Mile In Mine

The Ascent Of Mount Homework

2012-02-12T20:34:00.000-08:00

Perhaps the following would be better in list form, but what the hell...

In the past week, for ONE class, I read a two hundred page nonfiction book and took three single-spaced pages worth of notes revisiting what I found informative (or particularly intriguing); read a twenty-five page Flannery O'Connor story and divided it into scenes; digested ten of my peers' three to five page "problem" stories, added comments throughout, and concluded with a page long critique; chose a poem that featured a voice other than the poet's own.

What a brain full, courtesy of the mind altering "Elements of Story, taught by Michael Macgregor at PSU.

My InDesign coursework was also a hefty pile, equally as stunning to undertake as it was to find a way to get it done. My Marketing/PR internship responsibilities with the NW Film Center consisted of developing loads of content for their incredible newsroom, and I went to my first Opera and wrote about it for Oregon Music News. I also signed on to volunteer with Pathos (PSU's literary magazine) in a graphic design capacity, but before that I offered to secure a line-up of musicians and artists for a three hour fundraiser at my oldest son's elementary school.

Good times.

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Ira Glass And The Elements Of Storytelling

2012-01-28T20:43:00.000-08:00

Ira Glass (of NPR's This American Life) speaks about the two main building blocks of great broadcast storytelling. Chiefly, he discusses anecdote and "the moment of realization."

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Laura Gibson's La Grande Video

2012-01-27T19:52:00.000-08:00

Pronounced Luh Grand (in the Old West way, rather than the French), Laura Gibson's new LP is a surround sound of ghostly tales and dusty decadence. The haunting video for its title track can be seen below.

In a recent NPR interview, director Alicia J. Rose explains her vision:

"I wanted to make a video for "La Grande" that was both spectral and romantic, with a Hitchcockian otherworldly feel. When I first listened to the track, I instinctively felt the story of lost spirits caught in a forgotten place. When I asked Laura what her inspiration was behind the song, and she told me she wrote it during a stay in the newly reopened, almost 200-year-old Hot Lake Hotel in La Grande, Oregon, I started doing research about the place and fell madly in love. It's a hidden but sprawling old hotel with a steam-billowing 208-degree natural hot lake on the property. The opportunity to shoot the entire video there went far beyond kismet (it had never been captured on film) so the place itself as well as its history served as powerful characters in our story."

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Emily Wells

2012-01-26T19:17:00.000-08:00

Nine years ago in Los Angeles, multi-instrumentalist/singer Emily Wells became a stepmother. A new triangle was formed by two loving parents and one little boy. Six years later, the parents decided to go their separate ways, as couples often do, and Emily was left with a terrible sadness, because the small family was no more.That grief became its own wound. And though her life felt once again open, “like stepping out into an expanse” after parenthood’s powerful and ever-present responsibilities, Emily could not shake the sense of loss that was now rooted in her heart.

She went to Topanga Canyon, a small town in the Santa Monica Mountains of western L.A. County, to find solace and to do what musicians do best, which is make music from life experience. Nine months later, she’d written Mama. Mixed in New York and mastered in L.A., Mama is Emily’s third full-length. It is the most “honest and totally explicit” of her albums to date.

“Before Mama, I felt like I was writing in code.”

The lyrics in this fresh, divergent album are clearer than what came before. They are shared “with honesty, no bullshit.” And though Emily is known for her ethereal voice, this time around its quality is more aerial than usual. Perhaps this is because the music is now stripped down and gorgeously blunt, like the landscape of Topanga itself, which is “beautiful and clean” and easily gives way to elements of air and light. Mama is less metaphor, and more visibility. With Mama, Emily embraced a far greater amount of single takes than she had on previous albums, wanting to capture “the feel of musicians playing live.” Samples are most often played on a sample pad, as with the track “Passenger” (see video below), which is a melodic lullaby that loops the delicate yet willful refrain, “I’m a passenger. I’m a passenger. Give me the keys I want to drive.”

Above all, Mama is an album that reflects the reality of both the nurturing process and the need for space; the type of dualism inherent in taking on any relationship while still trying to hold onto one’s separate self. But if Mama is strung together with a sympathetic material, Emily’s accompanying EP Stepmom turns toward a sharper corner of the story, lingers in the charged emotion and unsettled grief of finding one's way among family, partnering, motherhood, love. Stepmom emits a physical intensity unlike Mama, though the two are not so thematically removed from each other in the end. Mama releases April 10th, with Stepmom following later in the year.

Releasing two new albums in 2012 is a feat for any musician, but Emily is nothing if not busting at the seams with creative energy. Needless to say, she didn't stop at releasing two. Together with Japanese-American hip hop producer Dan the Automator (Crudo), she formed a passion project called Pillow Fight. She is the lyricist/singer and Dan the Automator is the music man extraordinaire. Their self-titled full length will drop soon so stay tuned, because Pillow Fight’s music is a crowd stopper. Guests on the album include Kid Koala and Lateef the Truthseaker (Latyrx, The Maroons, Quannum Projects). Both Pillow Fight and Emily Wells are scheduled to play SXSW 2012.

Emily Wells plays the Doug Fir Lounge this Thursday night with special guest Timmy Straw opening. Doors at 8pm. Show at 9pm. $10. 21+

Originally published on Oregon Music News.

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Graffiti6

2012-01-22T16:07:00.000-08:00

Nice example of contextual placement. The chalk grid in the background is like a typeface that is meant to "show" you this guy: Jamie Scott. He is one half of the London duo Graffiti6.

When I hear him sing I hear a woman's Motown voice. Hard to believe it comes from a genre piece "fantasy looking" guy like this, but it's true. I suppose that's why he's the visual centerpiece of Graffiti6 instead of producer Tommy D, the other half.

I think Tommy D makes a very fancy drag queen, and keeps a pretty rockin' blog.

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Pass The Mic

2012-01-17T18:58:00.000-08:00

Who said Portland doesn't have emcees? Produced by Terminill for Flatline Studios, Pass The Mic is the city's ultimate rap cipher and the opening track for Flatline Studios Complilation Vol. 1. Inspired by the Pepsi Smash campaign of late, the crisp audio-video collaboration puts 8 of the city's hottest, most explosive rappers on display. Shot and directed by V1Creative.

I'm looking forward to mining the depths of this culture and their current happenings in PDX for Zouch Magazine. I'll post that feature article after Zouch publishes it.

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InDesign

2012-01-16T15:15:00.000-08:00

Here's an example of my first foray into using Adobe InDesign. Took just a few minutes. Prompted by instructor Abbey Gaterud--Interim Director of Ooligan Press and all around publishing guru--the WR 562 (Book Design and Production course at PSU) students were to take a word and make it "look" like that word's meaning. I chose swiftly. Had a good time with it.

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The Packard Automotive Plant

2012-01-14T16:25:00.000-08:00

These pictures were taken today at The Packard Automotive Plant in Detroit, Michigan by my very lovely friend Halley. Many more are just waiting to be viewed at her blog.

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A Long Way Down

2012-01-13T13:27:00.000-08:00

by Nick Hornby
(author of High Fidelity, About a Boy, How to Be Good, Fever Pitch and more)

I'm not sure why I loved this fictional novel so much, why I was held captive by every sentence that flowed across the page, but I know that I did, and I was. Maybe it's because it was about suicide yet somehow manages to be both hilarious and truly moving without managing to be a tearjerker, or to preach. Maybe it's because the whole thing was pinpointed with irony, humor, sarcasm, and emotional wreckage, yet still shed a diffuse light on the dilemma of taking vs. keeping your life. The four characters, each of whom took turns rambling off in their own particular way, seemed to show AND tell who they were without going down any long corridors that could have conjured sympathy. These diverging stories didn't necessarily change my life or re-shape my world view, but it was an absurdly fascinating and remarkable novel. Admittedly, I most enjoyed the British slang.

A few things I earmarked:

Maureen (thinking, as always): People have children for all sorts of reasons, I know, but one of those reasons must be that children growing up make you feel that life has a sense of momentum--kids send you on a journey. (p 100)

Jess (talking, as always): "Do people still like them [the Rolling Stones] in America? No one does here [England]." (p 147)

J.J.: Surviving in whatever life you're living means lying, and lying corrodes the soul, so take a break from the lies for one minute. (p 258)

Martin: Neither my ex-wife's scorn nor my daughters' crayons had been as instructive as Jess might have wished. (p 284)

JJ: I had wanted to kill myself, not because I hated living, but because I loved it...[we] love life, but it's all fucked up... (p 299)

Read a thorough Guardian review of the book here.

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A Favorite Quote

2012-01-12T14:45:00.000-08:00

I have written before about the need, in writing, to Show vs. Tell. This short quote sums that idea up beautifully. Well, of course it does. It's credited to Anton Chekhov, a true inspiration.

"Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass."

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Adidas' Ode To Portland

2012-01-10T21:27:00.000-08:00

Whether intentional or not, Adidas' new H3LIUM ZXZ commercial pays a vibrant, heavenly sort of homage to Portland's own Hawthorne Bridge. The shafts of light, the symmetric arc of human body against man-made form, the transfer of grace between gravity and the ethers all come full circle to unwind on the west side of a stunning Willamette River.

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Kill Zone

2012-01-08T18:12:00.000-08:00

Kill Zone is a blog that features "Insider perspectives from today's hottest thriller and mystery writers."

In today's Kill Zone blog post, James Scott Bell explains that the elements of Suspense and Mystery MUST be in EVERY novel in order to make the story both appealing and satisfying to readers. Here's some of what he says:

Conflict
What is the goal of the novel? Is it to entertain? Teach? Preach? Stir up anger? Change the world? Make the author a lot of money? It can be any of these things, but in the end, none of these objectives will work to their full potential unless they forge, in some way, a satisfying emotional experience for the reader.

And what gets the reader hooked emotionally? Trouble. Readers are gripped by the terrible trials a character goes through. That's where conflict comes in...because true character is only revealed in crisis.

Suspense
Suspense means to "delay resolution so as to excite anticipation." Another way to say this is that it's the opposite of having a predictable story. We've all had the experience of being so caught up in a story that we have to keep turning the pages. This is where writing technique can be studied, learned, and applied. There are various ways you can end a chapter so readers are compelled to read on.

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Elements of Story

2012-01-06T15:21:00.000-08:00

Below is a partial description of the "Elements of Story" course I will be taking this term. It's taught by Michael McGregor, professor of nonfiction at Portland State University and recent recipient of The Leslie Bradshaw Fellowship through Literary Arts.

"Story, at its most basic level, is the imposition of the human on the world...and it is fundamental. Lawyers use story in the courtroom, psychologists use it with their clients, and religious leaders use it to address their congregations. Many others--politicians, entrepreneurs, historians, musicians, etc.--explain their thoughts through stories.

"In the writing realm, most people understand that story is central to fiction and theater but few realize that elements of story shape every poem, every piece of nonfiction, every movie, every newspaper or magazine article, even every advertisement or press release.

"In this class, we'll study story from many angles...[and consider which] elements constitute [an effective] story. Also, [we'll experience] how story can be used to give any communication, written or oral, more impact.

"Over the course of the term, students will create both fictional and non-fictional stories of their own, delivering them orally and in writing."

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A Case of Display (Take Two)

2012-01-03T14:33:00.000-08:00

Richard North Patterson once said, "Writing is rewriting." How true. Every writer who blooms into an author does so through the metamorphosis of revision. All craft is like this. Architecture, painting, music, photography...each artform becomes more polished as its artist takes on new ways of "seeing" their own work, of "killing their darlings," which is such a necessary part of the process. And perhaps it's necessary to learn to love that part, since repeatedly pouring over a given work pulls out the purpose of the piece, and adds both agility and girth to a writer's creative muscle. As Bernard Malamund gushed, "Revision is one of the exquisite pleasures of writing."

In terms of revising poetry, I think of what Rita Dove said, "Lots of younger poets don't enjoy this, but in the process of revision I discover things." And from the book Acts of Revision: A Guide For Writers (which I recently came across) edited by Wendy Bishop, Bishop states that "Some, often novice, poets believe authors in this genre are 'born not made,' but...the reverse is more likely. Via revision, poets have a hand in their own nativity."

So here is the second version of a poem I wrote a year ago, which I believe provides some proof to this "nativity" assertion.

A Case of Display

I grew up
In a matchbox
With a large glass window
For audience viewing

In her Sunday suit
There was Granny
Slicking my curly hair
Taut and shiny
As big-ticket ringlets
Around her fingers

Pushed forward
By Daddy
To press my young collagen
Against the glass
To purse my lips at strange men
Whose money he esteemed

The audience and its nod
Supreme
Mommy’s beaming face
Eyes that did not smile
Her hands busy
With Scotch Tape and Windex

Until I missed a pirouette

Then Sunday fell away
Stomachs fed on anger
On all sides
Was heard
The clatter of spackled hands
Rebuking the marionette

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Turn Of The Century

2012-01-02T20:31:00.000-08:00

I recently stumbled upon the most fabulous turn of the century tumblr account. Guess what it's called?

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Bedtime Story for Adults

2011-12-30T17:54:00.000-08:00

This is for all you tired, ornery parents out there. The book is called Go the FUCK to Sleep. It's written by Adam Mansbach, illustrated by Ricardo Cortes, and read here by Samuel L. Jackson. Enjoy!

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IFC's Portlandia Takes to the Stage

2011-12-30T14:52:00.000-08:00

Last Tuesday night, Fred Armisen (Saturday Night Live, Trenchmouth) and Carrie Brownstein (Wild Flag, Sleater-Kinney) brought their IFC original comedy Portlandia to the stage. Well, sort of. In front of a full house at Portland’s Hollywood Theatre, the pair unveiled Portlandia: The Tour, a unique six-city circuit that is slated to bring the romanticized and dreamy rendering of Portland to life for fans across the country.

So, why a stage tour for a TV show?

In a recent phone interview, Carrie explained that live shows offer an “earnest, palpable way of relating to the people who are watching the show.” When asked how they chose the setting for each stop on The Tour, Fred simply stated that they “wanted people to feel like they’re visiting us in a living room.” This seems fitting since their first stop was at the intimate Hollywood Theatre where the pair's trial-by-error earnestness lent itself to audience participation via Fred and Carrie’s questions “Should we keep that skit?” and “Was that any good?”

Throughout the evening, the pair ran through a couple of quasi-skits (as themselves), played a few songs, and showed clips from season two, which will premiere on January 6, 2012 on IFC. The new season promises to be every bit as hilarious as the first, if not more so. During the last portion of Tuesday night's tour—the Q&A—the audience members unanimously requested that Fred and Carrie “perform” as Peter and Nance, those disturbingly needy restaurant patrons from season one who just had to know exactly where the menu’s chicken came from. Fred and Carrie obliged, if only for a minute, and then treated their fans to two very different "end of the show" songs.

The first was a Portlandia-esque anthem featuring Carrie on guitar and vocals, Fred on drums, and a local female Portlander on back-up. But it was the second song--a rendition of Prince’s “1999”--that flooded the stage with a whole slew of local talent to accompany Fred and Carrie, including Corin Tucker (Sleater-Kinney, The Corin Tucker Band) belting out the main vocals and Isaac Brock (Modest Mouse) helping out with the chorus.

Everyone knows that Carrie is still an indie rocker, and that Fred once was, but does everyone know that season two will showcase at least nine other rockers, both indie and otherwise? If not, let’s clear things up by revealing that Isaac Brock, Johnny Marr (The Smiths), Joanna Newsom, Eddie Vedder (Pearl Jam), Steve Jones (Sex Pistols), Miranda July, Robin Pecknold (Fleet Foxes), Annie Clark (St. Vincent), and Grass Widow, a band from San Francisco, will all make appearances. But will they play themselves or someone else remains to be seen.

Watch the all female indie punk trio, Grass Widow's "Fried Egg" video here.

When asked if Eddie Vedder has a hidden talent for comedy, Carrie said, “Of course, Eddie is a really funny guy. I think the thing about music is that most of the artists and musicians that we love… are very earnest about their music and their music might be very sort of serious or even have like a darkness or forcefulness to it, but that’s only one aspect of who they are. So, one great thing about working with musicians on a comedy show is that it allows them to showcase a different aspect of their personalities. In some ways, I think that’s why a lot of people say yes, both actors and musicians, [because it's] just an opportunity to have this levity and playfulness that they might not get otherwise, because the show has kind of a loose, casual structure. And they’re allowed to bring whatever they want to the table.”

Also in the second season will be guest stars like Penny Marshall (Laverne and Shirley), Jack McBrayer (30 Rock), Tim Robbins (The Shawshank Redemption), Andy Samberg (SNL), Amber Tamblyn (127 Hours, House) and Kristen Wiig (Bridesmaids, SNL).

Catch the season two premiere of Portlandia on Friday, January 6th, 10/9c only on IFC.

Published on Oregon Music News

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Madapple

2011-12-27T18:09:00.000-08:00

by Christina Meldrum

I took World Religions in college, and certainly went through my fair share of searching out religious "truth" before I was even old enough to legally drink. Thankfully, the need to search is no longer something that burns harshly inside my inquisitive brain. Still, I wish I'd had Madapple at my disposal all those years ago, because it would have blown a lot out of the water (see excerpts below).

Madapple is the story of an isolated young Danish-American girl, Aslaug, forced to live in the deep woods with her invalid mother, surviving on nothing but the homeschooling knowledge of herbology, world religions, ancient and modern languages, and mathematics. Her mother, who swears that Aslaug was a virgin birth, is a tyrant, and a toxic herb addicted madwoman. When she dies, Aslaug is put on trial for her murder, then she is put on trial again, for a different yet similar situation that defies all logic.

An amazing tour de force of information and emotion, Meldrum does well to alternate Madapple chapters between the trials and the six preceding years of Aslaug's life, which are so elusive to the courtroom, but are painted with utter clarity and disturbing tangibility for the reader. It must also be said that each word of this novel is a gem, put in its exact place, never superfluous, always as it should be. Not a syllable was glanced over by this reader, who often leaps over exposition when it drowns the action and the overall plot or character development.

Passages that were incredible:

"And yet, the more Mother teaches me science the more cracks I see, and the more cracks it seems Mother must see. Science describes the world; it doesn't exaplin it: it can describe the universe's formation, but it can't explain why such an event would have occurred, how something can come from nothing. That's the miracle" (p 16).

"Mother once told me. 'The more languages you learn, the more free you will be in your thinking. But, no matter how many languages you know, never trust words to encompass you, to encompass your world. Words are like the physical objects around us that appear to be continuous and whole but are in fact composed of particles too small for the eye to see, for the brain to imagine. Words oversimplify reality. Break open a word, and it's like breaking open a mold. The contents seep free, become something new. Be careful to see the contents, Aslaug. Be wary of confusing the contents with the mold' " (p 58).

