A Trip to the North Fork

Yesterday, Tyler and I left the city to visit the North Fork of Long Island. We will be getting married out there next May and there are wedding related things to care of but, to be honest, we took the trip to escape the city and enjoy the excellent food and wine the region has to offer.

We do not own a car so we rely most often on our feet to get us places. It felt like a luxury to rent a car for the day, to ride east next to that long yellow line.

We discovered 88.3, WBGO, the jazz station, and listened with great interest to a program called Singers Unlimited with Michael Bourne. I was pleasantly surprised to turn on the station at the exact moment Rosemary Clooney sang out 'The Man That Got Away' which is, oddly enough, a song important to Rabbit Island, the work in progress I am frantically editing away at-- cutting and pasting and rewriting to get a framework worth working through.

I had forgotten what it was like to be in a car, to listen to the radio, to see a glimpse of something through glass and watch as it drifts away.

There were horses and farm stands, wine tastings and lunch beside the water. We found The Winemaker Studio, a little wooden tasting room where the winemakers in the region are selling their private labels. And when I learned what that meant, it took on even bigger meaning for me. Instead of making wine for the wineries and their owners, instead of adhering to the standards of an already established brand, they are making wine for themselves. And that's interesting...that makes me want to know more...

And of course, any time there is a sign pointing the way to cheese, I am happy. I am in a kind of heaven.

Penn Relays

I woke up this morning with a memory. I don't know how it connected to what I may have dreamed before it. It was just there. And when things are there and they don't belong anywhere else I put them here. (Just so you know how this works.)

When I was in high school I ran track. I was a sprinter. I never had the legs to endure long races. I was the kind of person who believed she could do anything in the shortest distances. I would run until my feet bled, until my legs ached, until I couldn't breathe, until I needed to vomit, whatever it took to get it done.

My sophomore year, my coach invited me to go to the Penn Relays, the largest track and field competition in the states, but I wasn't allowed to race with the rest of the girls, a team of seniors who had more experience than I did. I was to go...to learn. And before I could even get on the bus, I was forced to watch endless videos of past relay teams from our high school as my coach analyzed every start and finish, every baton hand-off, the way the girls sprinted the straight-aways, how they took the turns.

All of this, so I could sit in the stands and watch everyone else run.

My coach told me it was a privilege to miss school and attend this event. But I wanted to race.

When I thought of the Penn Relays this morning, I pictured the blazing burnt orange track beneath me (it may not be orange but this is how I remember it) so far away from the blur of colors I sat with.

I have mixed feelings about this memory. On the one hand, I think what a brat I was to believe I somehow deserved to race before I was ready. On the other, I wonder why this coach made me attend so I could sit by myself and hope to one day be there for real. (I was never invited again.)

I am not a patient person. I know this. And so, I wake up every day wanting to do a million things and I say to myself: Take your time. Sit back. Learn.

But I also know that I am the kind of person who falls so easily into the role of observer rather than participant. Sometimes I accept the fact that I am invisible and I remain unseen.

Lately, and I don't know what has triggered this, I am sick and tired of reigning myself in. Lately, I do not feel it is privilege be there. I do not feel it is enough to stand back. I want to be in it.

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.