Phyllis Diller: Opening Comedy Doors

Phyllis Diller (1917-2012) died Monday at the age of 95. She began her comedy career after age 40. I first remember her as a kid, when I was allowed to stay up and watch Ed Sullivan. Who was this woman waving a cigarette holder, hair looking electrocuted, with an infectious cackle, and a husband named Fang?

She was hilarious with great lines, superb delivery, and self deprecating humor. She opened the comedy door for women. A lot of comedy is in the act, but when I read some of her lines, they stood on their own. I appreciate good writing and a chuckle. Hope these make you smile and remember a funny lady.

My husband fell in a river right in front of me and drowned. I rushed to the bank but he had already withdrawn all his money.

A terrible thing happened to me last night again - nothing

The only thing my husband and I have in common is that we were married on the same day.

Whatever you may look like, marry a man of your own age: as your beauty fades, so will his eyesight.

Ice Fishing Story - Perspective

A quick story to illustrate perspective. Here in Texas we hit 80 degrees today. Crazy for January. My husband chats with a product person in Thief River Falls, MN - it was bizarre cold below zero. He went to pump gas and his hand froze on the handle. He had to get material out of his car to help defray the cold. Ray asked, "Why no gloves?" John said, "Well, it hadn't really been that cold yet""

Oh yeah? Here in Texas, we had a morning that was 28. Ray and I both have gloves, hats, and afghans in the car - just in case. If something happens, we don't want to freeze to death.

Perspective.

Here's a super funny story. John had to call Onstar. His keys were locked in the car. Onstar said, "Your car is in the lake. " He said, "No, it's on the lake. We're ice fishing." The Onstar personnel (calling from Florida were confused and didn't grasp the concept). "But, sir, your car is IN the lake," they insisted. "No, it's ON the lake. Just open the "damn" door." They finally complied, but reluctantly.

Perspective. Keep that in mind for your tales.

Hello 2012

2012 is the year of more technology. Here's Ray's interpretation of his media room ceiling courtesy of his iPad2 kaleidoscope photoshop program. The Anaheim souvenir rally monkey (only one) hangs from the light fixture. However, with some stylus maneuvering, Ray created art (and gave me permission to use it - yes it's gonna cost me (!))

2011 proved challenging as I published my book on Smashwords and Amazon. I'm very technologically inhibited, but my goal is to keep learning, pushing buttons, and keeping up with social media, publicity, and promotion.

It is a zoo world. But like the tales in my book, I shall conquer my fears, work on my author page, seek outlets for my work, and try to update my website . WordPress, so far, is winning. (Easy to use? I don't think so.)

If it all works, I achieve more booksignings and sales. Another resolution for 2012, is to work on my next collection of humorous essays. I'm a few chapters in and there are plenty of laughs in store.

I wish my fellow writers - Ann, Sharon, Rich, Arly, Bonnie, Sheryl et al TWW - an excellent 2012.

Happy Writing (and publishing) and technology!

TWW Marketing Seminar: Chuck Sambuchino

Chuck Sambuchino, author and editor, was the guest speaker at Trinity Writers' Workshop seminar Marketing Your Writing. He's the author of How to Survive a Garden Gnome Attack and could provide information from both an author's standpoint and from the editing side.

Deb McNeill and Rosie Povar discussed writing, publishing, and the challenges both present today.

Randy Cook and Alton Bostick - well these two are trouble. You just don't know what they are talking about. Tall tales, that's for sure.

Rich Ochoa, author of Life Rolls Onand One Way Ticket to Anywhere hawked his books. His humor and humanity shine through his memoirs.

Lots of mingling and enthusiasm. Everyone came away with a greater appreciation for the effort needed to write and publish.

One key - Put down the remote, get the butt in a chair, and WRITE!

Halloween Flash

Happy Meal Horror

A ghost plunked gobs of worms into the All Soul's decay stew. The witch stirred her delicacy. It simmered, deadly toxins wafted through the dreary unforsaken mansion. The lid clanked. "I must slay a man tonight," she cackled. "Conjured from alleyways, an insalubrious alcoholic."

Daemons reassured her, "We'll add toadstools in one hour." She nodded, whisked her broom to the docks plucking a ripe sailor. She returned. Goblins contributed nightshade salad to the impending feast.

Brandishing razor sharp fingernails, the witch slashed her victim's neck. "Bloody rum toddies for all." Midnight chimed. Vampires raised goblets. "To death."

Happy Halloween!

Focus

A wealth of information creates a poverty of attention - Herbert Simon, psychologist.