"It's only when I see the next-door neighbor roll from behind this screen door, where his face has been pressed like salt to the tongue, bitter, biting, watching me, that I understand" (p 66).

"They've charged me with what they call abuse of a corpse. To clean Mother, bury her, bless her, was to abuse her, they tell me. And now they are cutting her up" (p 69).

"I wouldn't have spoken like this to Mother, but Mother spoke like this to me--and I realize I learned from the way she treated me: I learned fury" (p 175).

"Christianity as it's practiced today doesn't have a leg up on any other faith--although it sure does piss on every other faith, doesn't it? Christ wasn't Christian, for Christ's sake. Christ has a hell of a lot more in common with pagan gods than he does with what the modern Christians suggest he stands for. I mean, look at Dionysus, Mithra, Adonis, Attis. Christ is just another in a long line of gods" (p 218).

"Or maybe the story of Jesus is the story of Dionysus?' she says. 'With a different virgin, a different God? Ever heard of the wedding feast of Cana? When Jesus made water into wine?'

I read it in one of the Gospels,' I say. 'John?'...

...Well, Jesus wasn't the first to perform this miracle. Dionysus did it long before Christ supposedly did. At a celebration in Sidon. But that's the least of it. Dionysus also rose from the dead and was called the "Only Begotten Son," "King of Kings," "Alpha and Omega," "Savior." Names all attributed to Christ. And Dionysus was associated with the ram and the lamb, before Christ....Attis was also a god-man, worshipped in Asia Minor two hundred years before Christ. He was also born in late December, and his mother also was a virgin. Nana. His followers ate bread that symbolized his body. He's been described as a "savior sacrificed for the sake of mankind." Coincidence? He was crucified and traveled deep into the so-called underworld. Hell? After three days--three days--he rose again. Followers referred to him as the Divine Son and the Father....and there's more' " (pgs 222-223).

"...Socrates and Plato and Pythagoras all believed in God long before Jesus showed up, and their God was not the Jewish God. When jesus supposedly started preaching some revolutionary spirituality, all he was really doin was meshing the values of pagan mythology and Judaism" (p 226).

"...she told me stories of the ancient Yuletide festival in Scandinavia, the celebration of the return of the sun, when a log was cut from the center of a tree--the Yule log--and hauled to an open fireplace, where it was kindled and left to burn for twelve days. 'From this,' Mother said, 'came what is now known as the twelve days of Christmas" (p 276).

"The trial taught me that understanding a sequence of events, even down to the most minute detail, does not imply as understanding as to why those events took place" (p 403).

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I Could Love You

2011-12-27T17:15:00.000-08:00

by William Nicholson

Nicholson wrote the screenplays for Shadowlands and Gladiators, two movies on opposite sides of the physical and mental spectrum. With I Could Love You, Nicholson has written his fifth novel, which is focused on relationships seen predominantly through the male-centric eye of an omniscient third person narrator. To say that the narrator is male-centric is an understatement, since it is impossible to read this novel without hearing the same, generalized male perspective come across in each character. This perspective was the novels main flaw, and in the end I was dissuaded from finishing an otherwise good book because I simply could not see the characters as anything else but puppets for their writer. Nicholson's presence was that saturating across all characters. I felt like I was reading him, specifically.

William Nicholson at home in Sussex, England

There was much I liked about this book, however. Mainly, I admired how Nicholson shifted gracefully between points of view (POV). He employed first person singular when his character's thoughts were their own; First person plural when, as narrator, he included himself among his male readers; second person when he spoke directly to the reader; Third person omniscient for all those long expositions and mental meanderings associated with each character.

But back to my gripe about this novel's main flaw: Though this unique, seemingly effortless use of so many points of view was easy to follow--and was actually very informative on a level that couldn't have been reached through one POV alone--it was difficult to grasp the heart of each character (their distinct essence), since what flowed between them like a binding stream was Nicholson, completely palpable and overly burdensome.

Below are several passages I liked:

"You wonder why people stay together when you hear the ways they set out to hurt each other" (p 39).

"Most times he smiles and lets it go, accepting that they see him as a mercenary, a traitor to the caring ethos of medicine, who disfigures helpless women for his gain. Sometimes he teases out the discussion a little further. Do you believe that you must accept the body you were born with, and do nothing to improve it? Would you operate on a face scarred by disfiguring burns? Do you allow the use of make-up? of hair dye? Do you diet and exercise to stay slim? Ah, so it is acceptable to want to manage our body shape so that we look our best. The only area of debate is where we draw the line, and why" (p 55).

"Beauty turns out not to create desire after all. Desire creates beauty" (p 61).

"There was a similar view from the landing window of the house she grew up in, and sometimes she thinks she bought the flat for this momentary echo of home. Not that I was ever really happy there, she reflects. But familiarity isn't the same thing as happiness" (p 84).

"The anger possesses her. She prowls about the house looking for something to smash. She wants her own hurt to be reflected in the world around her" (p 177).

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Critique

2011-12-19T14:44:00.000-08:00

I am surrounded by some of the most beautiful, talented, helpful people. Every day I thank my lucky stars that I moved to Portland two years ago, because there is always a blessing to be found in this place, whether rain or shine (mostly shine, or at least brightness, all you naysayers!).

This city offers itself and its lovely inhabitants up with wit and inspiration like no other place in the world. Thanks to my graduate program in publishing at Portland State University, I was able to find some of the best, most helpful writers to form a critique group. They recently gave the first 100 pages of my manuscript a thorough critique, which was unbelievably inspiring.

See, I didn't think I could add another word to my manuscript, but after I heard what they had to say I realized that I needed two chapters to precede the current first chapter of the book. So, I ended up writing Chapter One and Chapter Two from scratch, mostly, and added 5,000 words in six hours (spread over three days, of course). The flow is better, since it shows my main character's turning point in the "here and now" rather than through flashbacks. Also, there is a ton of dialogue that shows who Nadia (my main character) is before "things happen", which will make her growth all the more exciting and relateable to my audience.

This is why it is so fabulous to have a rich, wide pool of people to collaborate with, and a lush cultural city to provide the resources.

There is no where I would rather be.

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Shout Outs

2011-12-12T11:35:00.000-08:00

I just want to give some shout outs to TWO of my favorite female singer/songwriters & THREE of my favorite female contemporary authors.

MUSICIANS:
Hindi Zahra, amazing Berber Moroccan by way of Paris, France who has the most fabulous, colorful music AND website.

Shara Worden (pic above), of NYC/Michigan music project My Brightest Diamond. Her voice will knock you out with wonder.

AUTHORS:
Hillary Jordan, author of Mudbound and When She Woke.

Mudbound is a story of betrayal, murder, and forbidden love set on a cotton farm in the Mississippi Delta during the height of the Jim Crow era, 1946. The story is told in alternating first-person narratives by the members of two families: the McAllans, the white family that owns the farm; and the Jacksons, a black family that works for the McAllans as share tenants. When two sons, Jamie McAllan and Ronsel Jackson, return from fighting World War II, the unlikely friendship of these brothers-in-arms sets in motion a harrowing chain of events that test the faith and courage of both families. As they strive for love and honor in a brutal time and place, they become players in a tragedy on the grandest scale and find redemption where they least expect it.

When She Woke is a futuristic reimagining of The Scarlet Letter. It follows the experience of Hannah Payne, who has been devoted to church and family all her life. But after she’s convicted of murder, she awakens to a nightmarish new life. She finds herself lying on a table in a bare room, covered only by a paper gown, with cameras broadcasting her every move to millions at home, for whom observing new “chromes”—criminals whose skin color has been genetically altered to match the class of their crime—is a sinister form of entertainment. Hannah is a Red. Her crime is murder. The victim, says the state of Texas, was her unborn child, and Hannah is determined to protect the identity of the father, a public figure with whom she shared a fierce and forbidden love.

Erin Bow, author of Plain Kate, which draws from Russian folktales and focuses on an orphan girl nicknamed Plain Kate who is blamed for witchcraft because of her ability to carve wood. Plain Kate must deal with a real witch and sell her shadow in order to stay alive.

Christina Meldrum, author of Madapple, which tells the story of Danish transplant Maren Hellig and her 16-year-old daughter Aslaug, who live off the land in rural Maine, foraging for wild plants that nourish them physically and spiritually. The pair's mysterious existence is laid bare when Aslaug has to stand trial for her mother's murder.

Ladies,

I HEART each and every one of you, and if any of you ever come to Portland, Oregon the drinks are on me!

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Lisa Cron

2011-11-29T17:27:00.000-08:00

This female extraordinaire spent a decade in publishing before turning to TV and film as a supervising producer and story consultant. She was a lit agent for five years, and is currently an instructor at UCLA Extension's Writers Program. She also wrote the kick ass book to the right. Needless to say, this lady knows her stuff, and, thankfully, I stumbled across her blog last week, Wired for Story. It is an amazing site, a complete treasure trove of tools for both the established and would-be writer alike.

Everything below is straight from Lisa's blog, and offers proof of her awesomeness:

The first goal of any story is to anesthetize the part of the reader’s brain that knows it is a story. When we get lost in a good story, it feels like reality – literally. Recent research has shown that when we read about an action, the same areas of the brain light up as when we actually experience that action. We really are there. As a result, the last thing a reader is able to do (or wants to do for that matter) is analyze how, exactly, the story is creating such a perfect rendition of reality. And so when asked what it is that grabs us about a great story, we say it was the luscious language, the intriguingly complex characters, the witty dialogue, the fresh voice. In other words, we say it’s well written when what we really mean is that it felt like life.

The truth: Writing well is the handmaiden of story. The real goal of every writer is to learn to create that sense of urgency that makes the reader want to know what happens next. This is not triggered by dazzling wordsmithing, but by mastering story itself, and understanding what people are wired to crave from every story they hear. The shorthand answer is: something that just might help them better make it through the night. We turn to story to shed light on the thorny internal problems we face. Stories teach us how to make sense of ourselves, others and the world at large by allowing us to vicariously experience myriad “what ifs.” After all, life is tricky and rife with risk, so what better way to prepare to navigate the one place we’re all headed — the future — than story?

Three things you can do to create a sense of urgency:

1. Make sure you know how your story ends; ask yourself, how does my protagonist’s world view have to shift in order for her to achieve her goal? What does she have to realize that, most likely, she’s spent her whole life avoiding? Then don’t hold back — sew this internal conflict into the story, beginning on the first page, if possible, in the first sentence.

2. Always remember, what draws people into a story is that sense that all is not as it seems. The reader is all too familiar with “business as usual” (read: ho hum), a story is about what happens when something out of the ordinary bursts through that predictable pattern and forces your protagonist to deal with it or else – even if it begins with something as seemingly mundane as the mail arriving a half hour late.

3. Let us know that something specific is at stake, and don’t be shy about telling us what it is, and how it’s affecting your protagonist. Make us feel it by letting us know what it forces your protagonist to confront. How does it differ from her expectations? What action does it trigger?

After all, stories are about how the unexpected forces us to confront our beliefs about ourselves, the world and others – and find out what we’re really made of.

What’s the last book that swept you away? What did it teach you about life, or better yet, yourself?

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Never Before Seen Writing Prompt

2011-11-19T17:49:00.000-08:00

I have never written in the second person point of view. Some people don't even believe such a thing exists, because it's hardly ever used. However, Diana Abu-Jaber gave my fiction writing class at PSU the following prompts for a recent writing exercise: story must be told from a second person POV, must be in the future tense, and concern a doctor or a dentist.

Here is what I came up with:

He won’t cause me to shout, but you will. After he has his way with me, under the knife, under the anesthesia, I’ll come home to you, because that is where I live. And when you fish around in my mouth, curious about the job he’s done, my lungs will erupt, condemning my vocal chords to carry their message to you.

“How could you?” I’ll scream over the gauze and the sutures. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

But, of course you won’t understand, won’t hear me clearly, because my shouts will be garbled by the teeth I no longer have, by the spaces they left behind. You nursing me won’t help them grow back. You saying that you’re sorry won’t make me a baby in my Mama’s arms again, suckling her breasts with the first crop of tooth buds blooming in my gums.

You always said I was the one for you. The only one. I never argued except just this once, and look where it got me. You will read me novels from the high stack I keep on the kitchen table, novels that help me see in the dark, because you’ll think that since my mouth doesn’t work right my mind must be damaged as well.

But, I’ll never be so damaged that you have to feed me my words.

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Feist in Portland

2011-11-10T16:34:00.000-08:00

Feist plays the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall (Portland) next Wednesday in celebration of her new album Metals.

About the title, Feist says, “I was thinking about quiet, raw, dormant ore versus the highly engineered result of forging that into skyscrapers, and by the same equation, there’s the way you feel versus the way you wish you felt. The raw material is one thing and what our minds turn it into are completely different states. Also, it echoes the word ‘mettle, as in, a man proves his mettle by how his fortitude carries him through from raw act to reaction.”

Wow. I want to carry this around in my pocket, pull it out, reread it until I fully understand. Maybe her live show will shed all the light I need.

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Siren Nation Festival

2011-11-04T13:12:00.000-07:00

Portland is world-renowned for housing innovative excellence in many fields, and lucky for us, we have Siren Nation for all of our female-centric musical, visual, and craft-inspired artistic outpourings. The organization now in its fifth year has a huge, upcoming weekend of greatness planned for us Portlanders so that we may revel firsthand in the experience of hearing and seeing some of the best, most promising female-fronted acts around.

A little history:

Siren Nation's mission "is to inspire and empower women of all ages to create their own art," further taking it upon themselves as an organization to promote the original, high-quality content that comes of this empowering design. One of the ways in which they do this is with their annual performance showcase, the Siren Nation Festival, to be held this year from November 3rd to 6th at venues across Portland. The line-up includes some of today's best art, craft, film, and music created by women.

And now for the musical line-up:

DJ Safi kicks off the festival on Thursday night at Albina Press (5012 SE Hawthorne) DJing the free, all-ages Siren Nation Art Show, which will feature more than 40 NW artists on display. She spins '60s underground rock, '80s and '90s indie rock, classic dub, dancehall, hip-hop, funk, soul, bossa nova, jazz, and African pop.

Friday evening's show takes place at the Doug Fir Lounge. If you didn't catch Ximena Sari ñ ana when she shared the stage with Sia and Oh Land at the Wonder Ballroom back in August, make sure you don't miss her this time around. It's no surprise that she was recently voted a You Oughta Know artist by VH1. Her Spanish and English ballads are the stuff of pop poetry.

Watch Ximena Sariñana's "Different":

Three additional, breathtaking female artists will take the stage along with Ximena. Lemolo, a dreamy Seattle duo, would be the sonic sum to come out of an Air and Azure Ray combination. Breath, light, harmony are just a few words that come to mind.

Listen to Lemolo's "Open Air"

Kelli Schaefer (pic right) was chosen by Willamette Week readers as being one of the Best New Bands of 2011 and impressed at PDX Pop Now! this year. She embodies a lyrical feminism and vocal candor reminiscent of PJ Harvey or Bjork, but with the pop sensibility of a colorfully sensual Cyndi Lauper.

The Corin Tucker Band (ex-Sleater-Kinney) rounds out the bill with their "post-consumer rock" that takes you by the pants and spins you along with driving riffs and real life struggles in a world outside of '80s-inspired entitlement. This is stripped down rock at its finest. Tucker pushes our ability to adapt to her new sound with questions like, "What is really important in [your] life?" and "What do [you] absolutely have to hold on to?" Doors open at 8pm. Music at 9pm. 21+.

Listen to the first single, "Doubt" (right click to download), from The Corin Tucker Band's Kill Rock Stars debut, 1,000 Years

Saturday afternoon features an all-ages matinée at Mississippi Studios. Kimya Dawson (Moldy Peaches, Aesop Rock) is a busy lady. As a solo act she's been touring with the likes of They Might Be Giants, The Butchies, Third Eye Blind and others, promoting her most recent album, Thunder Thighs. In the studio she has accompanied fellow anti-folk singer/songwriters such as Regina Spektor and Jeffrey Lewis while collaborating on an album with Aesop Rock to be released in 2012.

Listen to Kimya Dawson's "Loose Lips":

Opening for Kimya are two incredibly different, vibrant female acts. STLS are getting rave reviews around town for being "drumcore mavens," and Sassfest, a group of four young teens who met at last year's Rock'n'Roll Camp for Girls, will dazzle you with their fresh talent.

Saturday evening will bring three acts to The Woods. Led To Sea is the solo project of Seattle violist/violinist L. Alex Guy (Degenerate Art Ensemble). Sometimes joined by percussionist Paul Kikuchi and bassist Jherek Bischoff, L. Alex's viola and violin can be heard on recordings by Xiu Xiu, the Dead Science, The Pharmacy, and Parenthetical Girls.

Y La Bamba needs no introduction, do they? The Portland indie darlings are well-known for being fronted by the deep well that is Luz Elena Mendoza's voice. Pulling from music circa 1930s Mexico, Luz Elena and her band mates have crafted a distinctly folkloric yet modern form that defies classification, except to say that it is audibly lovely. A pure joy to hear unfold. Watch Y La Bamba's "Juniper."

Laura Gibson (pic left) sings atmospheric melodies as if from inside a glass guitar. Reminiscent of Thao Nguyen's lilting depth or Patti Griffin's flute-like vocal wanderings, Laura brings a distinct minimalism to folk music. She's already set to release her new album La Grande on January 24th via Barsuk Records, but you can watch a live rendition of "Milk-Heavy, Pollen-Eyed" Gibson recorded for Mason Jar Music. Doors open at 8pm. Music at 9pm. 21+.

To close out the festival on Sunday, Siren Nation has brought in New York City/Detroit band My Brightest Diamond. Shara Worden--singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist extraordinaire--is one of the best female artists you're ever gonna see. Seriously. She could hold her own with the likes of Leslie Feist, Beth Gibbons, Judy Garland, or Shirley Bassey, but she'd bring a rock 'n' roll twist with a touch of superhero antics. Deeper meaning flows through her prose-laden songs, piercing listeners with a sweet arrow with a tip they'll want to keep under their skin. The show is on Sunday evening at Mississippi Studios with opener Chicago's Netherfriends. Doors open at 8:30pm. Music at 9pm. 21+.

Watch an acoustic (without a guitar) rendition of My Brightest Diamond's "Be My Husband"

The 5th annual Siren Nation Festival runs from November 3rd to 6th in Portland. Get the complete schedule including art, crafts, film and more on Siren Nation plus ticketing info.

