Ruth Knafo Setton's Blog, page 7

TOUGH BROADS

I saw 3 tough broads yesterday at the Blast Furnace Blues Festival in Bethlehem PA. Musicians & singers rocked the blues for a hot weekend in the snowiest, coldest winter I remember. I'll write more about the blues & me in another post, but today I want to write about 3 women I call tough broads in all admiration: Naomi Shelton, Candye Kane and Maria Muldauer. Each has her own take on the blues, & each sings from the heart & has a story to tell.

What's a tough broad? Well, she's over 50-- hey, she's a survivor. It takes time to build the scars & learn how to heal.

She sings the blues-- no matter what her line of work is. Naomi sings gospel & old soul-tinged blues, & screams like James Brown. Her first album is coming out in a few months. And don't ask how many decades she's been in the music business. You can catch her every Friday night at Fat Cats, a club in the Village.



Then there's Candye who tells you her story-- white trash, toughest girl in town, Superhero, cancer survivor. "I allow myself a 15 minute pity party," she says, "and then I move on." She's sexy, funny, & sings Brenda Lee-inspired blues with a country feel. She & her guitarist Laura Chavez connect with each other, & with us. As Naomi says, pointing at the audience: I'm singing to you & you & you. And you & you, too.



And Maria Muldauer, 40 albums behind her, & still screaming & bluesing her heart out. She's come a long way since Midnight at the Oasis-- a song I always loved. She sings folk, protest, back to the roots blues. "You're looking at a woman who's got the blues real bad tonight," she said & went on to show us what that sounds like, including "talking about my plump but oh so fine, very luscious, satiny, I mean my fine Italian thighs..."



All these great broads--sexy survivors, funky fighters, sanctified soul singers .... they've been through the blast furnace, but what remains is unbreakable.

Here's how to fight time: sing your song, your heart, your soul. Laugh. Connect with people.

And ladies, you too can be a tough broad!

BE QUIET, RUTH!

Shh…


I've been quiet for a while now. Deliberately, intensely quiet.

It's like this: I use words constantly. They are my instrument, my voice, my expression, my connection, & my inspiration. I teach, give talks & lectures, & when I get a chance-- between semesters, as I did over the New Year break-- I feel the need sometimes to simply stop talking.

To be silent.

To listen.

To absorb.

To say nothing that doesn't absolutely need to be said.

To gather my thoughts, my strength, & myself. To remember the power & force of words. To use them sparingly. Tu use them as if it's the first time.

To write in my notebook & work on my novel. Quietly.

And now it's a new year, I'm back at school, back to talking & connecting in the world. And I love this part, too. But I need those quiet periods. Winter is my quiet season. My time to renew myself.

It's still winter, but I already feel spring in the air  & words taste delicious again, warm with the promise of the sun.

Do you hear me? Do you ever feel the need to just listen?

Nancy Drew & Joseph K

Do act mysterious. It always keeps them coming back for more.” 
― Carolyn Keene,  Nancy's Mysterious Letter

The first girl I loved on the page was Nancy Drew. She did it all! She was a sleuth-- I loved that word! I wanted to be a sleuth, too. I didn't have a wealthy lawyer Dad who supported my adventures & bought me a blue roadster, or a Ken doll boyfriend who thought I was just swell no matter how much I neglected him, or two friends (one suspiciously butch) who acted as my deputies.

BUT I had the most important quality a sleuth needs: curiosity. I wanted to know everything about everyone. I followed people-- weird people-- into situations that now make me cringe. I sneaked into buildings & peered through windows, eavesdropped on conversations, snooped everywhere I thought a mystery might be taking place. Sure enough, there was a whole world of secrets no one suspected.

I solved some mysteries, made my parents get me a trench coat (that looked attractive!) & carried a tiny spy notebook jotting down clues. But then I hit a turning point. I entered the notorious, the infamous & ingenious Locked Room.


Nancy Drew couldn't help me here. It was my second detective hero, Joseph K, the protagonist of Kafka's The Trial, I needed. Like Joseph K, I faced the horrifying truth that this mystery might not have a solution. I followed him down corridor after corridor, up & down Escheresque staircases that led nowhere & doors that led to brick walls. Poor Joseph K had to leave his mystery unsolved.

I couldn't do that. I'd fight to the end. I'd get an answer if it was the last thing I ever did, using every gift, weapon, talent I possessed.