This will be a short post. I'm having trouble focusing. Actually I was driving home the other day (my one hour commute) and thinking about how I used to feel I accomplished more. I seemed to read more, go to more movies, got together with friends and hung out. What am I doing with my time?

I definitely spend more time on the computer and it can be choppy - go read a book, but get up and check something. My concentration has diminished. There's a new term "executive function" which contains cognitive skills allowing us to control thoughts and impulses. I need to work on that.

There's so much information today and the world is changing rapidly. Our minds and processes have to evolve too. But there still are key factors: Pay attention, listen. I'll repeat that one -actually listen to someone if you are having a conversation. Read. Focus.

Oops ... gotta go check something.

9/11 - Today and Ten Years Ago

September 11, 2011. It's a quiet Sunday. Blue skies. Ray's settling in for a day of NFL television viewing. His exercise will be running outside to the grill - slow cooking some pork ribs. I've got U.S.Open Tennis Women's Final dvr'd (ten years ago, I'd be taping, now DVR is a verb). He hosted his monthly poker crew last night (and won 3rd place). Today we straightened up, vacuumed, and I just completed our laundry loads. Life at the Faries household - all the "new normal", kinda the same as the old. But is it?

One year ago August, Linda T. and I visited New York City. We enjoyed fabulous weather, yummy meals, superb theater musical, and a visit to the World Trade Center site. This statue is outside of Trinity Church. We had hushed moments, and also were amazed at the hustle bustle energy of new construction.

Ten years ago, 2001, Ray and I spent a week enjoying New York City - US Open tennis, Mets, Yankees, bagels, and pizza. We left the city on September 1st. On September 11th, we watched television in horror - the towers coming down, the areas we walked cloaked in smoldering ruin.

My sister visited NYC that October - took the train up from Delaware and enjoyed the hospitality of a city still in shock, but hardy and welcoming and encouraging and friendly. She bought me this FDNY t-shirt, and I'm wearing it today to honor the firefighters, the first responders, the victims, and the survivors.

Ten years later, we still remember and yet so much has happened. Two sons became Marines, did their duty, and are now employed civilians utilizing skills learned from Uncle Sam. I've changed jobs. Ray's changed jobs. Our 401k plummeted this Friday - see nothing has changed.

Ray's grandparents are gone. Other friends and family have passed. Everyone's a little older, a little grayer (and yes, that includes Ray and me). Ten years encompasses so much LIFE.

9/11 tributes today and in the future bring tears to the eyes and cheers for America. The Statue of Liberty still stands proud in New York's harbor, sends a message of hope and peace and welcomes huddled masses.

United States of America ... liberty and justice for all.

August Vacation Mode

Living simply is voluntary poverty - Seneca the Younger. Well, the heck with that. I'm still in vacation mode and decided my August blog is dedicated to travel sights, wallowing in wealth at the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, NC., and eschewing simple living.

Our life is frittered away by detail ... Simplify, simplify, simplify! Simplicity of life and elevation of purpose - Henry David Thoreau. Sorry Mr. Thoreau. I loved the attention to detail at the Biltmore.

The world is never the same once a good poem has been added to it - Dylan Thomas

My poems are hymns of praise to the glory of life - Edith Sitwell.

Thomas Wolfe Memorial

The minute-winning days, like flies, buzz home to death, and every moment is a window on all time. Thomas Wolfe

The Old Kentucky Home, the boardinghouse where Thomas Wolfe was raised, is now a memorial in Asheville, NC. Here, Thomas, the youngest of eight, learned about people, life, and angst. His brilliant young mind absorbed it all for a sprawling autobiographical novel, Look Homeward Angel. It was a critic's darling, but touched a nerve in Asheville. Now, a favored son, Thomas Wolfe's childhood and memory is kept alive in the twenty-nine rooms. His writing loomed large in the twentieth century, but alas he died at not quite thirty-eight years old. Fortunately his words stay in print and continue to influence writers today.

O mortal and perishing love, born with this flesh and dying with this brain, your memory will haunt the earth forever.

And now the voyage out. Where? Thomas Wolfe

Ray and I enjoyed the tour, then relaxed on the front porch, contemplating the long ago bustle of boardinghouse life.

Large shoes to fill in the world of letters.

Thomas Wolfe's father, a stonecutter, imported this marble angel from Italy. It now stands in Oakdale Cemetary in Hendersonville, NC.

...and the soft stone smile of an angel, is touched by that dark miracle of chance which makes new magic in a dusty world. Thomas Wolfe(1900 - 1938)

Critique: Opinion NOT Fact

Enjoyed Saturday morning at Trinity Writers' Workshop. Such an eclectic group of writers and personalities. I did not read today, but I often learn more from hearing, sharing, and learning from others' works.