Published on Oregon Music News

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Another Prompt

2011-10-31T17:57:00.000-07:00

This piece of flash fiction is from last week's Writing Prompt exercise. We had to choose either an armed bank robbery by a homeless man or a train wreck that killed a guy on his way to meet his wife at church to use as a strain in our story. Both were actual events from the local news in Portland. Neither could be the pivotal event or even more than a mention in our stories. When I shared mine in class Diana Abu-Jaber (our Professor) said it made her think of Eudora Welty, of ensemble casts and location as character. All right, cool.

“So I said to him, ‘No, Joe. You can’t cook the ham this year. Frances wants to.’ But, everyone knows Frances is a vegetarian. I just threw that in for good measure.”

Wilhelmina shuffles her weight, inches one of her meaty hands under the hair dryer, patting at her rollers like they might’ve gone somewhere. “What’d he say?”

I roll my eyes like I’m not too concerned. “You know Joe. He just popped the top on another beer and changed the channel.”

“Well, honey. If it’s one thing men do well, it’s that.”

I put a palm over my mouth, fake a yawn. Really I just want to giggle. Wilhelmina has always been hysterical, an outright riot when it comes to spouting about men. I mean, calling two things one. That’s just shameful. But, then again, maybe she’s a genius. She’s been married four times.

“In any case, I have him on gravy duty.”

“Who? Joe?”

“Yeah Joe.” I don’t even bother with my palm this time. “Who the hell else would I mean?”

Her expression turns heavenly. “Joe always makes it just right.”

“Mm hmm.” I nod, my own rollers clinking against the dryer hood. “Not too thick. Not too runny. Never with all those clumps in it.”

Wilhelmina sucks her teeth. “Mine always tastes like flour. Damn if it takes a man to show my cooking up.”

“And that meat flavor. He sure can keep it in.”

Up near the front of the salon a woman shrieks. God awful the way she lights up the place as she bolts for the door, leaving the nail tech staring across at an empty chair.

“What was all that about,” I call out. “That woman not like her shellac?”

The nail tech, Janine something or other stands up, looks around like she’s lost. “Beats me. She was watching TV one minute and the next she was screaming.”

Janine turns to the screen, which is behind her on the wall. From where I sit it looks like live video footage of some train wreck is plastered all over the news, the hovering helicopter’s shadow slopping up all the details.

“What’s that she howled about church?” I ask.

“I couldn’t tell you.” Janine twists the cap back on the bottle, like a reflex. “I didn’t quite catch it.”

“That right?” I imagine that my painted eyebrows are arched real high as I turn back to Wilhelmina. But, whether the arches are for Janine or the lady I’m not quite sure. “It just takes all kinds.”

“I know that’s the truth.”

The shellac on my own nails has started to chip. “So, are you bringing the fruit salad?”

“You know I am. That, and the rolls.”

“The rolls. Of course. You do those nice.”

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Writing Prompt

2011-10-19T20:55:00.000-07:00

This is a story I wrote last week for Diana Abu-Jaber's fiction writing class at PSU. The assignment was to write a short story about a character with the following traits: Born in North American Southwest, five foot two, complicated relationship with sibling, occupation in medical field, scar across upper left chest. This story took me thirty minutes to flesh out, and I only went back once to do a light revision/edit. Enjoy.

Joshua fiddled with the microscope, his fingertips going to all the wrong dials. “I wish they’d stop upgrading our equipment. Makes my day stutter.”

“Yeah, man. I know.” Mac slid another smeared slide into place. His slant eyes focused, saw nothing but another tidy bunch of cells. Again. “You get any cancer today?”

“Nope. All my cervixes are clean.”

“Fucking Kimmel found a whopper yesterday. You shoulda seen it. Bud Hardy, Mr. Hot Shit himself, came in for a peek. He even brought donuts. A whole baker’s dozen.”

“That stuff always goes down on my day off.” Joshua’s neck began to itch. He didn’t know that on the other side of the room the same thing was happening to Mac, but in a different spot. It felt like a hundred angry ticks were burrowing into the fresh scar above Mac’s left nipple, right along the suture line. Joshua’s itch was more like an idle flea, or an ingrown hair. “You go for the sprinkles?”

Mac snorted. “Hell no. I’m not a fag.”

“What’s wrong with sprinkles? That shit’s nostalgic.”

“Not where I come from.”

“You were born in Yuma, dude.”

“Exactly.”

“What, like Yuma’s got a thing against colorful decorations on pastries?”

The door opened and the security guard from upstairs walked into the lab. “This guy says he’s your brother, Mac.” Disbelief played visible across the guard’s jowls.

“Bullshit,” Joshua said. “Homeboy there looks like he could play all three linebacker positions.”

It was true. Reagan was humongous. He filled the doorway with his health and wellbeing. On top of that, his red skin was made even redder by the clench of his tight, bulging muscles. Mac hated him for that.

But he scooted to the edge of his stool and slid off just the same. “I got it from here.” He closed the door behind him as he went out into the hall. The guard walked away, thinking it was all just another gag courtesy of the morgue freaks. They were always fucking around. “What do you want, Reagan?”

“Hello to you too, brother.”

“I’m at work, man. What do you expect?” Jocular. Good natured. It was so easy for Reagan. He was all thick hair and fresh breath.

Joshua could see the two of them through the door’s crap excuse of a window. More like a personal pizza slice of glass. But, whereas Mac’s head barely made it into the frame, big dude’s chest was front and center.
Eventually Mac came back into the lab, shutting the door quietly behind him. His expression was blank, yet Joshua could hear his true emotions in the air, like the cackle of defeat.

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Half-brother. We have different dads.”

“That explains it. Dude’s gotta be 6’2” easy. And you’re like, what…” Joshua’s brain did some calculating. “I’m gonna guess 5’4”?”

“Two.”

“Shit, that’s short, bro.”

“Not where I come from.”

“Yuma? Jesus, I’ve gotta go to this place sometime. Sounds like the Eight Wonder.”

Mac climbed back up onto the stool. “Bet you twenty bucks I find some pre-can cells before you.”

Joshua faced forward, readjusted the scope. “You’re on.”

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Hindi Zahra: Portrait Of A Legend (In The Making)

2011-10-10T18:25:00.000-07:00

It should come as no surprise to Jazz aficionados that Moroccan born folk musician Hindi Zahra refers to Jazz music as "the only place where I can hear sounds from my homeland." That's because she grew up listening to the 6/8 "heartbeat" rhythm characteristic of African, Indian, and Middle Eastern music.

As a child, Hindi was surrounded by music. One of her uncles was big on improvisation. He pulled French, Spanish, English, Berber, and Arabic influences into his creations, and encouraged Hindi to be open to the possibilites that such an approach could offer. At eight or nine-years-old, Hindi gravitated toward experimenting with her voice, going so far as to spend hours every weekend in the bathroom playing off the rich acoustics provided by the small, tiled space. And later, when she was in her early teens, Hindi remembers confessing her musical aspirations to her mother, who surprised her daughter with confessions of her own. "I found out she had been a singer, and that she had been in the theater. It's something of her former life that I didn't know about her until then." Such revelations gave Hindi confirmation of her natural tendencies toward music, which were steadily furthered by the presence of her uncle's wide-ranging guitar compositions and the legacy of her grandfather, who was a well known musician in the area of Morocco where she was raised.

See "Imik Simik" performed live here

Recently, I had the delightful opportunity to talk on the telephone with Hindi, who lives in Paris.

“Sound has always fueled my imagination.”

Born in Khouribja, Morocco to Berber parents, Hindi grew up contemplative and in touch with nature. She had the sounds of Raï (rock music associated with Algeria) and North African Châabi (means popular in English), desert rock’n’roll, the blues of the great Malian Ali Farka Touré, and the folk music of Ismaël Lo in her ears. But it was nature that inspired her most. "In the studio, it is always challenging at first to work with a new sound engineer. I say, 'I want my voice to sound like air, or like earth, or like dust.' The engineers do not understand what I am saying in the begininning, but they always come around to the similarities, to the natural images I wish to invoke."

When Hindi was only fifteen, her father moved the entire family to Paris so that the kids would have more opportunities. Once there, however, Hindi could not make friends and experienced the heartache and loneliness of being a foreign transplant for nearly five years. During this time, she consoled herself with music. She taught herself how to compose and continued the circular journey toward her singer/songwriter birthright. At eighteen, she got her first job at the legendary Louvre. “This was my meeting with art. The paintings gave me the same sensations [as when a child]. The Dutch masters were soothing, as music had always been." Her music became like those paintings: a thing of "infinite inspirations." It was not until her twenties that Hindi started performing with hip-hop groups in France. “I soon got fed up with the machines and loops, but what I took away from that experience was the understanding of what I really wanted to do."

And now, at just thirty years old, Hindi Zahra has pulled Jazz up from its roots to craft some of the most original, inspired music. Perhaps this is because her gypsy guitar flare and poetic intensity are anchored by a way of singing that interprets emotion rather than definines it. Her seductive voice originates mid-throat, a place English speakers don’t often go with their vocals. It is a sweetly guttural melody that she croons. It veils her positive, gentle poetry with a touch of mystery, a dash of the exotic. You can hear Zahra’s Moroccan upbringing in every note. Like Edith Piaf before her, who was also a Berber singer living in France, Hindi chooses to push her voice out from the soul, from a place that is "not fake at all, very powerful, very rare."

"Always about love."

Her debut album, Handmade, has a playing time of 40 minutes and contains eleven songs sung in a mixture of English and Amazigh. Amazigh, which is the original language of the Berber (the first people who lived in North Africa) means "no territories," or more specifically "free men of all the realms." It is a language and a heritage that Hindi is proud of, and one which she evokes for its authenticity and lasting place in her heart. As a whole, her album plays like an exquisitely open call to Pop, Soul, Jazz, Folk, and Blues. Hindi alone was responsible for the production and arrangements, which feature traditional instruments like the bendir and ganoua. Tracks like "Imik Simik (Step by Step)" and "Petit à petit (Little by Little)" are chronicles of her life's journey thus far, sung with a melancholic resonance that illustrates the depth of her soul. One can hear strains of Portishead, Manu Chao, Norah Jones, Billie Holliday, and even Patti Smith in the divination of Hindi's voice.

See the official video for "Beautiful Tango" here

"Oursoul" is a word play. What looks like English is in fact a Berber word meaning "bygones". With folk-like arrangements, the song tells of a young girl destined for marriage, though her dreams are unfulfilled. "Beautiful Tango" is "a ballad, a hymn to love, a sad thought." It was praised by The Wire, Britain’s premiere alt music press, which heralded her as a worthy successor to Billie Holliday.

See Hindi Zahra perform at Holocene on October 3rd. Show starts at 8:30pm. Opening acts include Ryan Francesconi and DJ Santo. $10 advance. $12 day of show.

Published on Oregon Music News

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Show versus Tell

2011-10-03T15:39:00.000-07:00

Fifteen years ago, when I was still in high school, I admired prose that were descriptive, languid, long in their form. It read like diary writing, like narrations built from overdramatising time and place in order to come back to character and pace. After all, this is how I wrote, or tried to. My stories were longwinded, overly descriptive, bordering-on-the-cerebral. They seemed to dance at the edges of an actual, tangible plot.

It was not until my mid-twenties, though, that I realized my writing was like that: an all inclusive snore fest that took every side road to get to the point. I thought I was being helpful, paving the way for the reader's understanding. And hey, I liked the descriptions. They were genius in and of themselves, right? Total keepers. But that was the problem.

Story fell through the cracks in deference to words. Words, words, and more words of explaining myself, of trying to find the meat of the piece with as many adjectives, angles, and syllables as I could possibly put to page. Yes page. Fifteen years ago was before the digital age took off, before we did all of our thought-to-fingertip extensions via keyboard.

Nowadays, I find such wordy prose beautiful but ultimately meaningless. They strike me as devoid of true color, of grit, of passion. I can't feel a thing when I am being told what is felt. I like my prose stripped down. I want each sentence to bleed into the next like the pumping of a heart, keeping pace with its own content rather than the author's need to be heard. I want to be lost in another world rather than kept on the surface by words that are meant to convey meaning, setting, mood, but only ever drown the action in narrative.

My transformation from meandering to stripped down hasn't come solely through the quick-time needs of this modern age that snaps its fingers, wanting more in less time, but rather through my own set of needs and circumstances over the years; of having children, having less time, and wanting to be sucked into the immediacy of a story in such a way that I do not have to dig for visuals, dig for meaning, to dig and dig and dig. It's not laziness but catharsis that has caused me to admire and hone a cleancut language style. To me, that style is the rousing battle cry of action, reaction, and implicit intent. It delivers more pace than vying for my introspection ever could.

I now read books for their own sake rather than what I wish to glean from them. Maybe this is the absolute difference, the shift that points to me as a grown-up, whole in her individuality. I do not need to read someone else's richly--albeit heavily--laden prose in order to gain a new direction for my thoughts. I do not need to sift through winding rivers of color and texture and temperature and backstory/setting/intention in order to glean mood, tone, or character motive. I believe these should be conveyed more briefly to pack a greater emotive punch.

Strip it down. Make it pop. Show the visceral. And just get to the damn point. We won't lose an artform in this way, but gain a greater audience of readers.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

In Line, Trying Not To Look

2011-09-13T15:51:00.000-07:00

So I'm in line at my favorite cheapster movie theater in Portland, the Laurelhurst, waiting for my hubby to park the car (yeah we drove, Portland. Wanna make something of it?). Up ahead of me I see this girl, her back sparsely populated by darkish circles on pasty white skin. I think, those aren't moxibustion marks (the Traditional Chinese medicine treatment of burning moxa on the skin), which leave similar circles but appear more hicky-like than tinted pigmentation. I doubletake. I move closer. I wonder, Could it be? I move as close as social norms allow (in my mind, anyways). Then I know. I know! She has tanned random circles onto her skin.

New fad? Well, this is Portland. We've all gotta get a leg up on the fashion scene somehow, right?

I feel a sense of wonderment, chased by voyeuristic guilt. I look away. I look over and down.

Oops! Big mistake. A middle-aged, ruddy white guy is wearing blaringly white gym shorts (you know the kind. They have little holes in them, and are made of anti-sweat nylon) with a grotesque brown tinge all over the "backside." BROWN TINGE!

I look away, then close my eyes just to be safe. My hubby comes up. "What are you doing?" he asks me. I shake my head and pull him closer, pull him away from the middle-aged guy to his immediate right, while I wrestle with my eyes not to open and give ruddy white dude a doubletake. I'm silently screaming "I don't want to know if his butt stains are really from fecal matter." Please curiosity, STOP PUSHING ME!

Thankfully, the line begins to move. We buy our tickets to J.J. Abrams Super 8, which I thought was tantalizingly scary and middle school cute all at once. It's one of the better movies I've seen this year, though it doesn't hold a thing to either Limitless (Bradley Cooper, Robert De Niro) or Paul (Simon Pegg, Nick Frost). Those two movies were, beyond a doubt, the best flicks I've seen in a long, thirsty time. Limitless was spellbinding, brilliantly scripted, and gorgeously shot (think of Bradley Cooper's face and surroundings when he is ON the drug vs. OFF). Paul was equally well scripted, though strikingly hilarious and down right genius. Only Pegg and Frost could have come up with something so able to mesh both what audiences want and what they as actors/filmakers want to perform, edit, produce, and distribute.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

TBA New Musics Post

2011-09-13T09:52:00.000-07:00

The Portland Institute for Contemporary Art (PICA) recognizes that collaboration and convergence are everything in a vibrant city like ours. Obviously, since they've been putting on the Time-Based Art Festival (Sept. 8 - 18) for nine years now. The festival offers the perfect mix of all things artistic for an audience that has come to trust PICA's curative know-how. This year's performers, visual artists, and musicians are better than ever. They are some of the brightest stars in the local, national, and international arts community who bring a mix of daring and inspiration to each and every thought provoking, visceral performance.

This is probably why PICA chose TBA alum and local artist Claudia Meza of New Musics to curate a night for The Works, which is TBA's late night confluence-inspired showcase. Meza (Explode Into Colors, Japanther) will offer up her instrumental opera Mourning Youth in collaboration with several artists. The biggest name on the list is actually a group of artists who make up the Bachi wielding, Hara pounding organic sound of Portland Taiko. They've been working with Meza on this specific project for quite some time. In addition, Thomas Thorson (Interiors), a local sound artist will offer up his knack for compostion while Seattle dancer Allie Hankins (Part & Parcel) will lend her choreography to the piece. All of the above artist's contirbutions will intermingle with visuals by Chris Hackett whose "work absolutely stole the show" with a series of animated vignettes during a night at The Works in 2009, according to Portland culturephile Anne Adams.

Watch Allie Hankins "By Guess and By God"

See Thomas Thorson's eerie take on making disctinct sound visual in "Falling Stop"

The New Musics showcase at The Works will also feature local musician Liz Harris (pictured above) is the "one woman wonder" behind electro-acoustic, ambient/noise project Grouper. She'll be making collaborations of her own with the encore presentation of PART, the third installment in an ongoing tape collage series, which will show off the vocal merits of several Flash Choir members.

Grouper orchestrates a haunting with "Hold the Way"

Also, Tashi Wada--a New York born California transplant fresh off the San Francisco Electronic Music Festival--will bring his spellbinding, futuristic, chime-like, repetitious, "buzzing moan" compositions to New Musics. His soundscape compositions will lull you into an otherwordly place while your feet are firmly planted in space. Tashi has been playing his minimal, abstract music alongside his father, Yoshi Wada, for several years now.

See it all live at TBA's The Works on Wednesday September 14th @ Washington High School (SE 14th and Stark). Show starts at 10:30 pm. Admission is $5 Members/$8 General.

Published on Oregon Music News
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Vockah Redu

2011-09-07T15:24:00.000-07:00

For those of you unfamiliar with the literal ass shaking of the New Orleans hip hop based Bounce movement, Thursday September 8th might be your best opportunity to get acquainted. This year, the annual Time Based Art festival is bringing none other than Vockah Redu to The Works, which is TBA's nightly performance showcase.

Vockah Redu grew up rhyming and making beats in the Magnolia Housing Projects of New Orleans. He's among the original, openly gay MC's to get outright nasty on the Bounce backed mic. But Vockah is set apart from contemporaries like Big Freedia, Cheeky Blaak, Magnolia Shorty, and Katey Red (the Original "Sissy Bounce" MC) in that he prides himself on over-the-top costumes and a penchant for elaborately choreographed sets.

Audiences of every color and affiliation come to watch Vocka Redu and the Cru heat up Bounce's traditional rapid fire beats with their wild, electrified, constantly morphing energy. The vocals, dancing, and performance aspects of Vockah Redu and the Cru are becoming more and more Afro-futuristic while maintaining a steady play of gender and sexuality. Jonathan Dee compared Vockah to “a latter-day George Clinton”in his New York Times Magazine article on gender-bending New Orleans rappers.

