I am, this book is, in my opinion, a resource.

Just a sampling from the book of this trio of sisters: Delphine, Vonetta, and Fern. Who speak in poetry (And their rhythm of speech is dissected here. I told you. Like a resource. A guide.) It is wonderful.

When my sisters and I speak, one right after the other, it's like a song we sing, a game we play. We never need to pass signals. We just fire off rat-a-tat-tat-tat. Delphine. Vonetta. Fern.

I said, "What if all the people could recite all of your poems?"
Vonetta: "And they said them on the radio."
Fern: "And you became famous."
Me: "You couldn't hide then."
Fern: "Surely couldn't."

Write It Wrong

I'm still struggling with this character I may have mentioned. She has me up late into the night and I can't seem to crack her, can't seem to get her right. I sit in front of a blank screen and dance around her, get to the end of a sentence just before she is about to appear, and the cursor blinks, and I freeze.

Yesterday, I heard her for the first time. And by heard, I mean, she spoke (from behind a closed door no less, still refusing to be seen.) There was dialogue. One measly line. And it stopped me. Is this right? Would she say this?

On our walk to the subway I told Tyler about my frustration: I can't get it right. I just don't know her well enough.

And he said: Well, what are you going to do? Take her out for lunch?

And I suppose that's what I need to do, take her out and see what happens. I think the only way to get through this is to forget everything and just...write it wrong.

Do you have any characters you need to get wrong before you get it right?

Get in Position

Every morning, Tyler watches Morning Drive, a morning talk show on the Golf Channel. I am not a morning person, so I sleep until the very last minute, and frantically shower, dress, blow-dry and pack up my bag with barely enough time to scarf down some cereal before I head out to work.

But, as I scarf, there is Morning Drive.

Everything I know about golf, I know from Morning Drive: which is to say...very little. During the few minutes I watch, I spend most of the time commenting on the two hosts, Erik Kuselias and Gary Williams.

Do you think they like eachother off camera? I ask Tyler. Or do you think they leave the show wanting to punch the other in the face?

Who would you rather go out for drinks and talk golf with? Erik or Gary?

I'm going to call Erik Kuselias, Erik Ku-silly. Because he's silly.

And Tyler politely ignores me.

This morning, someone by the name of Ron Sirak was on the show, chatting about whatever it is they actually chat about while I'm wondering whether or not I'd rather be friends with Erik or Gary (FYI, I'm leaning towards Gary. No. Erik. No wait...Gary). And Ron said something along the lines of: That's what you have to do to win a major. You have to get in position to win a major.

I quickly dismissed this comment and labelled it: VERY silly. I thought: Great advice, Ron. I'm going to call Tiger Woods and say, 'Tiger! Did you know that if you get into position to win a major, you're going to win one? I bet you didn't know that, did you?' This is life-changing, Ron. Life-changing. Back to my cereal.

For some reason, however, this got stuck in my head. And I actually began to think that Ron is right. And that it is life-changing.

I mean, did you know you actually have to write a book to get published?

It sounds silly. But I dreamed about becoming a published author when I was five years old and I didn't do anything about it until a few years ago. Sometimes, it is easy to get caught up in the goal and not think seriously about what you need to do to get there.

So, the question is, whatever you want to accomplish in your life, are you in position to do it? I'm going to ask myself that question every day.



Photo credit: Golf Uncensored

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

My eyes are tired. Too much time in front of microsoft word documents or a library book. They need to rest. So I dream of this day in Cannes, even though it is colorless and hazy, about to rain.

I like how the stone and concrete mirror the condo towers along the water and the buildings up in the hills. Tiles of white and grey and all the spaces in between. I admire this man. Arms at his sides. Bundled. Waiting for the sun. Still. For just a little while.

Flat. Down. Up.

I rode my bicycle through Prospect park on Saturday, thinking about my writing, about this blog. I can not tell you how many blog posts I have 'written' while I've pedalled, how many plot holes I have worked out while gripping my pink handlebars (It's almost time for new tape, what color do you suggest?)

On this particular ride, I was thinking a lot about my novel, with it's completed first draft, which sits until I can sit with it. I have designated Friday afternoon as the time to do that. To read it, in it's entirety and see what can be done. Since I began writing the book, I've struggled to define one of the most important characters. She is a catalyst for everything that happens to my main character and I have danced around her for 72,000 words. There are decisions that need to be made and there are literal blank pages waiting for me to make them. I have lost sleep over this woman. She has made me insane.

My ride through Prospect Park did not provide any breakthroughs but I am very, very close to figuring things out.

What I did realize is how cathartic it is to ride this particular loop. I begin on a flat road, then I dip down a long hill where I fly and feel free. At the end, there is a steep slope upwards and I sweat and curse to myself the entire time. While I'm climbing, I think, I'm going home. There is no way I can do this again. But then I come to that flat and I take off for another round.

As I tried to sort through this mess of a character, I thought about what I was doing. I thought about the loop. And it made me feel better. Not just about my book but about life in general. Flat. Down. Up. And how natural it is to start again. I realize it's cliche, these hills and valleys. But to feel it, really feel it, makes me know it's true. Because that's what it's really like...to move across the earth this way.

Best Friends

Pat and my mother have known one another since they were infants. My mother's grandmother lived in the same two-story home in Astoria, Queens as Pat's grandmother...and so began three generations of friends.

When they are together, it is a flurry of high-pitched conversation and laughter. It is impossible to tell who is speaking. They yell over one another and still manage to know exactly what the other is saying. When our families got together over the years Pat's son, Drew, and I always looked at one another across the kitchen table and wondered what in the world was happening.

Here they are in purple and blue at Drew's wedding. Their friendship amazes me. It has lasted 64 years.

You look like sisters, I told them earlier in the night.

We are sisters, my mother said.