We'll Go To Coney / And Eat Baloney On A Roll

Winter is in hiding.  I haven't seen snow since Halloween.  Talk about a topsy turvy world. 

Last Saturday, in January, temperatures reached 60 degrees and I rode my bicycle to Coney Island.

In my humble opinion, Coney Island is one of the most visually stunning places in Brooklyn.  I like to go there in winter, to see it forgotten.  The stillness of the rides, the empty boardwalks, the boarded up shops, inspire me.  So much so that I wrote an entire novel that steals from its storied past (and present.)    

I took the trip there on Saturday because of a new project I am working on.  It's not a novel or fiction of any kind.  I don't really know what it is.  I'll let you know when I know.

But I've decided that Coney Island remains one of my favorite places in the world to be.

Hey Buddy, I know it was unseasonably warm. But it wasn't THAT warm...

Bonkers

I am in this bonkers mood right now.  I mean totally bonkers.

I've been talking about Murakami on this blog so much as of late -- just saw the film adaptation of Norwegian Wood (my favorite Murakami book.)  I can not, will not, go into detail.  I'll just say the film was excruciatingly slow.  And long.   Two and a half hours long.  Well beyond what I can tolerate.

I'll add that I had to stop myself from laughing during one of the most dramatic and crucial moments.  Part of it was the result of sheer insanity (It was just so long.  So very long.)  Part of it was nervous laughter.  I had to pee like you would not believe.

When the film ended, I shot up from my seat.  But no one moved.  It was one of those films in which people felt the need to be with their thoughts.  They felt the need to display that they needed to be with their thoughts by not moving.  I nearly threw a tantrum.  Eventually, I had to trample over the still-not-moving crowd and was consequently cursed out of the theater.

I've been bonkers ever since.

Came home, walked into the bedroom and had a giggle fit.  Because, you see, the perfume I received in my stocking this Christmas, the one that has been sitting on my dresser for two weeks, that is featured in this lovely picture...

It's truffle oil.

Celery Tree: A Site for Authors With Books to Sell

The lovely writer and editor Karen Jones Gowen over at Coming Down The Mountain: A Writer's Blog has a new venture I'm excited to share with you all: celerytree.com.  In Karen's own words:

Celerytree.com came about because I know how hard it is to market and sell books. One day in 2010, this idea came to me: Why not build a website where authors support one another by agreeing to buy a modest amount of books from other authors each year.

If enough people join up, it can grow geometrically and make a real difference. 100 members buying 6 books a year is 600 books purchased from those 100 members. 1000 members buying 6 books a year is 6000 books purchased from 1000 members. 10,000 members is 60,000 books purchased from 10,000 members. You get the idea, right?

The more members we get the more books our members will sell, yet each member only has to ever buy 6 books a year, although most will buy more than 6. The more members sign on, the larger the pool of books and book buyers will be.


I like people with big ideas and I particularly like those who execute them.  Since I am guilty of saying 'Wouldn't it be great if...' and not doing a darn thing, I'm thrilled to support Karen's idea.

I hope you will hop over to the site and see what it's all about.  If you have any questions, Karen asks that you e-mail her directly at: karen@celerytree.com (that's the kind of gal she is, always making sure you're in good hands.)

Vine Leaves Literary Journal and my Vignette

I used to do a lot of my writing in train cars.  The Long Island Railroad and the New York City subway were my usual spots. But I have also written on Amtrak, the Euro Rail and the T in Boston.  When I was not working on a particular project, I picked out a person on the train and began to write short pieces.  Sometimes, I simply described what the person looked like.  Other times, I stole a small moment and slipped it between the lined pages of my journal.  Always, I imagined a life for them and let it breathe.

When I learned about the idea for the Vine Leaves Literary Journal, I discovered that I had been writing something called a vignette.  According to the journal a vignette is:

 a word that originally meant "something that may be written on a vine-leaf." It’s a snapshot in words. It differs from flash fiction or a short story in that its aim doesn’t lie within the traditional realms of structure or plot. Instead, the vignette focuses on one element, mood, character, setting or object. It's descriptive, excellent for character or theme exploration and wordplay. Through a vignette, you create an atmosphere.

Well.  You learn something new every day.