Serious ass shaking video HERE

Show begins at 11 p.m. on Thursday, September 8th as part of TBA's The Works at Washington High School (SE 14th and Stark). Expect to experience an X rated lyrical style, and more than your fair share of booty bouncing. Portland's own resident Bounce maker, DJ Beyondadoubt, plays after Vockah Redu at 11:55 p.m.

Published on Oregon Music News

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The Naked and Famous

2011-09-03T18:38:00.000-07:00

KNRK, also known as 94.7 FM Alternative Portland, consistently brings amazing up-and-coming bands to our city via their "I Saw Them When" series, with tickets selling for the very low price of $9.47 each. Obviously, many of these shows sell out fast because they're a steal. This Saturday's The Naked and Famous performance at the Roseland Theater is no exception.

The Australian quintet The Naked and Famous (pic above) is currently on a world tour to showcase their anthemic collection of songs, most of which are featured on their debut studio album, Passive Me, Aggressive You. Centered around the talents of vocalist Alisa Xayalith and instrumentalist/vocalist Thom Powers, the band originally formed in 2008 when both were college students. They joined forces with musician/recording engineer Aaron Short to record two EPs: No Light and This Machine. Soon after, the trio added two more members--bassist David Beadle and drummer Jesse Wood--so they could play their songs live. The band's layered, '80s post-punk poetic sound is often compared to Empire Of The Sun, MGMT, and LCD Soundsystem.

Despite the fact that show openers Surfer Blood (pic above) admit to having no knack for--or interest in--surfing, their music is like a giddy montage of West Coast surfer rock riffs strung up over a backdrop of Weezer-esque melodies and vocals reminiscent of The Ramones. Yet, somehow they come out with a sound all their own, and a fashion sense that sways from straight indie to kamikaze costume ball. They are fast becoming reputed for their random face paints and we-love-what-we're-doing live shows that dare their audiences not to take themselves so seriously.

Also, opening up the show is the English pop-rock band Viva Brother whose influences include Blur, Stone Roses, and The Smiths. Their recent debut release Darling Buds of May drew lauded praise from BBC Radio One's DJ Zane Lowe, who stated that each tracks' "classic song structure...harks back to a time of craft in British song-writing, before the edginess." Watch Viva Brother's guerilla music video documentary shot in their native Slough.

Show starts at 8pm on Saturday, September 3rd at the Roseland Theater in Old Town Portland, all ages. The show is sold out.

Published on Oregon Music News

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Oh Joy

2011-09-02T21:05:00.000-07:00

I think I see some R&R on the horizon. I've got a hot date with my hubby to see The Naked and Famous tomorrow (Saturday) night at the Roseland Theater in Old Town Portland. Stopping off first for a sip and some tasties at The Doug Fir, and a bit of art browsing at The Jupiter Hotel. Apparently, The Jupiter has some amazing handcrafted Musicfest Northwest posters on display.

Sunday will see our little family walking two doors down to a BBQ with the nice neighbors. Man, I am crossing my fingers for some rays. Nothing like soaking up the sun while surrounded by the fantastic aromas of sizzling meat, cold ketchup, and fizzy drinks.

Can we make it to the beach on Monday? We'll see. I have my trusty new twin CD's from Jailbox now. They're sure to make any road trip a happy travel.

On to later in the week...

My oldest son's school starts (Oh Joy!!!), and our friend's come into town from Santa Barbara. We're going to show them Mt. Hood! I am determined to hit up a new watering hole or two with them as well. So many ponds, lakes, rivers, creeks, and puddles within an hour of Portland. All pretty darn breathtaking.

Then...

Musicfest NW begins on Thursday AND so does the Portland Institute for Contemporary Art's (PICA) Time Based Art (TBA) festival.

Have I said before that I LOVE and ADORE Portland? Oh yeah.

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Transitive Verb: Divorce

2011-08-22T21:36:00.000-07:00

Never have I found a more heart stopping definition of separation within a relationship than in White Crow by Marcus Sedgwick on page 123: "The air is torn by their pain as they fight, pain made all the worse by the love between them, a love lying wounded in the corner of the room."

The above passage refers to a modern day father and daughter, but it can apply to any relationship between two people, as we all have the misfortune to understand firsthand.

In the same book, on page 28, there are descriptions of hell that are visceral and fear inducing to the average person, and awe inspiring to the writer because they are "spoken" by a priest in 1798.

"Who can measure this place?
It is infinite. The sky is brooding and red, the ground hot, and sharp, and cuts the soles of the feet. The air is rent with the cries of the sinful as they receive their punishment, a flaming wind upon all sides causing madness, as of dogs.
What vast unnameable horrors are found!
I saw them all.
The sinners each tortured for all eternity according to their crime.
The lustful are cast upon spits and roasted on the fires of their former passions, and yea, are whipped by devils with the faces of dogs and the legs of the horse. They whip the lustful ones with leather throngs made of their own skin.
On another mountainside are the gluttonous. Here they swim amongst the slurry from their greed, forever drowing.
There lie the blasphemers, among piles of dry and dusty stones, each forced to eat the rock of truth they denied in life. They choke and gag as their teeth splinter and blood wells from their gums in never-ending streams."

White Crow is a YA novel, so the above description is tame, but it still works to show the guilty, tortured mind of a late eighteenth century priest who pairs up with a French doctor in order to behead people so that they may "find out" about the after life by questioning the very recently deceased corpse.

Overall, I was not enamored by this book. It was more like a labor of curiosity to get through this book, because I wanted to know if the crazy chick was gonna get crazier, and if the sane--albeit, goth---girl was gonna kick her ass. Hardest of all about the book, is that it is written in first person PRIEST, first person CRAZY GIRL, and third person MODERN DAY OMNISCIENT. Too much, and not so finely done, but it was freaky, I'll give it that.

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Pitch Practice At The Eye Doctor

2011-08-22T21:06:00.000-07:00

It's like having my vision examined...

"Which one is better, A or B?"

"A...?"
Nadia Temple, an eighteen-year-old with supernatural abilities, confronts the overwhelming reality of her immortal nature after beating up two rapists to save a young girl. Guilt ridden and scared, Nadia runs away only to find that others know her secrets, and will stop at nothing to see her destroyed.

"or B?"
Eighteen-year-old Nadia Temple tries to escape her supernatural nature by running away, but the past is never far behind.

"A...B...A...B."

When it comes down to it, an opthamologist can't make the decision of which option is better for me, because it's my eyes and my perception. But with a pitch, I sure wish I had a damn agent, editor, or industry other in the room, because a pitch is EVERYTHING, and it's their perception that matters, not mine.

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The Revised Package

2011-08-15T15:11:00.000-07:00

The Pitch:
The Nameless is a YA Urban Fantasy with a 100K word count. It can stand alone, but is meant as the first of a trilogy. Nadia Temple, an eighteen-year-old with supernatural abilities, confronts the overwhelming reality of her immortal nature after beating up two rapists to save a young girl. Guilt ridden and scared, Nadia runs away only to find that others know her secrets, and will stop at nothing to see her destroyed.

The Synopsis:
The Nameless is a YA Urban Fantasy with a 100K word count. It can stand alone, but is meant as the first of a trilogy.

Nadia Temple, an eighteen-year-old with supernatural abilities, confronts the overwhelming reality of her immortal nature after beating up two rapists to save a young girl. Guilt ridden and scared, Nadia runs away only to find that others know her secrets, and will stop at nothing to see her destroyed.

She goes to Athens, Ohio—a small town in the middle-of-nowhere—hoping for a fresh start from everything and everyone she’s ever known. Once there, Nadia focuses on appearing normal, yet she is trapped by an overwhelming instinct that compels her to protect and rescue young girls in acutely dangerous situations (rape, murder, overdose).

Then she meets Scotty Ash, an attractive, captivating, emotionally guarded tattoo artist. Unaware that he is like her, Nadia falls into a web of maliciousness, which ultimately leads to her relationship with Dylan Grey, another of her kind who seems to be the polar opposite of Scotty.

Dylan rescues Nadia from an attempt on her life, and tells her the truth about The Nameless. He describes the schism that occurred thousands of years ago within their hidden, immortal race. From that point on, Nadia—a not-so-average modern teen turned everlasting being overnight—discovers her undeniable link to this age-old battle, and finds passion, temptation, and identity along the way.

The Nameless trilogy will appeal to audiences who were hooked by Harry Potter, the Twilight saga, The Mortal Instruments, Fallen, and the like. Its strongest selling point is that it combines a strong female protagonist and known supernatural elements with a completely new mythology. The Nameless has a strong crossover potential for adult audiences with its often psychologically gritty, mildly violent content.

About the Author:
Deena Anreise is the Executive Assistant at RainTown Press, and a writer for Oregon Music News. She is also a graduate student in publishing at Portland State University. This fall, she will begin working with The Portland Review as their Marketing and Public Relations intern. Needless to say, her life is never dull. Keep up with her on Twitter, Facebook, and the blog Mile In Mine (http://mileinmine.blogspot.com).

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Missed Mistakes

2011-08-13T10:29:00.000-07:00

Those closest to me know that I got my gorgeous hair butchered last September. Almost a year ago now. I lost an entire foot of long, dark curls to a wench who couldn't cut hair if...well, if anything. Period.

So, why was she the Assistant Manager at Bishop's Barbershop in Sellwood at the time? Good goddamn question. Also, totally and completely uncool. I mean, you figure if someone is an Assistant Manager, they've got to have some experience to back that title up, right?

Wrong. This chick's experience seemed to amount to brushing out my hair (a huge no-no for curly locks), sectioning it off, and slicing down the cuticles with her scissors in order to create "layers" to get rid of my "body."

WTF, chica? Nobody asked you to do that, least of all me. It took me three years to grow that "body." I just asked you to trim the sides. Sheesh!

Oh, man. Needless to say, I am much more vocal about my haircuts now. If I see something happening that is "questionable," I bring it up to the stylist, and make sure we're on the same page.

But I'm not recounting this story of woe to gripe. Rather, I have another tale to share that could have knocked all other mistakes I've ever made straight out of the park. "Could have," but thank my lucky stars that I missed the opportunity.

Here's the story:

Back when I was fifteen, I met this twenty-one-year-old girl at a writing camp in New Mexico. We smoked herb, traveled the back roads, and became somewhat inseperable for the two weeks we were at the camp. Oh yeah, we wrote some stuff too. After camp, I visited the girl in Texas every summer and stayed on a couch, or a spare bed. Ahh, memories. Lots of boys, my first mushroom trip, and the kind of humidity that made my face swell.

When I turned twenty-one, I took a greyhound bus to Denver because the girl was living there. I was in a difficult dating relationship (is there any other kind?), and feeling crappy. I needed a long road trip in which I didn't have to drive -- so I could cry it out. Lame. Also lame is the fact that I was a Christian back then. And what better way to show my devotion to Christ than with a tattoo? Oh, Lord...

One night at the girl's house I said, "I want a tattoo right now." It was late, and I was stupidly impatient. I WANTED THAT TATTOO, damnit! So, we made some phone calls. The only dude that was open said, "Come on down." We went. The dude turned out to be a serious crackhead, complete with the shakes AND livid that I suddenly didn't want that Christ fish thingy on the back of my neck. L.I.V.I.D. "I'll call my brother, and he'll tell you what I'm made of! I can do your damn neck shit!"

Thankfully, we scurried out of there. God, that guy would have butchered my neck if I had let him, which -- truth be told -- I almost did. Call it a young girl's desire to please. Call it naivety ("How bad could it be if I let him do it?")

The next day we went to a reputable tattoo shop where I got the stupid fish on the back of my neck. Nine years later I finally had someone morph it into a goddess, womb, ram (I'm an Aries) looking thing. Much better than the Christian symbol. I was so sick of that thing.

But not as sick as I would have been if I'd been maimed for life.

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AWOLNATION

2011-08-12T16:49:00.000-07:00

Here's my AWOLNATION post for Oregon Music News. See it here as well.

Back in February, AWOLNATION played a sold out show at the Crystal Ballroom that had lucky Portlanders bragging for months. The group stunned with a surreally phenomenal live performance. Now, Aaron Bruno (formerly of Under the Influence of Giants and Home Town Hero) and his crew are back and ready to rock the roof off the Roseland this Thursday, August 11th.

Famous for the chart topping hit "Sail," which features the heavy, driving synthesized beats we all find so appealing, AWOLNATION will also blow your mind with an inspired sound that encompasses gospel, doo-wop, '80s acoustic rock 'n' roll, and plenty of danceable, immaculately conceived digital compositions. But don't forget Aaron Bruno's voice. Over the course of Megalithic Symphony, the band's 2011 release on Red Bull Records, Bruno ranges from a soulful, crooning falsetto to a rough, distorted scream. Needless to say, their music is habit forming.

Watch "Sail" live at La Zona Rosa in Austin:

So where did the name AWOLNATION come from? According to a LA Music Blog interview, when Bruno was in high school he "would leave without saying goodbye because it was just easier, so that's where the name Awol came from." For the Nation part, check out their website. You'll need 3D glasses.

Opening up for AWOLNATION is Wallpaper, fronted by self-proclaimed sleazy, excess-obsessed Ricky Reed--a producer, multi-instrumentalist songwriter, viral media hustler and disco ball-busting crowd destroyer. This week, MTV selected the band to be part of their PUSH campaign, where they’ve crowned the Oakland outfit a "Featured Artist."

Be prepared to see a whole lot of white boys from Portland's surrounding suburbs getting their Grey Goose on to this stuff. Expect to hear low-fi samples and a ton of digital effects on the vocals. Song subject matter spans the gamut from drinking, wearing "2 Pair a Shades," pool party fun, self props galore ("FUCKING BEST SONG EVERRR"), some "butt2butt" hookups (featuring Too $hort no less), and hangovers. You may even get schooled on the realities of the meaning #STUPiDFACEDD.

If you like Ke$ha, you'll love Ricky Reed.

See AWOLNATION and Wallpaper with New Regime at the Roseland Theater this Thursday, August 11th. All ages, show starts at 8pm, advance tickets $15.

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Today's Headline

2011-08-10T10:42:00.000-07:00

This just in: Surprise underwater volcano eruption.
Camera sends images of an alien seafloor landscape.
Stuns scientists.

Stuns Scientists? Shoot. Talk about an understatement. More like, Stuns whoever read this headline.

I read it, and my author mind went off. I went straight to a storytelling frame of mind in order to cope.

I thought about a few days ago, when I heard a Young Adult marketing professional say, "I think the next big thing for teenage fiction will be a treatment of the whole idea of an environmental apocalypse."

That's what she said--in a nutshell--and so my storytelling mind connects the headline and her words, and I come up with this pitch:

A group of high school kids survives an environmental apocalypse. Conflicting personalities and lots of hard decisions ensue. I would want them to survive, wouldn't you? Because, it feels satisfying to imagine we'll survive as a race through them.

Expect to read or watch the above story in the near future. Meaning whenever I get around to writing it.
Intellectual property rights in effect, baby.

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Scratch That

2011-08-08T10:50:00.000-07:00

Oh, man. Yesterday at the Willamette Writers Conference, I found out that what I learned the day before regarding "changes I needed to make to my manuscript" weren't correct! So much for that four hour rewrite!

Stranger things have happened, but I ended up being personally introduced to The Shark of Saturday's blog post by a very business-like, kind, lovely agent who loved my novel idea and wanted to help me pin my genre and overall market down. The Shark still seemed to love the smell of blood, but she was more cordial this time around, more willing to plaster that fake smile on her face and sit on her just-under-the-surface aggression. Whatever. I appreciated the fact that she spent thirty minutes with me hearing my pitch and discussing the advantages and disadvantages of my script.

Turns out to be a huge plus that I have created my own mythology, but also a slight minus. Supposedly makes it slightly harder to sell in a YA market that, according to The Shark, is over saturated with my genre, which is Urban Fantasy. God, it feels great to finally know where my novel fits in today's market. Urban Fantasy it is! Sounds fabulous to me.

And let me say, I am NOT daunted by the supposed oversaturation of my genre in YA. More than anything, I think it's a matter of time and finding an agent I absolutely adore and who, in turn, adores my style and subject matter. If I've learned anything over this past weekend, I've learned that your agent is everything. If you don't love an agent's vibe, it's going to be a shitty situation all around. I LOVE Laurie McLean, Caryn Wiseman, April Eberhardt, and many others.

Speaking of which, I met some amazing agents this year, both for lit and TV. Also, the writers this year were incredibly social and into connecting all around. I must have made forty new friends, no kidding. Talks of a reunion are in the works, along with (re)writing circles, houseboat hangouts, music venue hookups, and happy hours. I even had an NYC agent say that he would send me his client's books as they came out, because I write for Oregon Music News and he works with nonfiction writers who are musicians and/or music industry journalists.

Wow!

I especially love that I pitched an agent -- in passing -- about a contemporary lit fiction middle reader that I haven't even wrote yet. She LOVED it! Hurray! I now know that I have a very powerful literary story, which can be sold quickly. Maybe then I'll have leverage to sell my beloved genre piece.

It's like they say: All things come to those who wait. Or, good things come with time. Or, let's get writing!

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

You Must Go Under To Surface

2011-08-06T21:46:00.000-07:00

Today at the Willamette Writers Conference I had an early morning pitch with an agent. A group session. First of the day. I was tired. Not quite on my toes. So when a few writers mentioned "Be careful" and "I heard she's rude, ballsy, typical New York" I kind of got psyched out. Strange for me, but it happens to the best of us.

Then there I was. In front of her. I could feel the static energy coming off her, like she was itching for a confrontation in order to prove she's the top dog. Oh boy... Let's just say that out of all the group pitches I've sat in on, I've never seen writers kiss so much ass.

Needless to say, I went blank when it came around to being my turn. Couldn't get out one solid idea about the point of my novel. Oh yeah, and then she wiped the floor with me.

"Generic, heard it before, got three just like it already out in development..." Yikes! Boom! Bang! You're scary, Ms. Agent.

She even answered someone's question about whether or not the industry is still buying up books (what a dumb, f*@cking question) by saying that "If they stop swimming, sharks will die." Oh yes, that's right. I think she's the type to get off on her own lack of social ettiquette.

But all was not lost. At least, not for me. I can't speak to the souls of the other writers in the group pitch. I ended up recooperating with a few writer friends, all of whom reiterated the simple fact of common sense that anyone who brings that kid of energy to the table (or to life) isn't someone you want on your "side." Amen, sisters and brothers.