Just like a family, TWW has a vast variety of personalities and sometimes one can sense that someone's on edge, got their dander up, and not pleased with a critique.

Well, tough dookies, as we say when we invoke First Amendment. Not everyone likes everyone's work. It's opinion, not fact and you have to truly take a critique with a grain of salt. Sometimes a cliche fits the moment.

I know for some readings, I have not truly heard enough of the story to give a full assessment. Nonetheless, I can say that , for that chapter, I'm interested. I want to know more. Or the writing is not worthy of the full story. That happens sometimes. I might not like the genre or even know enough about it (i.e. Christian romance). However, I can decide if I like the writing itself and I feel qualified to comment, correct, and suggest action/pacing/tension for that chapter. The author can than accept my judgement, throw it out as crap, or have hurt feelings. Oh well.

Group critique is truly equitable. Sometimes one person's comment can generate a whole free form discussion and evolve into a new path for the author. It's often carried through to lunch and beyond.

Writers are sensitive creatures. We live in our little office worlds and emerge with paper. That paper can represent so much hope. Trinity Writers' Workshop is a group that seeks the best from its authors. The truth can hurt, but can also foster genius. Critique is the pathway light.

Happy Birthday Dad: My Writing/Editing Hero

Getting old ain't for sissies - Bette Davis

George Lewis Crowther, born July 15, 1931, is my father and my hero. He is still my spellchecker/editor and will politely email me any blog corrections. He trundles to the gym daily, mows his own yard, climbs steps to retrieve items upstairs, and hauls laundry downstairs to his basement. He works the New York Times crossword puzzle (in pencil, not pen), mails me amusing cartoons, and runs errands with his older sister. Dessert at every meal is the key to happiness.


My father gained his love of cars from his father, who died at a young age. My dad fondly recalls hanging at a local garage, hearing car discussions and debates. To this day, he takes the train with friends to the Philly Auto Show, hops in and out of shiny vehicles, and gathers brochures. Call him in for car negotiations - he can finagle a bargain.

An old man in a house is a good sign - Hebrew saying



Age is mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter - Satchel Paige.

Dad married his high school sweetheart, Juanita Shutters. They showed us kids - me, David, and Lori - how to be happily married. Truly, a respectful couple who worked together to build a really nice life. Mom's been gone close to twenty years now. Dad's maintained the house, done some redecorating, and stays up really late (that's his one bold break from life with Mom).





Wrinkles should merely indicate where the smiles have been - Mark Twain

Lots of smiles through the years. His work ethic, family ethic, and a sunny disposition have garnered good friends and good times. Emails replace phone calls, but the laughter zooms through the air. I'm very fortunate to say Happy Birthday, Dad! and to wish him good health for many years to come.

The family with an old person in it possesses a jewel - Chinese saying

We are rich beyond compare.
(not that you're old yet, Dad)

Cheers!

Spring Frenzy - More Flowers

I wanted to take off my shoes at the arboretum and wriggle my toes in this grass. No weeds. Perfection. A blank slate, so to speak. Spring inspiration. I've been jotting words, phrases, and half-assed haiku. Then again, let's just enjoy the absolute clarity of green grass.

Nature is always serious - does not jest with us. Ralph Waldo Emerson

Accuse not Nature, she hath done her part;Do thou but thine - John Milton/Paradise Lost

Believe me, the arboretum has done its part to make nature shine

Nature's above art - Shakespeare/ King Lear

Follow the Wave

Anyone caught in undertow feels powerless. Anyone knocked over by a strong wave appreciates safety on dry land. The rough and tumble spinning confusion of where's up? and where's down? is scary.

The Wave by Susan Casey thoroughly researches rogue waves, gargantuan freaks of nature that arise from seemingly nowhere. From the research vessel RRS Discovery, trapped in the North Atlantic, to surfer experiences with Laird Hamilton in Hawaii, Casey explores shipwreck cases, talks with scientists, and witnesses firsthand the power of the ocean. Tsunamis can threaten the global shipping system, and there's so much yet to learn.

p. 7 The force of waves is hard to overstate. An eighteen-inch wave can topple a wall built to withstand 125 mile-per-hour winds. Imagine surviving a hundred foot wave.

p.14 Describing the giant wave Pe'ahi aka Jaws: The white feathering as the wave begins to crest, the spectrum of blues from rich lapis to pale turquoise, the roundness of the barrel, the billowing fields of whitewater when it comes crashing down ...

p.44 Discussing tow surfing: There was so much fury in this wave, a meat-grinder-cement-truck-wrath-of-God fury, that even now to watch it on video is a sobering experience.