On a whim, just a few hours before the submission window closed, I submitted a vignette to the journal and they published it in their premiere issue.   Feel free to check it out here.  As a tribute to my days writing on trains, it is called The Subway and it's on Page 6.  I like tellng people I'm on Page Six!  But you should read as much of the magazine as you can, such wonderful content there.

Inconclusive Thoughts on Murakami's 1Q84

I recently finished Book 1 of Haruki Murakami's 1Q84.  I had been looking forward to the series for a long time, waiting impatiently for them to release it in the states.

Turns out they released the series as one book. A 925 page deadweight. (As in, I can barely carry it. As in, I am experiencing physical pain trying to hold it up and read it on the subway.)

I don't particularly like long works of anything.  I firmly believe a film should be no longer than 90 minutes.  925 pages does not exactly fit in the realm of 'what Melissa can handle without going completely bonkers.'

But I may have mentioned once or one million times that I will follow Murakami to the ends of the earth. So, I'm reading this 925 page book, because, when it comes to Murakami, I become Cyborg (or perhaps, in this case, sighborg?) Melissa.

What I love about Murakami's work is the straightforward manner in which his stories are presented.  I am fascinated by his ability to stretch both the mundane and the extraordinary, to take you on the most underwhelming, are we there yet, journey, then wallop you with a ball meets bat crack.

In my mind, his books are not without flaws but that is also what makes them appealing, as if he is one of his own characters, simply making breakfast, getting on the train, making a go at this whole novel thing.  He has a strange way of making a story feel painstaking and effortless at the same time.

I don't have too much of a desire to analyze his books.  I like to be with them for a time and get on with my life.

But I wanted to share this.  Because this is the only way I can adequately express what I love about Murakami.  This right here:

The moon had been observing the earth close-up longer than anyone.  It must have witnessed all the phenomena occurring -- and all of the acts carried out -- on this earth.  But the moon remained silent; it told no stories.  All it did was embrace the heavy past with cool, measured detachment.  On the moon there was neither air nor wind.  Its vacuum was perfect for preserving memories unscathed.  No one could unlock the heart of the moon.  Aomame raised her glass to the moon and asked, "Have you gone to bed with someone in your arms lately?"

The moon did not answer.

"Do you have any friends?" she asked.

The moon did not answer.

"Don't you get tired of always paying it cool?"

The moon did not answer.

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: A New Year

For weeks all my photos have been trapped in the camera. I lost my memory card reader.  In other words, it was sitting quietly with all the other gadgets, right in front of my face. But it was not until I gave in and purchased another one that Tyler looked over and said, 'Hey, look. It's right there.'

So, I had been wanting to share my New Year's day in Prospect Park.  For you to know me, really know me, you must know I am obsessed with trees.  To spend the first day of a new year with them (oh and Tyler) was, in my mind, perfection.

Because the access to the pictures didn't quite match up with the day I say Happy New Year, again (waves).

And you have no idea, how much I wanted to join that boy in a tree. 

Man On Wire

I know this documentary, Man on Wire, came out years ago.  Somehow, it stayed on my radar all these years as a film I wanted to see but never saw.  I always remembered the blue cover and the tiny figure of a man, just a speck in the sky.  I finally saw it the other day.

For those who haven't seen the film, it's about Philippe Petit, a wire walker who crossed (danced, tip-toed, conquered) a wire between the top of the Twin Towers in 1974.  The film follows the journey from idea to execution.  It is illegal to do such a dangerous stunt.  To hear from the men and women involved in this enormous undertaking is fascinating.

Two 'images' struck me in the film.  Both, just anecdotes.  One from Philippe himself.  He sat in a dentist's office and saw a photo of the planned Twin Towers in a magazine.  They hadn't even been built yet and he envisioned a wire between the two.  A wire he decided, at that moment, he would walk.

The second from his girlfriend at the time, Annie, who said Philippe had decided she would be his girlfriend, sent flowers, chocolates, made phonecalls, showed up at her door and asked for endless dates until she agreed.

This kind of certainty impressed me.  To know what you want, to have such a singular purpose, and chase it until it is yours. 

I thought it was an appropriate sentiment to bring to a new year. 

Have you seen the film?  Anything you wish you chase in this life?