What's more, I happened to stumble upon two remarkable writers--Marni Bates and Siobhan Marsh--who so graciously agreed to give me some in-depth pitch critiques. They were very straightforward, almost brutal, about what I should and shouldn't say in a pitch about my book. They even went so far as to tell me that some of the aspects of my book won't work in YA. Ahh!

Like what? For starters, having the protagonist kill someone, specifically without HUGE consequences, is a serios no-no. Apparently, there are not many exceptions to this that the industry will consider for that specific market.

Also, here are some of the huge changes to the book that came out of my long conversation with those two exceptional female writers.
- Nadia is now sixteen, not eighteen (oh, the rewrites...).
- Nadia is now a high school graduate at sixteen versus a college graduate at eighteen (she's gonna have to do some serious lying to get into bars now).
- She doesn't kill those two dudes, even though they deserve it (and if I had her powers, I would pull Dexter's all over the place and kick some evil ass Alias style).
- Nadia has a moral dilemna with the urges she feels to harm some for the good of others.

New synopsis and "deleted scenes" to come.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

The Nameless

2011-08-05T12:53:00.000-07:00

At long last, here is the synopsis for my debut novel, The Nameless. All you real life Athens, Ohioans should especially enjoy it. Thanks to my editorial friends, Tiah Lindner and Lucy Softich, for their much needed suggestions. My first pitch is with Laurie McLean at 4:45 today! Wish me luck.

The Nameless is a supernatural, coming-of-age novel set in modern times. Most would consider it to be a textbook Paranormal Romance.

It is written as the first-person account of Nadia Temple, an eighteen-year-old with supernatural abilities who feels both bogged down and elated by differences that alienate her from the rest of the world. These differences include heightened senses, superhuman strength, regenerative healing, telepathy, and the ability to induce memory loss in others. All told, they give Nadia a sense of duty and purpose, yet are a mixed blessing. Much of the first novel (from a series of three) involves this contention.

All her life, Nadia has tried hard to fit in, yet her differences have caused her to live an awkward, conflicted life of secrecy. At eighteen, she does not feel like she belongs in her own skin, or to any particular set of friends, though most of her outer life has been impressive: She has held down a meaningful job, made acquaintances, and finished college when others her age are just beginning. At the outset of the first novel, Nadia leaves her home in Albuquerque, New Mexico for a fresh start—a “normal” life—wanting to throw off as much of her strange nature as possible.

She goes to Athens, Ohio—a real life, small, rural college town with a well-documented history of hauntings and supernatural activity—to work on a film documentary about local bands. Her involvement with the documentary takes the reader to dive bars, nightclubs, house parties, and backcountry squats while giving a true sense of what life is like in the poorest county in Ohio.

In Athens, Nadia focuses on appearing normal. She tries not to induce memory loss or use telepathy on the people around her in hopes that she will learn more conventional types of socialization, yet she cannot help but fall back on these talents. What is more, Nadia is trapped by an overwhelming instinct that compels her to protect and rescue young girls in acutely dangerous situations (rape, murder, overdose). Only she knows the potential for power and darkness within herself that is roused in these situations. She feels both the thrill of her dominance and a sense of despair, for at this point in the series she sees her abilities as a double-edged sword. She is confused by them, though she feels the righteousness of the justice they affect.

A week into her Athens stay, Nadia meets an attractive, captivating, emotionally guarded tattoo artist named Scotty. Since she is trying not to use her extrasensory perceptions, Nadia does not realize that Scotty has talents much like her own. Nor does she realize that they have a long history together, which spans several lifetimes, or that he has protected her several times from those that have him blackmailed into criminal subservience. That Nadia has shown up again fills Scotty with old feelings of infatuation and fear for her safety, but he does not share any of this with her (or the reader) until the end of the first book. Instead, he initially gives her the cold shoulder in hopes that she will not be discovered by his blackmailers before he can protect her once and for all.
But such a cold shouldered snub sends Nadia into a night of attempted promiscuity, and ultimately leads to her relationship with Dylan Grey, another of her kind who seems to be the polar opposite to Scotty’s detached personality.

Dylan rescues Nadia from an attempt on her life, and tells her the truth about what she and they really are. He describes the schism that occurred thousands of years ago within their hidden, immortal race. From that point on, Nadia—a not-so-average modern teen turned otherworldly being overnight—discovers her undeniable link to this age-old battle bit by bit, finding passion, temptation, and identity along the way.

The Nameless are a supernatural race meant to keep humankind in balance by protecting humans and orchestrating human life on earth to that effect. This calling is instinctive to their natures.

They are made up of two factions: The Honorables and The Dishonorables. The Honorables stick to the calling of their natures, and have evolved to dismantle individuals tied to The Dishonorables. The Dishonorables have forsaken the guardianship aspect of their natures, and have fallen into preying on humans in order to achieve bursts of power or “highs.” They also hunt down those of their own kind that are coming-of-age in order to harvest their raw, undirected, completely renewable energy in order to build The Dishonorable ranks.

Each of The Nameless has the potential to develop an endless variety of abilities, though at the most basic level they share Nadia’s talents and abilities. All of these elements that I use in The Nameless come from what is and has been popular in mainstream genre fiction, but this story makes a unique recipe of those ingredients. Since The Nameless are able to attain an extremely high level of mental control the longer they can stay “alive,” it becomes essential to them to learn new ways to survive. The ultimate ability is to remain embodied on Earth, though how this is done is the basis of the difference between the two factions, and translates into the climax of the first book.

Nadia is destined to be the key that unlocks the schism between the two factions. This is precisely what The Dishonorables fear, and why she is so thoroughly hunted and killed over and over again throughout the centuries. But this time, things will be different. The timing is right for things to change, and Scotty and Dylan will have to work together in the series to bring this about. Eventually, Nadia will discover which of these men ultimately speaks to her heart more. Will it be the irreverent, walled-off Scotty or the thoughtful, kind-hearted Dylan?

The Nameless trilogy will appeal to audiences who were hooked by Harry Potter, the Twilight saga, The Mortal Instruments, Fallen, and the like. While the series never states exactly what The Nameless are, readers can infer that they are a cross between guardian angels akin to sorcerers and demons akin to vampires. The Nameless has a strong crossover potential for adult audiences because the story is often psychologically gritty and involves the maturation of Nadia over time. It also embodies very sexy and exciting characters, events, and themes throughout.

As the author, I am willing to do whatever it takes to make the series a success. I am available for speaking engagements, book tours, conferences, and all other possible ways to gain publicity. I maintain an active blog, and would be excited to become more engaged with social media like twitter.
The Nameless has all the elements to be an ongoing franchise with TV, film, and graphic novel potentials. I think that a book trailer would be an obvious choice for exposure. There is so much action and raw emotion that can be visualized effectively in just thirty seconds. I have several ideas that I am excited to share with my future publishing house.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Robopocalypse

2011-07-29T22:56:00.000-07:00

by Daniel Wilson

It's hard to write a less than favorable review like this because I have so much respect and appreciation for the bright mind and bold humor of Daniel Wilson. He is a Portlander now, as well as a roboticist-turned-full-time-writer and burgeoning star in his own right. I have seen him talk to an audience of writers, and to my nine-year-old son. He is quick to laugh, is a magnificent storyteller, and quite the handsome thirty-something man. My aforementioned son absolutely loved A Boy and His Bot, Daniel's debut fiction novel for middle readers. But as for Robopocalypse, I cannot say that I could muster up the same kind of affection.

I think that Daniel's idea was strong, but he told the story rather than showing it, which is a big flaw right off the bat. As the novel progressed, I was forced to become more and more reliant on being told that such-and-such happened instead of being brought through the action and the drama, the evolution and the climax. Robopocalypse would have been a far greater work of mastery if it had unfolded more like The Passage by Justin Cronin. That is to say, from past to present instead of some hybrid inbetween.

If it had begun with Archos's permanent inception as the "god" robot and continued into his New War against the humans then I would have been captivated. But to tell me the end and then start from the beginning (with HUGE chunks taken out), well...I just don't think I really needed to know the "means" after I knew the end. The means weren't compelling or intricate enough.

To take this a step further:
From an editor's stand point, the novel is not stylistically consistent. Take for example the following two sentences: "The woman spins around and on instinct she levels the leg at the window. She pulls a trigger, and the coiled leg unfolds and launches itself forward" (page 254). The first sentence could get away with not having a comma after "around" if the second sentence didn't have a comma after "trigger." Why? Because in both sentences, the first "and" is a coordinating conjuntion and should be preceeded by a comma.

Also, what about when Tom crouches down beside Mathilda only to then lean down toward Mathilda a few sentences later? (page 257-258). Those little hiccups smart.

Here is an awkward passage that could use some serious copyediting.
"Then, I see a pair of warm human hands. The hands are holding the leg like a rifle. It's a black woman, wearing gray rags and a pair of black goggles over her eyes. She holds the coiled leg thing out like a weapon, one hand wrapped around a homemade grip. I see a shiny, melted spot on the back end of the leg and realize that this leg has been cut off some kind of big walking machine. The woman doesn't see me; she keeps walking.

Nolan coughs quietly.

The woman spins around and on instinct she levels the leg at the window. She pulls the trigger, and the coiled leg unfolds and launches itself forward" (page 254).

Horribly put together. Here's how it should have gone down:
Then I see a pair of warm, human hands holding the coiled leg like a rifle. The hands belong to a black woman wearing gray rags and a pair of black goggles over her eyes. She holds the leg out like a weapon, with one hand wrapped around a homemade grip. I see a shiny, melted spot on the back end of the leg and realize that the leg has been cut off of a big walking machine. The woman has not seen me, because she keeps walking.

Nolan coughs quietly.

The woman spins around. On instinct, she levels the leg at the window then pulls the trigger. The coiled leg unfolds and launches itself forward.

Ahh... Now isn't that so much easier to read?

Such a shame, because it's the plain and simple lack of consistency on the line level that makes this book seem like a novice's attempt. The editors at Doubleday who worked on this manuscript should take a week off (without pay) and go to a refresher course on copyediting. Harsh, but there it is.

Also from the point of view of an editor, I didn't appreciate the rudimentary choice in fonts for the voice of Cormac Wallace that was inserted at the beginning and end of every single chapter. The italics drove me nuts, the bold added nothing, and the small caps repetition of CORMAC WALLACE, MIL#GHA217 got real old. I mean, I had to see that thing twice per chapter, and there are a LOT of chapters in this book.

Finally, my last gripe as an editor is a big one. Did the developmental editors even think to make the Point Of View consistent? Apparently not, since we read repeatedly (every time we see CORMAC WALLACE, MIL#GHA217) that most of the information that makes up the text is actually taken from surveillance. It made me roll my eyes every time I read a first person narrative when it was specifically stated beforehand that only surveillance had been used. Oh well.

Things I loved:

"Above all, I wish that I had left Mr. Nomura alone, not disturbed whatever stragedy he has built to survive the grief inflicted by this world. And those in it" (page 39).

"'Nothing's worse than just sitting around with hardly any electricity and not jack to do.'
This time I do roll my eyes. Building fences, repairing buildings, planting crops--nothing to do. Lord, what happened to our kids that they expect everything handed to them?" (Page 187).

"No matter how much kids beg to be treated like adults, nobody likes to let go of their childhood. You wish for it and dream of it and the second you have it, you wonder what you've done. You wonder what you've become" (page 193).

All such great little snippets. Profound.

Finally, something that I read right at the beginning resonated with me and the novel that I have written.

It was this:
"The cube is dense with information, like some fossilized brain that's sucked up entire human lifetimes and packed them inside itself, one after another, tighter and tighter" (page 6).

I felt a synchronicity with this sentence, like I could get a lot out of having Daniel's feedback regarding the race of beings that I have created for my trilogy.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Posty Toasties

2011-07-19T15:38:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been writing for Oregon Music News. You can check out some of my posts at the following links below, where you'll find reviews, music, and videos of some of Portland's up-and-coming bands.

Radiation City

Lovers

Blouse

I'm having one hell of a good time checking out all these bands, both digitally and live. Thanks to my friend Chris Young for asking me to do this.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

All Done

2011-07-14T10:40:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday, I finished my novel. Oh, hell yeah! After two and a half years, I have finally come to the end of the story. Now, I have the ardous task of a developmental edit, though it won't be that difficult. After all, the draft I'm on is number nineteen, or very close to that.

The time that has passed while I've worked on this novel has been the biggest help to me. So much of the story has been able to percolate and evolve in my own mind. The characters are so much more formed as unique individuals, not just extensions of me or what I want to happen. They shape the story now. They talk to each other and move the action themselves. It is a fascinating experience to be a part of. I cherish who they have become and what they have shown me about my own mind and my own potential.

The story is amazing. Soon, I will post the synopsis, and perhaps the title. I'm still superstitious (or is it paranoid?) to have the title out there in the stratosphere. But I will say that the novel is a young adult, supernatural, coming-of-age story with an eighteen-year-old female protagonist. It is meant as a trilogy.

It is going to rock the world.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Homoerotica

2011-07-09T15:27:00.000-07:00

The first season of True Blood (you know, that Vampire thing on HBO) was unique. It beat out all the other vampire genre stuff with its severe penchant for pornography and violence. It was a hard show to watch, but I stomached it because I wanted to see where it was going (I had read the first few books in the Sookie Stackhouse series by Charlaine Harris). The plot and characters of the show were that intriguing. As for the second season though, I didn't like it. Not at all. It was full of Maryann and her maenad crap, which made it a pure bust.

Still, I figured I'd give the third season a go (courtesy of Netflix), and see if the first few episodes went anywhere. They did. The first two were incredible. The plot was in full swing, everyone was involved in some sort of exciting drama, and all the dialogue and acting were superb.

Then the third and fourth episode hit the crapper.

I was bummed, but I figured I'd push on, give it one more go. I'm glad I did. The third season is full of better acting and more plots that don't just snowball into lameness or stop abruptly and never resolve. The season has a very thorough feeling to it, almost to the point of overkill.

But what I have particularly found intriguing is my own reaction to certain things. Take, for instance, the scene where Bill Compton and Sam Merlotte almost get physical on screen. They're in a motel room, Bill is writhing with need, Sam is obviously under his spell, they get naked. The interaction is so charged, so well orchestrated that you can feel the subtle, sexual building of energy. And here is where I admit that I got turned on! Who would have thought that I, a very straight female, would have experienced such a thing? But the turn ons didn't end there.

The third season is full of a whole lot of homoerotica. Some good and some...not so good. All the female stuff and most of the male stuff I can totally do without, but there have been some gems. Particularly, when Lafayette and Jesus are first getting together. There is some pretty fantastic chemistry between them. And to think, those dudes are straight in reality. I could never act that well.

Maybe that's why I'm a writer.

P.S. (Spoiler Alert!!!) I LOVE that the creepy, sadistic magistrate gets his head sliced clear off by Russell Edgington, the Vampire King of Mississippi.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

I Think, But I Do Not Know

2011-07-07T18:22:00.000-07:00

I think that I have my maternal grandmother's hands
and obstinate spirit.
Was she always so religious?

I think that I share my father's obsessive streak
and tempermental blood.

I think that I have my maternal grandfather's sexual fever
without the violence.
Was he ever kind?

I think that I share my mother's taste for road speed
and sentimental music.

I think that I have my paternal grandmother's strong beauty
and winning grace.
Was she a doting mother?

I think that I share my skin and willpower
with my brothers.

I think these things, but I do not know.
Will I ever?

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Recent Young Adult Books

2011-07-02T10:21:00.000-07:00

In the past week I've read:

Darkness Becomes Her by Kelly Keaton
This dystopian novel takes place post-Hurricane Katrina in a place called "New Two," the book's name for New Orleans. I wasn't smitten by the plot or the characters. It was well written, but a bit too easily identifiable with other titles of the supernatural/fantasy genre for this age group. In other words, the plot was far less complex than something like The Mortal Instruments series, which goes super deep with background and inner reality creation. Also, the characters seemed to be a hodge podge of creature/people derived from too many myths, superstitions, current fads. For those who love a good Bayou read, complete with all the French Quarter lingo, this one is for you.

Crescendo by Becca Fitzpatrick
Are "bad" boys really bad if they just look the part? How can we sympathize with or despise any character if we're never shown what makes up their motives, what their actions look like, or how they handle themselves in the day to day? Second hand information via third person blah, blah, blah just doesn't cut it. Show me the goods! So much is missing in this sequel to Hush, Hush that I couldn't even give this novel a proper read. I "fell asleep at the wheel" more than once, and eventually had to toss this book aside about halfway through. Too boring. Too much tell without any show.

Dark Song by Gail Giles
Question: What do you get when a high schooler born to privilege becomes "destitute" through the sudden irresponsibility of her father and the equally as sudden emotional unavailability of her mother?
Answer: A dark song that sparks up inside an otherwise good girl, making her desire defiance.
OK, fair enough. But is the defiance "dark" enough to make the high schooler want blood? Her parents blood? Hmm...
I thought this would be too heavy or too inconceivable a story, but it was neither. It is well done, though there are holes. Man, I wish I didn't spot those gaping plot holes so often. Well, what can I do?
I recommend this book to girls age 13 to 16 who might just live in a bubble of their own selfishness. Word of caution: It does contain a lost virginity scene. Though it's pretty benign (read: not graphic and also true), it did kinda break my heart.

Uglies by Scott Westerfeld
I'm in the middle of this one now. Staying with it because I actually find myself thinking about the plot, wondering where it's going. I don't think the author is the predictable type. Atleast, I want to believe that right now. Maybe I'll read the other three in the series if this one ends up surprising me.
What I really like: The science fiction, futuristic type stuff in the book is peppered throughout the plot in a way that is neither overwhelming nor vacant. We "see" things we haven't seen before in real life, which is cool. The descriptions are perfectly timed and hold just enough information to help us both visualize the actual objects without feeling distracted from the forward movement of the plot. Good times, just not uber thrilling as of yet. We'll see.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Keeping It Straight

2011-07-02T10:19:00.000-07:00

My current activities are as follows:

RainTown Press -- Executive Assistant (long term intern)
The Portland Review -- Marketing and Public Relations
Oregon Music News -- online content writer
Rose City Rollers -- online content writer
Finishing my debut novel
Working on my short story collection
Waiting for grad school to begin in the fall

Did I mention I'm a mama too?! Oh, when do I sleep?