The Wave is well written in layman's terms. The book gives a thorough overview of various hotspots in the world for rogue waves, and explains how researchers work on prediction models. The various characters - well respected scientists and surfers - make for an odd yet intriguing pairing of knowledge. Susan Casey's respect and wonder for her subject shines through.

As someone who has come up sputtering from teensy waves, I enjoyed this book and found it fascinating.

H.L.Mencken: Penetrating so many secrets, we cease to believe in the unknowable. But there it sits, nevertheless, calmly licking its chops. (p.63)

Moving the Merchandise

In America, it is sport that is the opiate of the masses. (Russell Baker) Ray and I hosted a sports theme party, and in decorating, I realized how much sports paraphenalia we own. It is brilliant merchandising, and I'm thinking authors need to apply the sport model to book marketing.

There is no business like show business - except sports business. (William J. Baker) In a recent WSJ article, it was noted that writers are using iPads and sex toys to bump up sales and generate buzz. Use of social media, contest drawings, and hustle are part of the author's job. "It's no longer a top down media culture," says Paul Bogaards from Knopf Doubleday. Instead skimpy advertising budgets, Borders bankruptcy, scaled back marketing and publicity departments, and more writing competition necessitate extra effort to get noticed.

Back to sports. It's no longer just the game. It's pre, post, and halftime entertainment. Athletes are celebrities, and authors need to do the same to get the spotlight on them.

"Freebies such as bookmarks or key chain logos generate reader goodwill and may provide an author with more Facebook friends, a larger email list, and can goose preorders, which gets attention of publishers." It's truly a juggling act with razzle dazzle.

One author, Christopher McDougall (Born to Run, 2009) throws cases of books in his car and drives to races, running clinics, and athletic retailer conventions. "I found that slapping the shoe leather is what works." Face to face contact, and one sale can spread the word to umpteen others.

Amidst the hoopla, there is one thing to keep in mind. Just like an athlete still must practice and play to remain in the public eye, an author still must write. Promotion is important, but you need the muscle (i.e.words, plot, character) to back it up.

Play ball!

Irish Tale of Murder

If you want a good read that takes place in the old sod, pick up Faithful Place by Tana French.

Her characters are rich and she moves easily from the past to the present, as Detective Frank Mackey is pulled back to his youth and family as he investigates a murder.

Poor Rosie Daly. Everyone thought she managed to escape Faithful Place, a downtrodden Irish neighborhood, to seek a new life in London. Frank was left behind waiting for her, thinking he was stood up. He chose to leave too, on that fateful night and ultimately became a cop, working undercover. Now, he gets a call from his sister Jackie that a suitcase was found stuffed in a fireplace and it's Rosie's. She didn't move on after all.

He's sucked back into family dynamics - alcoholic father, demanding mother, resentful older brother, and tentative younger brother, plus a loyal sister. Everyone knows everyone's business and the neighborhood is suspicious of Frank's motives as he uncovers Rosie's body, discovers betrayals, and seeks to resolve his feelings for Rosie. Mackey's juggling his beloved nine year old daughter, Holly, and her desire to know family. Plus, he has to contend with his ex-wife and job priorities.

French's writing is as smooth as Irish whiskey. She has a fine ear for dialogue and pacing. Her previous books In The Woods and The Likeness are equally captivating reads. Here's a sample description: (p.108) The air was so cold that it made a high fine ringing sound somewhere miles above us, like breaking crystal; her breath was hoarse and warm on my throat, her hair smelled like lemon drops and I could feel the fast shake of her heart trembling against my ribs. Then I let go of her and watched her walk away, one last time.

(p.134) I had spent my whole adult life growing around a scar shaped like Rosie Daly's absence.

Read The Faithful Place - pity Rosie's lost youth, commiserate with Frank on years of wonder and loss, and fight, cry, and drink with the Mackey family to past and present sorrows. Once you finish the book, a bit of the old sod sticks with you.

Whimsical Winterfest

"I think we're not in Miami, anymore."

Adrift on an ice floe in Bedford, Texas, Felicia Flamingo, hopes she finds dry land before Super Bowl XLV begins.

Aaah, I've claimed a deck chair. Now where's the cabana boy service?

I'm doing my best to help. Push harder

Brushing snow and chipping ice works up a thirst.

What do you think, folks? A kid's picturebook? Everyone loves flamingos, but how about that snow plotline twist?