There seemed to be no way out. But there had to be a way out, right? No question was created without an answer, right? A mystery always had a solution, right?

"From a certain point onward there is no longer any turning back. That is the point that must be reached," wrote Kafka in The Trial.

I reached that point long ago. That's where you find me today: between Nancy Drew, convinced there is an answer to every mystery if you work at it hard enough, & Joseph K, who realizes he will never know why he was sent on this trail, but who knows he must keep searching.

I'm Thankful for Mermaids

I am thankful for mermaids because they keep our sense of wonder alive and remind us to swim in the depths.



I am thankful for pyramids -- and other wonders of the ancient world -- because they show us what human beings are capable of, and remind us that we are not alone.


I am thankful for Pinocchio because the little wooden puppet reminds us that being human is not enough-- we need to become human.




I am thankful for love because it reminds us there is nothing more important than to connect with each other.

I am thankful for so many things -- books and magic and laughter and friends … and you. So glad we are connecting across time and space.

                    What are you thankful for?

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

This Trail is Not Maintained

This area is my reward for walking through the rest of the park. It's the dark chocolate at the end of the road, the mystery and awe, the rainbow, the hush all rolled up in one river-winding, leaf-strewn path in the forest.

It used to be deserted except for my me, my father and my dog-- an Australian Shepherd named Ginger. Now my father and my dog are gone, but I feel them there in that secret refuge. Both man and dog were never quite "maintained" wither-- two wild souls who loved each other. Sometimes I walk there with my husband. He loves it, too.

Mushrooms sprout along the way. Storms attack trees and send enormous branches flying-- crossing the path.

Ah, the clearing where I watch warily. Something happened here. I know it in my bones. A gathering of witches, medicine men, an ancient circle of power. Something remains of them, too-- a faint scent of magic, a hush in the air, a dazzling silver light. I wonder if they feel me walking by, stopping to pay my respects.



My characters sometimes rise and show themselves. I ask questions. When I'm lucky, they answer.

Leaves flicker over the river, whispers rise from the ground. I smell cedar wood, crisped leaves, fresh water. I follow the familiar yet savage path through the woods of my unmaintained mind.


I can sing and dance and roar. And the ancient witches and medicine men will nod in approval.

Once I approached my section of the forest-- yes, I call it mine-- and stopped hard, hand to my heart. The sign was gone. Did that mean-- oh, horror! -- my secret forest was now going to be … maintained?

I stepped closer. A recent storm had knocked the sign to the ground.

We were safe! They hadn't discovered us yet. With joy in my heart and wings on my feet, I leaped into the place where the wild things are.

On The Paramount Set

Yesterday my son Ishai, who works as an Assistant Editor on Glee, took us on a wonderful tour of the Paramount set, which he calls a "a large construction site." I didn't imagine it that way until I walked through it & realized that's exactly what it is.

You walk down city streets you recognize because you've seen them in countless shows & films-- shady alleys, NYC neighborhoods, past bars & restaurants. You hear hammers, saws & drills, and breathe in the smells of fresh paint & wood, & you pass workers erecting & dismantling props & sets. You see a vast cloudy sky, store facades, cars with painted license plates, screens to decrease light ....

I'm starstruck, I confess. Proud of my son ... & impressed with all the creative energy at work bringing dreams to concrete life.

Details are eerily accurate & often very funny. Here are the pamphlets behind Emma's desk on the Glee set. 

The Glee set is vast, encompassing the high school locker hallway-- the one where you see the actors sing, dance, flirt & fight. The room where the Glee Club meets. The school auditorium. The NYC sets. The restaurant where Rachel & Santana work. The Glee sets take over several buildings-- more than any other show on the Paramount site.

Below is a picture of Ishai in his office in the Editing Trailer for Glee & American Horror Story.

And one of me on the steps of a New York brownstone on an empty street. Empty for the moment, waiting to be filled with characters, actors & drama.

This visit inspired me to get to work building my new novel. Time to open another room in the house of my mind-- one that opens to a neighborhood & family as colorful & exciting as the one in in DARKTOWN BLUES. At least I hope so!

Wishing you great inspirations, whatever you're working on!