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Crescent

2011-06-22T21:59:00.000-07:00

by Diana Abu-Jaber

Several lines of Ms. Abu-Jaber's prose made me pause and roll the words around, savoring them in my mind. Still, I thought that the bulk of this fictional novel did not adequately flesh out many of the cultural dualities it was trying to express. Though it was about a community of people (Lebanese, Iraqi, Iranian, Mexican, Syrian, African, etc) on Westwood Boulevard in L.A. during a period of Saddam Hussein's dictatorship in Iraq, I was not convinced by any one person's struggle, identity, or catharsis. The plot seemed to be a hazy reflection of the reality it was fictionalizing, and the narrative jumped gamely from an ancient tale of folklore to its counterpart "real time" description so often that I lost the drama of both things entirely.

The two main romantic characters I wish to analyze are:

Sirine: a blonde haired, fair-skinned, green eyed thirty-nine year old American/Iraqi. I never could "see" her, never could feel like she was a full fledged woman, chef, and individual; never married, no kids, hardly any life experience that ever came across in the story. Her parents both died young, when she was just nine (and I must say that it was so many convenient little things like that which made the whole world of the novel seem so obviously constructed). Sirine was cast as a very sheltered, almost adolescent female (her thought process and emotions felt very middle school), and I found it hard to know her at all, let alone sympathize with her biracial identity or her coming-of-age romance with Hanif (because she was almost forty).

Hanif: a dark man with a vague "Asian cast" (page 27) to his eyes, strong yet slender, well mannered and educated. I could never "see" him either. I suppose that in English literature, we don't have exposure to Eqyptian/Asian/Arab looking contemporary Iraqis, so maybe it's my own ignorance that made him untangible. Who knows. What I do know is that Sirine and Hanif were supposed to feel a passion for each other that was like no other (as is often the case with romance in fiction), but their passion evaded me completely. Some of the intimacy scenes were pretty well shown, though.

All in all, everything felt so watered down, so lost in all the pointed details, that I ended up not really knowing anything. I did, however, like some pieces. Some spoke to me in a general way about my own dual identity as an American/Lebanese woman. These pieces (and others) were:

"Um-Nadia says the loneliness of the Arab is a terrible thing; it is all-consuming." (page 19)

"Abdelrahman's eyes have the hard, lacquer shine of beetles..." (page 49)

"When he kisses her, the backs of her thighs go soft and her breath dissolves and her eyelids float over her eyes." (page 77)

My father's sister Dalal lives in the North." (page 117)
*I like this sentence because my own father also has a sister named Dalal, though she lives on a central coastline, in Beirut.*

"Even the Lebanese can't make up their minds to be Arabs, since some Phoenicians were in the neighborhood two thousand years ago." (page 137)
*I love this line because my dad is always saying that we're descendents of the Phoenicians!*

"...did some frying in aliya--the fat of the lamb's tail." (page 173)

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Charlie St. Cloud

2011-06-20T23:29:00.000-07:00

Let me just admit right now, for the record, that I cried and cried because of this movie--sobbed, really--but I am unabashed. For me, this is one of the top five most "moving" flicks of all time. Yeah, you heard me right. If you don't believe me, watch it. It'll make a believer out of you, if you can wrap your head and emotions around it long enough.

So now I take up my post, unashamed to join the millions of screaming, teenage fans who love Zac Efron.

Well, OK...I can't claim to be a teen anymore and I don't exactly "love" him so much as I am mesmerized by his talents. They are diverse, inspiring, and remind me of The Greats: Brad Pitt and Leonardo DiCaprio (cited in no specific order, mind you).

For those of you looking to have a totally different cinematic experience (read: meaningful), do this: put the contents of Zac's filmography onto your Netflix queue. Make sure they are all in order, right at the top of the list.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

The Help

2011-05-23T13:35:00.002-07:00

by Kathryn Stockett

Though I loved this book and how it had me wrapped up in its prose, I did have a few qualms with it. First, I don't think that the main, white characters were as fleshed out as they could have been. That is to say, I did not feel the intimacy of knowing who they were on their side of the fence. The black characters had much more meat to their parts, more back story and continuous presentation in the present that showed who they were and what they were made of. Secondly, I feel that the story itself, of race relations in Mississippi, could have been more telling. Since the story takes place during sit-ins, President Kennedy's assassination, and the Vietnam War (to name a few historical events), I believe that the overall plot would have been better served if there had been a connection to how such events were shaping things in the South. I felt like much of these events were mentioned, but the effects were not tangibly described.

Finally, I am not a big fan of the way The Help ended. While it does have some charge to it, and is in keeping with the blunt dismissal of blacks that may have been expected back then, I think that the reader is left hanging with a big fat, What next? What of Mae Mobley, of Aibileen, of all the women. I think that the end did not do well in summing up realities. I think it did well in giving the novel a wispy, storybook ending in which most everything seemed to turn out dandy, or at least to be on the upswing into new and fanciful things. I thought it was too cut and dry, whereas the rest of the mini-epic was not.

I did learn some cool phrases:

"Pooper" as in "up her white little pooper" (pg 50 -- means "asshole").
"Jelly-rolling" as in "signs of jelly-rolling" (pg 131 -- means "snail trails" or "sex on the sheets").

One final note: I must say that I respect and admire Ms. Stockett for writing this book because her own Nanny/Maid died before she could ask her questions, questions Stockett wishes she could have asked her before she died, about what it was like to be black in Mississippi spending your whole life serving whites. I suppose The Help is a redemption of sorts, a "putting to rest."

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Prayer

2011-05-18T23:20:00.000-07:00

My prayer tonight:

Dear Universe,

Please let the world evolve into a place like Portland Proper.

I see everyone walking in everyone else's neighborhood, and no one is getting hurt with the kind of destruction that fear can create; there is more good than danger in Portland Proper (the close-in city at the heart of the five directions). So much makes me love this place. It wouldn't be like this if something weren't special, so please, Universe, pretty pretty please.

Sincerely Yours,
My Best Self

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Santigold

2011-05-15T21:08:00.000-07:00

Wow. Santigold's first album, Santogold, came out in 2008 and I didn't hear about her 'til just a one week ago. To my ears, she's got Pj Harvey's moody, lyrical guts mixed up with an M.I.A. style of delivery, and a whole lot of glossy rag mag hooks built up in her jingles. But that's just me trying to put a commonalities spin on a female artist that shakes the room with boogy and can't really be touched by any specific finger pointing.

I've got her on constant play. You should too. Just go to Grooveshark.com and plug her in, then sit back and enjoy the hook up.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Fashion Fun(d)raiser

2011-05-09T14:15:00.000-07:00

I went to an event several Sundays ago. May 1, to be exact. It was called the Modified Style Fashion Show and it was held at Disjecta, a very cool warehouse-type venue in North Portland. And even though there were upwards of about 400 people in attendance and many wonderful, talented designers were involved, the show was a flop for attendees. Here's why:

First off, the MC for the entire event was a dude (DJ Prashant) with a very thick, muffled Hindu/Brooklynesque accent. Both accents are hard to make sense of on their own, but together--watch out! Literally, no one could understand a word out of his mouth. Garble galore! So we were all in the dark regarding the proceedings, the fashion pieces, designers, etc. Coincidentally, he is an amazing DJ and spins very nice beats.

Next, the procession of models couldn't have been more randomly selected. The first guy out of the gate was a potbellied, balding, middleaged man. I wondered, Is this a joke? Is this whole thing a gag? But then a very gorgeous young women came next, her hairdo, makeup, and costume all striking. So why the guy? Lame. This happened a few more times. It ruined the crowds heightened level of anticipation for something beautiful and fashionable. Double lame.

In keeping with the above "random selection" mention regarding the models, it was painfully obvious that so many of them were not comfortable in their own skin. It detracted from the event that there was no uniformity of presentation; no similarity in walks, timing, attitude, or mood. Some models scampered out, raced down the runway, and all but ran away. Others were all business, entirely catwalkesque. Still others were somewhere in between, showing us all that this was just a grassroots effort compiled of lay people who couldn't coherently present themselves as designers to be taken seriously at all. But I blame this faux paus on the organizers of the event.

I did like the venue though, as I stated before. I will be back next time Disjecta has a dance party that isn't Bollywood inspired.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Unclean Jobs for Women and Girls

2011-04-24T12:16:00.000-07:00

by Alissa Nutting

This collection of short stories is completely forgettable, though there were a few sentences in "Bandleader's Girlfriend" that I liked:

"Let me tell you about the sound of Wolf Rainbow. It is loud but it is a harmonious loudness. It is like the most beautiful woman in the world beating you up with her hair." (pg 60)

And that's all folks...

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter

2011-03-27T11:43:00.000-07:00

by Carson McCullers
(first published in 1940 when McCullers was just twenty-three)

Though I admire the language of this novel -- the way in which the dilaogue and narration are so thoroughly peppered with a diversified vernacular -- at no point was I consumed by this piece as I would have liked. As indepth as the narration seemed to be, it often lacked a roundness, a completeness, and a clarity. I never felt like I understood motives entirely or recognized the needs and yearnings of the characters in a way that helped move the story from one place to another; the novel seemed simply to be a telling over time, much like A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan. But, unlike Egan's novel, The Heart is an overt socialist manifesto, which seems to serve only the idea rather than the audience's interest or recognition of the characters therein.

All said, I liked a great many sections in this novel. A few excerpts follow:
"'Resentment is the most precious flower of poverty.'" (pg 77)
"The radio was no good tonight--somebody sang popular songs that all ended in the same way." (pg 141)
"Often he was laughed at, and when this happened he held his stunted body very straight and spoke scornfully in words of many syllables...And if he was still laughed at he sometimes fought. He swung his big brown fists with crazed violence and sobbed aloud." (pg 185)
"'And that meant every man was equal in the sight of Nature--with an equal chance. This didn't mean that twenty per cent of the people were free to rob the other eighty per cent of the means to live. This didn't mean for one rich man to sweat the piss out of ten thousand poor men so that he can get richer. This didn't mean the tyrants were free to get this country in such a fix that millions of people are ready to do anything--cheat, lie, or whack off their right arm--just to work for three squares and a flop.'" (pg 190)
"'The way I need you is a loneliness I cannot bear.'" (pg 259)
"...the thoughts he had stored in his mind were too big to be said in a short time. He talked with frantic haste." (pg 267)
"He loved the room. It was both luxurious and sedate." (pg 270)
"'What I'm trying to get at is that Baby is so shamed over losing her hair and that bandage on her head that it just seems like it makes her cut the buck all the time. She won't practice her elocution--she won't do a thing.'" (pg 277)
"People eating. The wide-open mouths with the food pushed in. What was it? The line he had read not long ago. Life was a matter of intake and alimentation and reproduction. The place was crowded. There was a swing band on the radio." (pg 277)
"Broken pictures lay like a scattered jigsaw puzzle in his head. Alice soaping in the bathtub. Mussolini's mug, Mick pulling the baby in a wagon. A roast turkey on display. Blount's mouth. The face of Singer. He felt himself waiting. The room was completely dark. From the kitchen he could hear Louis singning." (pg 285)
"Harry believed that after you were dead and buried you changed to plants and fire and dirt and clouds and water. It took thousands of years and then finally you were a part of all the world. He said he thought that was better than being a single angel. Anyhow it was better than nothing." (pg 321)
"After a while the door to the hall was opened and Portia came in. 'I reckon I going to have to dress you like a baby,' she said. 'Here your shoes and socks. Let me take off your bedroom shoes and put them on. We got to get gone from here pretty soon.' 'Why have you done this to me?' he asked bitterly. 'What I done to you now?' 'You know full well that I do not want to leave. You pressed me into saying yes when I was in no fit condition to make a decision. I wish to remain where I have always been, and you know it.' 'Listen to you carry on!' Portia said angrily. 'You done grumbled so much that I nearly worn out. You done fumed and fussed so that I right shamed for you.' (pgs 397-398)
"And how can the dead be truly dead when they still live in the souls of those who are left behind?" (pg 399)

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

An Open Tab...

2011-03-27T11:28:00.000-07:00

...of my favorite authors:

Hillary Jordan
Jonathan Evison
Justin Cronin
Alice Munro
Doris Lessing
John Steinbeck
Ernest Hemingway
John McCrea
Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Leo Tolstoy
Margaret Atwood
Susan Reece

Portland is like Obama

2011-03-12T15:19:00.001-08:00

I remember that feeling. The feeling I had the day I found out Obama had become President,
that the vote of the American people -- their collective presence -- counted for something.
More than something.
It counted. And Obama was President.

That day. Looking up to the sky. Looking around. Watching it digitally. Feeling it in my soul.
Wow. A generational moment in time.
Happening.

Is President.
A man and his team representing us, or trying to represent. Trying.
Real support. All walks of life.
Some complain it's not enough.
Expecting it;
If it's not there, it should be.
Not doing their part to enjoy what they've got -- that style of thinking -- rather than making life a good, solid self effort.

Well, I got to thinking about that feeling just now while lying here in the sun --
Blazing through my big, southern facing window,
reddening my cheeks --
Portland is like that;
people talk, people decide, people do. It's all so inspired and comes with so much energy that it just seems to burst it's seams.
Just.

It's happening all the time.
At 12:30 p.m. today I witnessed a pouring forth of costumed people.
Manuevering little parade-float shopping carts westbound down the Burnside Bridge.
Some at full speed.

At the first intersection
wild and varied revelry ensued.
And I was struck with a feeling of awe -- that feeling-- of being part of something that we all inspire.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Take A Moment

2011-02-27T20:27:00.000-08:00

Let's stop for a minute and ponder the vast river of turmoil that can be marriage and childrearing...

Phew! Now that that's over I'd like to say, "Trust is not what we learned it was in school. Trust is, first and foremost, confidence in yourself to know what's best. And to do it."

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Portland Music Videos

2011-01-29T20:30:00.001-08:00

I volunteer for the Northwest Film Center on occassion so a few weeks ago I stamped hands at Mississippi Studios in North Portland where the NWFC was showing a Portland Music Videos program. The artists shown in the program were compiled courtesy of Chris Young and his coworkers over at Oregon Music News. Below, you'll find links to a couple of my favorite videos from that night. They inspired me, haunted me, and made me want to get out and see more of what Portland's music scene has to offer. As Wheezie from Dragon Tales would say, "Loved it!"

Pink Martini, "Splendor in the Grass"
Haunting. Let's not take our loved ones (or our youth) for granted!

Y La Bamba, "Juniper"
Gorgeously shot. Beautiful Harmonies.

Portland Cello Project, "Denmark"
Puppetry done right here in Portland in someone's backyard (mostly).

Red Fang, "Prehistoric Dog"
Great sound. Lots of medieval ass kicking. But, look away when the dude pukes! I want to see these guys live.

Nick Jaina, "Another Kay Song"
Shot at The Woods (right down from my house!) The band played/sang doubletime so that the video could run in slow motion. Love the aesthetics of the result.

Boy Eats Drum Machine, "Hoop + Wire"
Check his website out it rocks.

Laura Gibson & Ethan Rose, "Sun"
Slow, junky music with Regina Spektor-ish vocal stylings. Gorgeous colors and tight, experimental cinematic feel for the video. Just don't go shoot up dope or jump off anything.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

On The Tracks

2011-01-29T20:29:00.000-08:00

Laying in bed, I can hear the activity of the train yard half a mile away. The engine revs and then dies down. I hear the shouts of men, like bugles echoing across a valley. They make their way to my room. I try and hear what they say, but it's no use. Their information escapes me.

The engines rev again; the pressure created by the suddenly stoked up machinery feels like my head is dampened, is in an indecisive vaccuum. I don't imagine the pressure because, even across the distance, the vaccuum deflates when the engine dies down again. More bugle trumpets, the gruff shouts of men in the night. Doing their job.

I wonder if they know I can hear them, if it's possible for me to put my ear any closer to the wall as if they were in an adjoining room.

I wonder if they will rev and die down, checking engines tonight.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Just Another Day

2011-01-29T16:09:00.000-08:00

Of all the happenings in Portland this weekend our attentive questions fell to these:

The "pussy" convention at the Portland Airport Holiday Inn or, as most socially acceptable people refer to it, The International Cat Show. Wouldn't seeing a four foot long Guinness-Book-of-World-Records domestic house cat be a startling moment in my life? If so, I could have similar moments Saturday or Sunday if I paid the five bucks entrance fee.

The RoseBuds in a Hangar bout. For those of you who don't speak roller derby that's: the Rose City Rollers' junior derby team - girls twelve to seventeen - skating at the RCR rink for several jams (games within the bout). Sunday three to five. Also, five bucks.

For free, we could head to the Crystal Ballroom's 97th birthday party. Lots of live music. Tours to show us around the landmark building. All ages. One p.m. 'til late.

But, then I thought, "I feel like a visit to the salt water soaking pool at the Kennedy School." Haven't been there in a while. Great weekend for a hot dip out in nature with the fam. Birds singing. Everything blooming because it's been so warm. I'd have to shave, though...

But instead, Saturday we went on two walks. Urban treks. As I looked around our neighborhood I said to my little family, "This is probably the happiest I've ever been in my life." Knowing that this is the city I prefer above all others. Feeling inspired. Enjoying the crisp quiet of winter/spring. Kids in bed early so my husband and I could stay up way too late (again, as always) and watch Scott pilgrim vs. The World. Great flick. Fucking rad, actually. So totally unexpected to see a movie that incorporated everything the pop culture loves: video games, music, fashion, alternate realities, dreamscape, teenage obsessions, visual effects galore, and a ton of known hotshot hotties for cameos. Never a dull moment. The story was goofy but, whatever. It worked. Jesse Eisenberg (Social Network and Zombieland weiner) wishes he could pull off The Scrawny Nerd turned Stud as well as Bad Ass Michael Cera. And doesn't Jason Schwartzman look like a nerdy Tom Cruise?

On Sunday, my husband, oldest son, and a friend/fellow capoierista of my husband all road their bikes to the park on 26th and Powell to play capoiera with ten or so other folks. My youngest and I arrived later (yes, in our vehicle) to take advantage of the playground on such a clear day. That night, I met my writing circle at Red Star Tavern on 5th and Alder downtown. What a perfect spot to sip a few Lemon Drops and talk shop. Back at home, my husband and I watched Inception. Brilliant and seamless. Without glaring flaw. What was all the negative gripe about this film? Apparently, the people who can't keep track of what is happening in this excellently crafted mindbender need to stick to lameness that doesn't stretch the brain toward query and intelligence. There's always the Twilight movie franchise...

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Social Network

2010-12-21T13:13:00.000-08:00

Can somebody tell me what the hell is going on? Please! How can a no-talent, Woody Allen-esque impersonator of stuttering neuroticism like Jesse Eisenberg have won a Best Actor award from the Boston Critics? Surely, he was in the running with much more compelling and talented actual actors. Has anyone seen this blubbering baffoon's filmography? He plays the SAME role in every movie he stumbles through - complete with the exact same hair style too!