Super Snow Bowl

It could be rain, It could be snow, Weathermen never know - Willard Scott/NBC Today Show 11/27/95

The weathermen actually did get it right this week in Dallas-Ft.Worth. Ice on Tuesday, temperatures in the teens Wednesday and Thursday, then snow up to three inches or more accumulation on Friday. Bingo! All plows all the time on any Road to the Super Bowl - Cowboy Stadium in Arlington, Texas. Our visitors from Pittsburgh and Green Bay must regret packing shorts, sunscreen, and a swimsuit. Hopefully, they brought an ice scraper for their car rental.

Some are weatherwise, some are otherwise - Ben Franklin, Poor Richard's Almanac, December 1735.

Nature is always serious - does not jest with us Ralph Waldo Emerson 1883

Nature, as we know her, is no saint - Ralph Waldo Emerson 1844

Day Four. Cabin Fever. To heck with writing poems about the ice, snow, lovely flakes falling so delicately - Joanne Faries

A to Z Songs Galore

A New Year's project involved buying a new CD shelf system, and then alphabetizing my music collection. I had CDs strewn in various cupboards, and categorized by Motown, Broadway, 70s, et al. However, some musicians stretched borders. It was time to use A,B,C ... easy as 1, 2, 3 (so indeed Michael Jackson joined the Jackson Five and Janet Jackson under the letter J) I uncovered some moldy oldies and genuine gems. I decided to start at the very beginning (i.e. from the Sound of Music), a very good place to start and spend my year listening to my collection.

The very first CD to kick off the project was 3 Doors Down - Six Pack of Hits, then 38 Special Greatest Hits, and 5th Dimension Greatest (love Marilyn McCoo singing One Less Bell to Answer - absolutely heartrending). Onward into the As, and currently I'm at the BeeGees - how fun is that? I listen to most music in the car with my long drive (up to an hour) to and from work. Oh, I'll punch ahead on songs that aren't awesome, but I'll listen all the way through to something like Beach Boys Good Vibrations or God Only Knows.

Great tunes often connect to others. One of my favorite songs is Eagles Best of My Love, and then there's Mamas & Papas California Dreaming.

So many songs bring back memories of places, good times, and friends and family. There are a lot of current musicians with great lyrics, catchy tunes, and hooks. Ce Lo Green's Forget You (yes, that's the "clean" version) is a toe tapper - I have the Gwyneth Paltrow Glee cut of that song in a compiliation. Jason Mraz, Bruno Mars, and The Script are young artists with talent.

Sometimes I want silence when I write, other times - crank the volume to 11 and write along to the muse.

Oh yeah, The Muse, opened for U2 on their tour and they have a unique sound.

What's your inspiration? Confess to your fave corny tune. C'mon Bee Gees Night Fever, Abba Dancing Queen, George Michael Faith, Hall & Oates Rich Girl, Wizard of Oz Soundtrack Somewhere Over the Rainbow. I can go on and on ...and yes, I like that song On and On by Stephen Bishop.

Silent Courtesy

Reflecting on a column in the WSJ (1/15/11 Eric Felten), I agree that we have "this tendency to careen from extreme to extreme - either allowing and enduring behavior ungoverned by the slightest scruple or enforcing ridiculous regimens of hypercorrectitude. Missing is the virtue that sits in the middle, the common sense of common courtesy." In his article he discusses Amtrak's Quiet Car concept and how its use has gotten blown out of proportion. It is a place for no cell phones, no music thumping from headphones,etc. However, it is a "cauldron of simmering rage" where silent scolds frown upon a rustle of paper or a quiet conversation.

It's daunting, this fine line between life and technology and humanity. We participate in everyone's public cell conversation. We can't tune out the bleed of headphone tunes. Everything is louder, and there is no privacy. How can we restore order and common courtesy?

Roped off space to restore manners seems ridiculous.

I stand vigilant, shushing talking movie-goers and hating texters. I appreciate service counters that request a patron not use a cell phone during a transaction. For goodness sake, talk to the checker and take care of your business. There has to be some order.

I shall use Trinity Writers' Workshop as an example. A writer reads a piece, has fifteen minutes. A timer buzzes, then listeners are called upon one at a time to critique. Oh, enthusiasm sometimes allows a few blurts, but in general everyone gets a turn to speak. It's all handled in a dignified fashion and much is accomplished.

Silence is the universal refuge ...our inviolable asylum, where no indignity can assail

Henry David Thoreau

Life is not so short but that there is always time enough for courtesy

Ralph Waldo Emerson