HOW TO WRITE A BOOK

Herewith, my recipe for writing a book:






1. Write a book. Write it hot.

2. Set aside to cool.

3. Write another book. Write it hot.

4. Set aside to cool.


5. Return to first book, now knowing more or less what it's about. Write over the first book. ****
                                         
                                          *** More on that in another post. ****

6. Season well & send out the book.

7. While waiting, rewrite the second book.

8. Season & send it out.

9. Start at #1 again.

Note: Do not try this at home without plenty of patience, humor, desperation, coffee & chocolate.

And let me know if you have any other suggestions! I'm always ready to try new recipes.

Crossroads

I can't sleep again. Happens periodically-- when I'm reliving days in which I screwed up, or redirecting scenes in a book till I get them right.

It's not a new thing. Sleep and I circle each other like boxers in a ring.

Now, I think it's because I'm between books. I finished my novel and can't keep roaming through its scenes like a mad director. Well, I can-- there's a bittersweet comfort to exploring certain scenes as if they're rooms in a house, seeking out every shadow, replaying critical exchanges. By now, I know every word they say, I see every picture on the wall, I hear their voices and smell the food cooking in the kitchen. Their songs have become my soundtrack. But this house doesn't belong to me anymore.

Soon, I hope, you'll enter-- drawn by the music and food, the bright colors, heat and laughter.

I hope you'll love it so much you never want to leave.

I'll slip out the always-open front door. It's so chaotic in there you'll never notice I'm gone. Neither will

my characters.

I'm standing at the crossroads. The new world is already playing scenes, waiting for me to yell, "Cut!" and rearrange characters and sets.

Damn, it's hard to leave the known world for the unknown.

But I need sleep!

Walking in Your Story

The legend goes like this: on the first sacred day the Great Book in the sky is opened. We are all there, marked on its pages-- not just our names but what we've done and haven't done. The Book remains open for ten days-- from the eve of the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashana, to the Day of Atonement, Yom Kippur.

During these ten days we are being watched from above. We cannot hide. This is the time to forgive and ask forgiveness, to love and be loved, to give and receive, to tell the truth about ourselves and others-- no matter how much it hurts. These are the judgment days, here on earth, while we are alive-- while we can still change the course of the story.

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That's why I love this legend: it's all about revision. It allows us the opportunity to rewrite what we don't like about ourselves. For ten days we walk through a spiritually charged world in which everything we say and do matters.




After the tenth day the Book is shut. The Heavens closed. We can no longer erase, highlight, cut and paste. For another year we must live the story we told about ourselves and follow it through ... till next Rosh Hashana, when the Book is brought out again.

I set my novel-- the one I just finished-- during these ten days. On the first night, my heroine looks out the door. Black wind blows. A shadow approaches. She doesn't know yet who it is but she knows it's meant for her, and she quivers with the weight of the secret she hides. She wants to run back inside and hide but the story has begun.

BEING A DJ HELPED ME WRITE

For 3 years I DJ'd-- not at clubs-- at a real live radio station. Had my FCC license, learned to cue songs and splice tracks, and weave from 1 song to another like party DJs, but my gig was different. I was in a soundproof both in a radio station, headphones blocking all outside sound, and unless a couple of friends joined me, I was alone and free to spin my songs and words into a world that couldn't see me ... and that I couldn't see.




I had a couple of shows but my favorite was the late night one that started at 11:30 at night and went into the wee hours. Often the engineer and I were the only ones left in the studio. I named my show, "BARE WIRES," after a John Mayall blues tune: "These are bare wires of my life ..." My theme song was Van Morrison's "CARAVAN": "Turn it up, turn up the radio ... a little bit louder, a little bit louder."
 
From the beginning I wove a narrative-- a soundtrack to the movie playing in my mind. It took me a while to realize I was creating a world and a story as well as a persona: a woman speaking in the dark. As I spoke into the mic, I imagined my listeners ... driving, partying, lying in bed ... as I'm sure they imagined me. The freedom was dizzying. The responsibility, too. I couldn't allow an alien song or word trespass and ruin the mood.

Talking in the dark to people you don't see -- connecting to strangers with your voice and the songs you've chosen to play-- made me pretty fearless, the way you have to be when writing the first draft of a story or novel. Mine emerges as my hand steers a black pen across the white pages of a notebook. I hug the secret to myself for as long as I can before releasing the words to fly like blackbirds -- like lifting my finger from the vinyl record and letting the song spin from me to you.