I guess there is only one thing left to be sure of: Taste is based on who is paying whom off. Someone out there is a lot richer for reasons of marketing and other such general manipulation.
Sorry Bastards! The least you could do is give me some of that dough for my troubles.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Black Keys

2010-12-19T15:02:00.000-08:00

I saw the Black Keys at the Crystal Ballroom on December 7th - a Tuesday. It was, by far, one of the best live shows I have ever witnessed. What a rush to NOT know a band's music but still be able to hit every beat perfectly with my feet and hips. This is not to say that their grooves were predictable. Far from it. More like 'sensational'. As in: of the senses. And what unique sound with such pounding earnest. Those two guys clearly love what they're doing, feel a homeward release in it, and invite you in.

The late 30's, thinning haired, messy looking front man actually exudes such a tangible yearning that it makes a girl crave his medicine.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Catching Fire

2010-12-05T21:47:00.001-08:00

by Suzanne Collins

This book is the second in the Hunger Games trilogy. Like the first, it is a very two dimensional rendering of a story that reads much like a travelogue: orderly, chronological, without emotion. The reason why is because the main character and narrater of the tale, Katniss, is a girl without any yearning who merely describes the succession of things that happen to her and to those around her instead of feeling them and letting the narration flow.

For example, sentence sequences like the following, "The hatred I feel for him, for the phantom girl, for everything is so real and immediate that it chokes me. Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable" ( pg 117) use descriptive words - to a certain, limited extent - but emote nothing. This is as deep as Katniss' emotional confessions get. Not juicy at all. Certainly no defining actions come from them.

A word on action: I said before, in The Hunger Games entry, that the plot was predictable in the first book. It is the same in the second. I almost come up laughing at how cheesy the 'tension' scenes are. Suzanne Collins must think that her audience is a bunch of unimaginative nitwits in order to try to pull these fast ones over. For instance, on page 309 - 310 Katniss is (gasp) "Weaponless, defenseless..." but runs anyway "to protect [Peeta's] body with mine, even though I won't make it" (of course you will, dear!) "in time." But then "materializing," (told you!) "it seems, from thin air" (because the character did - both literally and figuratively - just show up) a junky-type fighter throws herself into harms way and dies for Peeta. "One moment nowhere, the next reeling in front of Peeta." Just in the (snicker) knick of time!!!

How are we to take this crap seriously?

Catching Fire is a book entirely without passion, devoid of even the simplest evocation of emotion.
I wouldn't recommend it. I have no desire to read the third in the series. Poor trees...

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Excerpts From 'A Visit From The Goon Squad'

2010-12-05T21:46:00.001-08:00

"Stephanie didn't approve of Chris drinkiing coffee - reasonable, given that the kid was nine - but Bennie couldn't resist the exquisite connection that came of denying his ex-wife in unison. Betrayal Bonding, Dr. Beet called this, and like the Will to Divulge, it was on the list of no-no's" (pg 19).

"Lou and Mindy dance close together, their whole bodies touching, but Mindy is thinking of Albert, as she will periodically after marrying Lou and having two daughters, his fifth and sixth, in quick succession, as if sprinting against the inevitable drift of his attention" (pg 62).

"I felt no shame whatsoever in these activities, because I understood what almost no one else seemed to grasp: that there was only an infinitesimal difference, a difference so small that it barely existed except as a figment of the human imagination, between working in a tall green glass building on Park Avenue and collecting litter in a park. In fact, there may have been no difference at all" (pg 71).

"Like all failed experiments, that one taught me something I didn't expect: one key ingredient of so-called experience is the delusional faith that it is unique and special, that those included in it are privileged and those excluded from it are missing out" (pg 74).

"But it came to him now that Susan had simply been lying. He'd let her go, conserving himself for-what? It frightened Ted that he had no idea. But he'd let her go, and she had gone" (pg 174).

"Ted sat on the bed beside his niece (Sasha) and put his arm around her shoulders. They felt like birds' nests under his coat. The prickling sensation ached in his nostrils" (pg 175).

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

A Visit From The Goon Squad

2010-12-05T21:28:00.001-08:00

by Jennifer Egan

Some say that this is, in fact, a novel. But, I'm not so sure. I think it's a book of linked short stories disguised as chapters that end up having the bulk and weight of a big novel. True, they are brilliant and well composed chapters that borrow meat from other chapters and, thus, do a brilliant job of building a huge arc across the entire piece. But these short stories are almost better on their own. Presented together as a novel they drown the reader. There is no way that anyone could ever keep all the characters and their connections to each other straight. One week after reading A Visit From The Goon Squad I must say that the whole complex affair is a hazy memory of sidetracks and philosophy.

What I will say is this: Jennifer Egan astounds in her ability to get inside the mannerisms and mentalities of her various subjects. I can only hope to someday be so creative as to write an entire chapter from a young girl's point of view that is all charts and graphs detailing what life means from that tween vantage. Especially when the reader has to flip the book lengthwise to decipher not only the message but the model.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

The Hunger Games

2010-11-12T12:42:00.000-08:00

by Suzanne Collins

If it's a quick read you want then it's a quick read you'll get with this one. In my mind it is a teenage friendly spin-off of the much more heady and suspenseful The Running Man (by Stephen King) just much more conveniently plotted. No thinking involved. No real concern for the heroine. No true suspense. Just:
To the point.
Action packed.
Ugly and pretty.
Sad and exciting.
Always resolved.

What I most appreciated about this little book is the strength of mind and form the female character, Katniss Everdeen, embodies. She is a well crafted narrator whose 'old soul' thinking keeps her on top. But, perhaps this 'on top' aspect of Katniss' fate is at the root of the story's downside for me. Everything is too easy. Too predictable.

My current PSU writing instructor Robin Romm (The Mother Garden, The Mercy Papers) talks of how a writer can have too much of an intention for a story and its characters that the plot becomes something of an open book, too transparent, and that as a writer you don't want this for your readers. Atleast, not so blatantly. But The Hunger Games does just that. Constant exposure. Blatant transparency. There is never a time when Katniss is in any real danger because it is obvious she will come out fine in the end. The 'how?' of this equation does not really fulfill its suspenseful role because resolve is always right around the corner. And as to the other characters: they are never fleshed out so there is never a role for them that doesn't feel anything more than disposable.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Bullshit Blues

2010-11-11T13:16:00.000-08:00

Portland has four seasons. As such, this city can be expected to have a winter as well as a summer, a fall as well as a spring. I wish that everyone would stop crying about 'the rain' when there is only a mist-like spray fthat comes and goes in short durations on otherwise sun filled and considerably warm days.

"Oh, it's so gray I barely made it outside."

Really? Well, perhaps you'll move to San Francisco, though summers there are the coldest winter to experience.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Robin Hood

2010-11-01T21:17:00.000-07:00

Directed by Ridley Scott
(Blade Runner, Gladiator, Black Hawk Down, etc)

Not only does this version of the timeless Robin Hood tale miss the mark visually with its two dimensional cinematography that seems more posterboard friendly than widescreen compatible, it also goes astray with the story itself. I was disappointed to watch Cate Blanchett (one of my ultimate favorite actresses) and Russell Crow (a hottie in his own right) star in such a poorly acted, poorly scripted, poorly plotted film in which a nothing-of-a-soldier named Robin (Crowe) can be seen kinda fighting, sort-of carousing, while all the while shooting sly eyes at the undeveloped characters around him meant - presumably - to be his unfailing entourage.

And then suddenly Robin is faced with King Richard himself who asks for 'the truth' about the crusades and their effects. Robin gives it and then finds his head and hands bound, awaiting death with Russel Crowe humor while Robin is nowhere in sight. But alas, the character Robin comes forward again only to be set free after barely a morning of imprisonment because King Richard is shot in the throat and killed on the battlefield by some nameless peasant who was playing hero while the real fighters of the opposing side were having lunch. All this while said 'real fighters' were under seige.

What? When did this ever happen in the Robin Hood tale?

But these lame-o conveniences are only the beginning. Robin goes free and then happens to witness the death of Robert 'of Loxley' (a title typically given to Robin himself in other versions) by the hand of some would-be villain who is allying with France to take over England behind the new King's back. Then Robin swears an oath to the dying Robert to return Robert's sword to his village and to his ageing father. Robin does this, stupidly and against all good advice. Then, as if by a miracle, the ageing father asks Robin to pretend to be Robert so that the wife (Blanchett) can keep the land when the ageing father dies. So he says 'OK'. Lame-o!

But wait! Robin and the wife fall in love even though not much happens to convince us of this except that she does help Robin get his chainmail off before a bath (ooh!) and he does plant some seeds in the field for her starving village (ooh!).

And then Robin comes to find out that his dad - who 'abandoned' him - was actually some prophet of sorts who tried to unite England under a democracy but was beheaded for it.

WTF?

Perhaps this would have all been palatable if
A) the love story had actually been thus and
B) Robin had been a little more identifiable to us and
C) the film had been done well in any way.

But most lamentable on the most basic of levels was this: the action sucked. You could literally see the choreography of the fights: the ducking and dodging of meaty fists as if there was a good six inches between every one involved in the non-contact. Who the heck hired that camera crew?

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Back To School

2010-10-07T08:24:00.000-07:00

I am doing homework again. Homework that will earn me a grade, a participation placement, a place amongst peers and a letter of recommendation.

Writing 412 at Portland State University. Happy to wake up and work away at the critiques, the reading, the writing.

Ticking off the syllabus agenda.
Dreaming of my application to the Creative Writing MFA.
Allured by the desired life coming into play, coming into focus, becoming reality piece-by-piece.

Waited so long for this. Looking back, I have needed all these aspects, all these roles and places and people in my life in order to wind up here, on this road, having this experience. Can I really be honing the craft of writing out of my years of painting, mothering, being an outsider, being an insider, being a diary maiden, being depressed, being alive, and listening, sensing, seeing from my limited but wide open perspective? Yes! 'Tis true...

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Pravda

2010-09-05T20:36:00.001-07:00

by Edward Docx

If Jennifer Egan (A Visit From The Goon Squad, The Keep) and Fyodor Dostoyevsky were to make a baby it would likely look like Pravda.

I read this fat, heavily word soaked book because it was toted to be very Dostoyevsky-esque (I love those stylized, longwinded Russian epics). And while the depth and breadth of this modern novel - set in New York, London, and Russia - was in the same vein of the detail obsessed, class conscious, politically minded plots and subplots of the aforementioned Russian author I was neither overly engaged in the plot as a whole nor entirely impressed. In fact, I made myself read this book to the end only because one of the strains within it was actually quite a gem.

It is this strain alone that constitutes the book's genius. It involves an orphaned boy grown up to be a hard edged man and talented pianist, Arkady, whose British expatriate heroin addicted roommate - an ex man-of-the-cloth - involves himself with the pianist's potential salvation. The mother of the grown orphan (spoiler alert here!!!) finally tracks her orphaned son down, unbenownst to her two grown children and former husband, a philandering and unrepentant bisexual.

Overall, the story went too deep when it didn't need to, straining at the reader's dying commitment in order to flesh out lengthy descriptions of character thought and back story. Unlike Egan, whose short story-like writing always comes full circle to the effect of a cohesive plot, Pravda seemed to build stories within stories that served to add no real expressiveness to the piece as a whole.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

I Loath the Initials MILF

2010-08-24T21:17:00.000-07:00

In a world where almost every word has an alternate meaning I have come to find that 'cougar', a noun that is part of our kindergarten dioramas and Discovery Channel viewings, now rubs me entirely the wrong way.

I used to think of fierce, wild cats when I heard the word 'cougar'; animals endowed with flesh tearing teeth and claws best used for disemboweling.

And now?

Well, let's put it this way. When I go to the neighborhood grocery store and reach up to the top shelf in the cookie aisle to grab my favorite gourmet (false advertising) cookies I see the words Cougar Mountain on the box and it makes me think not of a mountain overrun by prey-minded fourlegged felines but of Courtney Cox, mature female sexuality, and the Hollywood terminology that has always saturated middle America. All I want is my damn Triple Chocolate Walnut gourmet (false advertising) cookies but what I get is Liz Phair.

But, whatever. Reality is such that our female libido is strongest during our middle years, what 30Rock lovingly refers to as the 'Dirty Thirties', and the need for sex and physicality sets us up to act like intelligent (argueably) horny male teenagers. But, come on cookies. Did you have to take it this far?

Stay tuned. Visit often.

Just Pitch It!

2010-08-08T21:40:00.000-07:00

I volunteered at this year's Willamette Writer's Conference. My plan was to simply attend: to help out, to observe the etiquette, to meet my peers, to plan for next year when I would pitch my novel. They scheduled me, both Saturday and Sunday, to be stationed inside the room where the group consults (pitching to an editor or agent while amongst peers) and the one-on-ones (AKA 'The Pit') were going on.

"What an opportunity," I'd thought before the conference. What an opportunity indeed.

I hadn't planned to pitch.

Hadn't planned. . .

To pitch: The industry term for painfully condensing your story (novel, script, play, concept) into a scantily complex yet alluring hook hoping to score the approval of an editor or agent.

But then it happened.

I heard a very sociable, very approachable editor showering his table with warmth and humanity and I thought "I can do it!" And so I did.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

August 3rd

2010-08-03T10:12:00.000-07:00

...and the mornings are chilly here in Portland! In the upper 50's until the sun comes out around noon. It's actually kind of lovely, quite refreshing after more than 30 years of spending every one of my summers somewhere HOT!

Like Phoenix, Arizona and Grass Valley, California - brutal dry heat.
Like Athens, Ohio and Raliegh, North Carolina - swampy humid.

I've heard that this summer's weather is unusual. The sun and heat should be constant from July 4 to Halloween. Hmm... Is this Portland's way of tweeking with my mind, making me think of the country across the world where I had planned to go, where it is winter now in Sydney, Australia?

Either way, it's a new experience. And, call me crazy but, the lack of glaring sun and stifling heat actually make me write more. Always. Winter is when I flourish on paper. Hence, the lack of blogs.

Hopefully, soon I will have news of a short story publication or that my novel is complete and that I am starting the long and horrifically imposing task of finding an agent.

Soon? Soon.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Paris

2010-05-29T19:04:00.001-07:00

Even though it's near June and the butter still solidifies on the counter more often than it softens, I like it here. It's clean, green, and the mean is balanced out with the hearty heart. I am overwhelmed by the cool going-ons, the taste of flowers, the aroma of DIY.

Some people grew up dreaming of Paris. Others wished for Australia, the Carribean, Brazil. But for me it was different. I dreamed of them all and of nowhere in particular. I saw myself in a YA novel, ageless and burgeoning on the cusp of something I would only eventually understand. My place was wherever the cocoon finally bloomed.

Portland. The abstract longing born into flesh. My wings at once harden and become pliable, subject to the weather like a stick of rich salted butter. I glory in the wild chemistry of the spring season here. It keeps things interesting.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

A Case of Display

2010-03-24T09:08:00.001-07:00

I grew up
In a matchbox
With a large glass window
For audience viewing

My Nan
Took strands of my hair
And ringed them adamantly
Shirley Temple

It pleased some
To make me a princess

My dad
Pushed me forward
To kiss strange men
When my instincts hesitated

It pleased some
To make me a tool

My mom
Slapped and hit
And pinched
And pulled

The hair that was rung
The body that was pushed

It pleased some
To make me pay

And though there was
A good intention somewhere, perhaps
I wonder at the ability
To leave behind the Display Case

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

On Stage

2010-03-24T08:59:00.001-07:00

Halfway through my firstborn's gestation
We had Not-My-Mother and her oldest Son
Over to stay
In town for a few days
Sleeping in our living room

In the midday semi-dark
Of the half sunken living room
While Husband and Not-My-Mother were outside
I popped in a yoga video
Planning to stretch unforeseen complications away

oldest Son sat on a couch
Voyeurism sat too
A soft core played out
In line with the forward bend
And the backward protrusion

"Can I watch?"
Though his slick said he had
"Sure," with a dried up vagina
Hostessing the intrusion
Stretching away through the stiff discomfort

Sickened
Hesitant to complain
The unspoken agreement
No waves
Please, no scenes

Un
fore
seen
Invisible Secret Kitchen sink
Complications

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Bottom Feeder

2010-03-11T19:56:00.000-08:00

I know of a woman.
She cripples herself with mindless worry.
She inflicts her endless neuroticism on the young and old alike.
Her reflection is hair-brained.
Her intentions are as elusive as noonday shadows.

I know of a woman.
She lives down the street from powerline giants.
She drives to and fro on a hairpin highway.
Her moods are like badly spiked punch.
Her house is filled with stench and mess.

I know of a woman.
She sucks and saps at spirits for a living.
She expects ears and eyes toward her feigning.
Her bill is never paid.
Her debt never quenched.

I know of a woman.
She is a bottom feeder.
She floats a pinched essence.
Her morale is a farce.
Her life is a game.

The smell is terrible and the filth is obscene.
And she lets her dogs shit in her house.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

All Around Me

2010-02-18T21:56:00.000-08:00

I'm not bothered by the light pollution or the trains that wake me up sometimes, so loud with their hooting pitch against the night.

I dream in cityscapes and big colors, larger than life positive emotion and fatigue.

As I have unpacked boxes and set things into a new place I find that I am surrounded by objects, gifts, memories, and belongings imparted to our family by those places and people in Nevada County.

From the homebirth I had and the small herd of deer that stared at my progress from ten feet away as I walked with heavy steps up and down the road, bearing the work of labor.

From summer haunts down at the Yuba River; a River to rival all others that, the first time I saw its waters, rushed at me like an Ansel Adams photograph gone liquid with natural beauty.

From kindess in a heart. From a letter written; a piece of art kept. From a name I now know.

From so much more: I feel the presence of the place and the people, my friends, of that well-connected community all around me and I am grateful.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

It's Windy Here

2010-02-18T21:40:00.001-08:00

I told my youngest today to "Look!" because the trees were dancing. He could see the bold rustling of the wind in them, could feel the air pick up the little tufts of baby hair on top of his little round head and spray them upward.

He is delightful; such a spitfire when he comes at life with so much strength and force of will that 'down time' of my nerves seems lost in coming.

My oldest is becoming wiser to life. Wiser to himself. As parents we've decided to just say "Think what we would say and make a good choice" so that he can become more self-aware. If he's hungry I want him to find himself something to eat. Something that is fortifying. If he wants to do something go ahead, provided it isn't in excess if it entails his DS or a movie during daylight hours. If he can think of ways he could get hurt, thing of ways he could stay safe and still do what would keep his interest.

To know my nearly 8 year old son has an image of a fortified castle in his mind and translates that to our request of him is astonishing. With help, he understands that we are asking him to be Super Heroed or ninja-like for the cause of his own sustained fortification. It's kinda cool.

Scratch that. It is awesome.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Aahh...

2010-02-16T21:19:00.001-08:00

We finally found a house to rent after a week and a half of driving around in the car with two ornery, complaining, seemingly claustrophobic (I don't blame them) children and chasing leads that led us to amazingly crappy and mostly over-priced houses, condos, and apartments.

We were staying in Southwest Portland - John's Landing area - which I actually like very much for its quiet suburban vibe despite its proximity to downtown. Where we ended up looking at rentals within our $900 to $1100 price range was the Southeast portion of the city, staying fairly close-in, not wanting to go past 52nd Avenue or so because then everything starts to lose its apparent flavor and becomes less eye candyesque and more of an eye sore.

We immediately liked the Hawthorne area for its aptly named Sunnyside Public School, its eclectic yet approachable venues, and the family friendly vibe as evidenced by the scores of children and parents in every little nook and cranny. And the 20 and 30-somethings were not unbearably scenester enough to make outsiders cringe, which is always a plus. But, on the whole, the actual strip of Hawthorne does seem almost too happening all the time.

Woodstock and the Morelands (East & West) were our next best bets for agreeable sub-urban surroundings but then we kept stumbling into the Sellwood neighborhood (which is Westmorelands bordering buddy) and it was love at the very first sight. I mean, come on. Can anyone say 'Westmoreland Park'? I sure can. That serious stretch of waterways and wildlife, bocce and basketball courts, soccer and football fields, and old skool playground equipment is half a mile away from where we have staked our claim. Hee Haw for us! We went beyond our price range and bit the big one for this two-story three bedroom one bath basement with a yard and a detached ramshackle garage but hell...you'd be surprised what very little $1250 could afford around here by way of a great house in an amazing ENTIRELY walkable neighborhood.

But it's all relative. In the Bay Area our $1250 would have gotten us a cramped musty rat-infested walk-up, no doubt.

We'll be taking our oldest to the nearby school for some checking-it-out time tomorrow or the next. Wish us luck.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Yesterday

2010-02-16T21:13:00.001-08:00

was orientation for international students accepted into Macquarie University. Next Monday, the 22nd of February, is the first day of classes for MQ's (as it is known) Fall semester.

I am missing what could have been: Me sitting in a class of Creative Writing students, embarking on the adventure of a lifetime.

I suppose that life is like the lottery. You can't win if you don't play. I sure wish I'd scratched off a winner.

And I hope to Whomever-Is-Listening-Out-There that Portland State University accepts me for their MFA. Sooner than later. This Fall - our Northern Hemisphere's Fall, that is - if you please.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Honey From A Penis

2010-02-16T21:03:00.000-08:00

'Gabriella's Book of Fire'
By Venero Armanno

Back in July of last year I wrote the following blog entry (sans Title and Author names) but then I pulled it off the web a few weeks later because I was applying to the University of Queensland in Australia where Dr. Armanno heads the Department I was seeking admittance to. I did not wish to offend. But, since I was not accepted to that school I suppose that re-posting it couldn't hurt. Enjoy.

I was trying to get through a book yesterday (which will remain unnamed) but - God help me! - I couldn't do it. When I came (no pun intended) to the part where a ripe Cicilian woman described her surprise at the honey that came from the mouth of her lover's penis I had to stop and swallow back my disgust enough to put the novel down rather than throw it in the compost to rot.

If the book had been written by a heterosexual woman or a gay man I would be more livid. For now, I have settled on stupified. After all, everyone knows - gay or straight - that no stretch of the imagination could make that stuff taste, smell, or act like honey! Adjectives like milky, sour, oozing, weeping or nouns like mucous, membrane, slime, & cottage: now these are the potential components of a proper description for the subject at hand.

But, honey?!

Honey, you need to learn to be more accurate or you may cause people to believe in your fallacies.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Infectious

2010-02-14T20:58:00.000-08:00

There is something about seeing other people - in groups, in pairs, solo, on bike, walking, running, with their kid(s), with their dog(s) - go by your window from dawn until well after dusk that makes a person want to just get out there and do it! Just Do It! Those exact words seem to capture Portland's physical spirit and it is no wonder that Nike was begun and still has its headquarters nearby.

I ran alongside my son today as he biked down the avenue, both of us met face on with the delicious crisply cool mist of the early afternoon. Since I've gotten here I keep thinking 'I don't get it.' Because the rain isn't really a rain at all and the supposed endless gray sky is constantly broken up by a gorgeous sun breaking through for hours. I had expected days filled with the kind of twilight darkness of the Midwest in winter. What Portland actually offers is something far closer to dawn. It's like the sun hasn't actually come up but all the light and all the freshness that dawn brings is always close at hand. I love it.

The Rain:
It's never a saturating rain that pelts you, never a dank clinging wetness that awaits. It's a moisture that is refreshing, that you want to feel on your skin and breathe into your lungs. Honestly, it feels immensly rejuvenating.

The constant natural ionizing of the air must be THEE elixir!
Shh! Don't tell anyone.
Actually... Tell everyone and come take advantage of this rockin' city!

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Anti-Road Rage

2010-02-08T20:25:00.000-08:00

Growing up in Phoenix I put in my time learning the tactics of defensive driving, had way too many opportunities to deal with other peoples' aggresive vehicular dish-outs and, admittedly, dished out much of my own pseudo road rage via deft, though wholely unnecessary, manuevers (think curbs, carpool lanes, wrong ways down one way streets, flippin' bitches wherever, you name it) to get wherever I was going fast. Maybe it's all the arcade and video games I played growing up mixed in with all those Phoenix/Scottsdale/Tempe gridforming roads and entangling highways that have caused me to be ultra amped up when driving. Maybe it's the fact that my kids make me crazy when I'm behind the wheel. Regardless, you could say that driving as if I were jacked up on something illegal or intoxicatingly pharmaceutical is in my blood. I have to GET THERE! And I need to do it NOW!

In Portland - the City of Roses and the land of micro-brewers,foodies, and outdoor e.n.t.h.u.s.i.a.s.t.s alike - my stomach has flip-flopped and somersaulted several times while on the road and in the drivers seat but not for the reasons you'd think. Here, people drive the speed limit and seem to enjoy the journey. Here, people stay out of all intersections while waiting there turn to move forward instead of cramming up the bumper in front of them and blocking crosswalks. Here, people respect motorists, pedestrians and pedalists with a depth of sanctity the likes of which I've never seen. Ever.

Last week when we first got to Portland I drove my vehicle like I usually do, as if it were part of a video game about to time out before I reach the other side/the finish line/the place I need to be to win and my adrenaline is PUMPING, man. I am ready! I kept catching myself feeling odd on the main drags and side streets alike. Out of place. Then, when the girl in the subaru wagon in front of me in traffic turned around and stared me down with an evil eye that could have soured my mornings milk in a second I realized: She's pissed at me for potentially blocking through traffic for the sides streets on either side of us. Wow! She's actually enraged at me for this.

I sucked in a breath and stared back, determined to do better.

And then there is this: the sudden blindingly unexpected stops that people make with their cars for such creatures as crosswalkers and bicyclists. It's as it should be, I'm sure, but it's awe inspiring really. Obeying the road rules and sharing the road seems to be Portland's calling card.

I am trying to take my driving attitude down a few notches but it's surprisingly hard. Even though there is no reason to speed around here, no reason to jar yourself into oncoming traffic and accelerate like a bat out of hell just to keep up with the flow, I still do it. Maybe Portland will work it's civically minded mojo on me and I'll be a reformed roadie in no time. Will I miss my wild ways?

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Bouldering Gym

2010-02-01T19:44:00.000-08:00

Portland, Oregon
Johns Landing in the Southwest

My sense of smell was accosted by the stench of wet dogs at a roller skating rink with plenty of loose chalk and stale sweat in the air added as if for good measure. But hey, it was a climbing gym after all, complete with a huge fake boulder suspended from the ceiling and hanging only a few feet from the ground. Those who were trying to channel Spiderman were the only attempters trying - and failing - at the horizontal to vertical ascent.

I didn't climb; I had just nursed a baby in a seriously uncomfortable seat on a tiny 80 passenger plane for a straight hour and a half the day before and had a painful scapula to contend with. I wasn't about to injure myself just one short day into our Portland journey. Plus, I like my long nails lately. It's been years since I've polished them and I've only recently started the habit back up. Since you need some serious fingertip leverage when climbing and I don't want to chip my paint job you can see the inherent dilemna. Give me a few weeks, though. I'll likely come around.

The Bouldering Gym in Southwest Portland off of Macadam is the kind where you are not harnessed. You just start climbing and, if you fall, land on the padded floor below. Hopefully, not on your ass. My oldest son had a blast. My husband looked mighty sexy as he blasted up the walls, so agile and skilled for a newbie climber.

More adventures to come.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Portland, Oregon

2010-02-01T19:38:00.000-08:00

Our first full day here as a family, the last day of January 2010, met us face to face with a glorious sun and great impressions of this casually bustling city.

The air is crisp and refreshingly cool, reminding me of days in the Bay Area when you feel the moisture in the atmosphere and feel healthy and happy to be alive.

Today, as we drove around looking for rentals in the Hawthorne district, we saw our first Bike Rush Hour. Literally, there were flocks of commuters on bicycles complete with flashing, bright front lights and anti-moisture gear. No one carries an umbrella though it is constantly misting. People out all the time walking, biking, dogs with reflective leashes and vests. The buildings are truly stunning, lots of thought put into the architecture. The vibe in the Southeast is admittedly laid back and hipster.

I like it.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

'G-Force'

2010-01-27T12:03:00.000-08:00

A fast food flick complete with all the surprisingly sellable stereotype trimmings. This poorly conceived and even more poorly executed piece of trash buffet fits nicely, I'm sure, on the shelves of the unsubstantiated mind.

Viva La Indiscriminant Consumption! It helps fill the landfills.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Portland

2010-01-25T10:47:00.000-08:00

So, it's upon us. Saturday will see the first steps of our little family into the big(ger) city of Portland. We have been spending quality time with our community of friends here and I am feeling a mix of sadness and inspiration regards to leaving. I suppose that our community here is the closest I've ever felt to having any family outside of my little square of husband and two sons. I was thinking that this is what it must feel like for someone when they are well-wished by family as they make the journey away from home; everyone doesn't want us to go but they are equally happy that we are building our lives forward.

We hope to have several different friends stay with us as early as February and March. I look forward to this as a means to ground us all in our new home. And there are, so I keep hearing, many people up in Portland that have moved recently from this area though I don't know those people too well. Still, it will feel like little extensions of home just to know that we have some Nevada County accompaniments.

So many things to do before we leave though I am not really stressing at all; just wanting us all to enjoy our last couple of days here. My beautiful older son will feel a sense of loss, I know, to leave his whole life of friends behind but, I have hope that we will find a similar school up in Portland and get a three bedroom/ two bathroom house so that we can invite such sorely missed friends up often.

Never felt this way before. I suppose in all of this that I have found what I was looking for all those years ago in Phoenix - a place to call home. Now, that place is both my little family and this town with its comfortable familiarity. I mind leaving it but, I also know that our decision to leave is necessary and good.

All must come about from this. I trust it will though its hard to believe that all the ducks will line up as they always have. Jobs. Schools. Place to live. Friends. New places to frequent. New faces to become familar adored ones. All in due time I suppose.

And there is always this: We can always come back and fall into all the arms we've grown to know and love. That feels the best of all.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

'Marked'

2010-01-21T21:07:00.000-08:00

A House of Night Novel
By P.C. Cast + Kristin Cast

I was sorta into this book until Chapter 5 began. Totally downhill from there and revoltingly devoid of originality, smooth storylines, and compelling characters, this book was a dimestore copy of a copy of a rip off. Not to mention, it seems to be the ultimate in teen fantasy smut - complete with all the trappings like blowjobs, drunk jocks, throwing up, violent video games, and a crappy step-parent.

Note to the authors: Just because all that crap exists doesn't mean you have to throw it all in and saturate the pages with all things deprived in an effort to write a catch-all for the brainless. Less is more, people. A little mystery can go a long way.

The most abhorrent aspect of this dirty little ditty is actually the main character, Zoey Redbird. She is, bar none, the most judgemental snob-of-a-protagonist despite her consistent belief that she is somehow the most wronged person on the face of the earth. She talks shit about everyone; Emos, Goths, cheerleaders, dorks, jocks, pretty girls, Okies - none of them measure up to her elusive standards. Yet, she disses her conservative parents for their stifling beliefs. Boo Hoo!

I have to admit, though, that when Zoey Redbird describes the 'fat women and their beady-eyed pedophile husbands' who will shortly come over and try to annoint her and pray over her (because she has just been -SUPER LAMELY - marked as a vampire) I think I chuckled silently in moderate agreement. After all, my experience of southern white Christians who take their little prayer trees and congregations way too seriously would be just about summed up in those words.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

My Book List w/my Oldest Son

2010-01-11T20:15:00.000-08:00

The Magician's Elephant
The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane
The Tale of Despereaux
(All by Kate DiCamillo)

Dragon Keeper
Garden of the Purple Dragon
(Both by Carole Wilkinson - who didn't start writing until in her 40's, by the way!)

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Portland, Oregon

2010-01-11T20:08:00.000-08:00

Less than three weeks to go. I am loving the excitement of Big City anticipation and the fact that my oldest son is excited to move there despite having to leave 'all my friends and everything that I know'.

Well, except for your mama, papa, baby brother, and precious kitty cat. Plus, you'll get to keep all your things we would have otherwise had to chuck or give away if we'd moved to Australia.

I think that my oldest son's truest happiness comes from the new adventure of living near his uncle whom he adores. I mean, hey: What's not to love about an older male relative who wrestles with you and gives you attention when your 7? Not much.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

'A Serious Man'

2010-01-10T21:17:00.000-08:00

The new Cohen Brothers' film is a ferociously unsoothing drama (dark comedy?) about a doormat American Jewish guy living in Minneapolis with two kids and a dissatisified wife. Our unlikely protagonist is quiet yet a frequent bully whose greatest goal is a tenure track as a Mathematics Professor for the University where he zealously teaches. His neighbors, 'friends', acquaintances, and advisors are all thickly entrenched, in one way or another, in manipulating their religion to see them come out on top.

And again and again they all come out on top. On top of our unlikely protagonist, that is, for once the ball gets rolling hardly anything or anyone can or will stop this poor man's self-doubt and self-denial that sprouts from his concentrated, and catastrophic, efforts to be 'a serious man' in the eyes of God.

After the movie my friend and I were perturbed. Both equally tired and riled up, my friend was reminded of the vehemently boring film 'Rachel Getting Married' in which the endless and unbelievable drama that ensues does more to agitate the viewer than anything else.

However, the movie was still amazing. The relentlessness was breathtakingly portrayed as was each and every character.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

'Jennifer's Body'

2010-01-10T13:05:00.000-08:00

Written by Diablo Cody

This was a well-scripted, well acted, all around superbly crafted piece of genre bending film that is destined to be a cult classic with horror flick aficionados and teen angst clingers alike.

The story was sublimely original. The characters were perfect compliments to the overall theme, and the gore vacillated nicely between truly spooky and silly spoof. And hey, who wouldn't want to see a gorgeous female take down a bunch of guys when its typically the females who are the constant victims in such films?

My only complaint is that the film lacked a certain depth of explanation - mainly, about Needy & Jennifer's connected relationship - that made it hard to give it and ALL THUMBS UP.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

2010

2010-01-10T13:02:00.000-08:00

A New Year and A New Decade...

With the inevitable and well-intented tradition of resolutions comes the sifting through of tried and true issues. Also known as Baggage.

Over the years, it has proven hard to rid myself of certain habits - both physical and mental - that dis-able me.

Here's to trying once again.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

'The Plague Of Doves'

2010-01-10T12:52:00.000-08:00

By Louise Erdrich

The story of how a murder touched a small reservation in Minnesota and how that reservation came to exist in the first place was longwinded and tied the beginning to the end circuitously. The formula of stating something (a murder) mysteriously and shockingly in the beginning of a book and dangling it out in front of the reader is actually a favorite of mine to read and write; The suspense keeps me going.

The novel itself is made up of brilliant little chunky cameos that, unfortunately, never really strengthen the pull of the murder or its tangible significance on the lives and generations involves. The book ends quite anti-climactically.

That said: I actually loved Ms. Erdrich's writing style. Her poetic language and gift for description (as evidenced in the excerpts I previously blogged) proved to be a perpetual draw for me in and of themselves.

I will likely look her up again soon.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Mile In Mine

The Ascent Of Mount Homework

Ira Glass And The Elements Of Storytelling

Laura Gibson's La Grande Video

Emily Wells

Graffiti6

When I hear him sing I hear a woman's Motown voice. Hard to believe it comes from a genre piece "fantasy looking" guy like this, but it's true. I suppose that's why he's the visual centerpiece of Graffiti6 instead of producer Tommy D, the other half.

I think Tommy D makes a very fancy drag queen, and keeps a pretty rockin' blog.

Stay Tuned. Visit Often.

Pass The Mic

InDesign

The Packard Automotive Plant

A Long Way Down

A Favorite Quote

Adidas' Ode To Portland

Kill Zone

Elements of Story

A Case of Display (Take Two)

Turn Of The Century

Bedtime Story for Adults

IFC's Portlandia Takes to the Stage

Madapple

I Could Love You

Critique

Shout Outs

Lisa Cron

Never Before Seen Writing Prompt

Feist in Portland

Siren Nation Festival

Another Prompt

Writing Prompt

Hindi Zahra: Portrait Of A Legend (In The Making)

Show versus Tell

In Line, Trying Not To Look

TBA New Musics Post

Vockah Redu

The Naked and Famous

Oh Joy

More Posty Toasties

Transitive Verb: Divorce

Pitch Practice At The Eye Doctor

The Revised Package

Missed Mistakes

AWOLNATION

Today's Headline

Scratch That

You Must Go Under To Surface

The Nameless

Robopocalypse

Posty Toasties

All Done

Homoerotica

I Think, But I Do Not Know

Recent Young Adult Books

Keeping It Straight

Crescent

Charlie St. Cloud

The Help

Prayer

Santigold

Fashion Fun(d)raiser

Unclean Jobs for Women and Girls

The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter

An Open Tab...

Portland is like Obama

Take A Moment

Portland Music Videos

On The Tracks

Just Another Day

Social Network

Black Keys

Catching Fire

Excerpts From 'A Visit From The Goon Squad'

A Visit From The Goon Squad

The Hunger Games

Bullshit Blues

Robin Hood

Back To School

Pravda

I Loath the Initials MILF