Lorraine Evanoff's Blog, page 18
July 14, 2016
How to Stop Cussing in Three Steps – #ThursdayThoughts
Step 1 – Fuck It.
Steps 2 & 3 – Fuck it and just let it go.
Whoever said it was easy to stop cussing was full of shit!!
Whether you call it cussing or cursing, profanity, as defined by Merriam-Webster, is “an offensive word” or “offensive language,” a subset of a language’s lexicon that is generally considered to be strongly impolite, rude or offensive.
But is it? Has cussing gone mainstream?
For me, the propensity for cussing is innate. Having literally grown up in a family of truck drivers, I was exposed to curse words since birth. But, I’m also the most fowl-mouthed member of my family, so it is also a personality trait. In my novel Foliage: An International Banking Spy Thriller, I touch on how genetic lineage can determine personality traits.
A recent article Personality Can Change Over A Lifetime, And Usually For The Better supports this premise, but also claims that we can change, albeit slowly, “The effects of personality traits on behavior are easiest to see when people are observed repeatedly across a variety of situations. For example, you probably know some people who consistently (but not always) show up on time, and others who consistently run late. And while personality traits are relatively stable over time, they can and often do gradually change across the life span. What’s more, those changes are usually for the better.”
So my genetically ordained personality trait of incurable potty mouth will gradually change for the better? Bullshit. After decades of therapy I have made zero progress cleaning up my language. And there is no quick fix. Hypnosis? Tried it. Transcendental Meditation? Been there, done that. I’m incurable!
After getting my degree in French and moving to Paris, one of my first tasks was to learn the profanity subset of the French lexicon. I needed to arm myself with the appropriate curse words in order to function. Lucky for me, French is rich with profanity. Also, the French have no qualms with cussing and it goes uncensored on TV. The worst language and even female nudity run rampant on national television. Talk show hosts spew merde and enculé. Commercials commonly feature beautiful naked women in the shower blissfully soaping them selves from the waist up. Vive la France. So after watching a lot of TV and a quick tutorial from the brilliant satirical lyricist , I was all nuanced up.
All my research has only fortified my dependence on expletives, which could just be research bias. But then why was I recently asked to “Like” this Facebook page? Profanity found me!
At a family gathering over the 4th of July weekend, I met an awesome young lady in her 20’s, who was majoring in aerospace and also raises bees. Her beekeeping was fascinating. But even more fascinating was the way she talked about it. She started the beehive as a school project and her experience sounded both enchanting and harrowing. But even better, she dropped F-bombs like pronouns. I made a point of smiling my approval. The latest generation of adult women uses profanity with no sense of guilt. So the real problem isn’t my cussing. It’s my perceived public stigma against women swearing.
For me, curse words in general and the F-word specifically, are used under two circumstances, for emphasis and under duress. But mostly for the lack of a better word.
For emphasis, sometimes the F-word is the only way to drive a point home. For example, recently, I attended a book launch hosted by Jamie Lee Curtis who dropped the F-bomb with the poise and eloquence of the Duchess of Cambridge. She instantly became my new girl crush. That was an example of the artful F-bomb.
Under duress, the F-word is equally if not more essential. One of my golf buddies observed that when I’m falling apart on a particular hole I yell FUCK! four times and then I’m able to play better again. That’s the formula and substituting a non-expletive won’t work. It’s FUCK x 4 = better golf. That is an example the artless F-bomb.
In my advanced French classes I had to read essays by Montagne and other philosophers and learned that the word essay is derived from the French word essayer, which means to try, or to try out. By writing an essay, we try out ideas. We think them through. It’s a great exercise that I highly recommend to everyone.
Alas, it is unlikely this essay will cure my bad language. But, what the fuck? It’s worth a shot. I’ll let you know if it works.
Please leave a comment* and let me know your experience with profanity.
*Note: Although I usually allow open comments, due to the nature of this blog post all comments will be reviewed before posting. Have fun with it!
The post How to Stop Cussing in Three Steps – #ThursdayThoughts appeared first on Lorraine Evanoff.
How to Stop Cussing in Three Steps - #ThursdayThoughts
Step 1 - Fuck It.Steps 2 & 3 - Fuck it and just let it go.
Whoever said it was easy to stop cussing was full of shit!!
Whether you call it cussing or cursing, profanity, as defined by Merriam-Webster, is "an offensive word" or "offensive language,” a subset of a language's lexicon that is generally considered to be strongly impolite, rude or offensive.
But is it? Has cussing gone mainstream?
For me, the propensity for cussing is innate. Having literally grown up in a family of truck drivers, I was exposed to curse words since birth. But, I’m also the most fowl-mouthed member of my family, so it is also a personality trait. In my novel Foliage: An International Banking Spy Thriller , I touch on how genetic lineage can determine personality traits.
A recent article Personality Can Change Over A Lifetime, And Usually For The Better supports this premise, but also claims that we can change, albeit slowly, “The effects of personality traits on behavior are easiest to see when people are observed repeatedly across a variety of situations. For example, you probably know some people who consistently (but not always) show up on time, and others who consistently run late. And while personality traits are relatively stable over time, they can and often do gradually change across the life span. What's more, those changes are usually for the better.”
So my genetically ordained personality trait of incurable potty mouth will gradually change for the better? Bullshit. After decades of therapy I have made zero progress cleaning up my language. And there is no quick fix. Hypnosis? Tried it. Transcendental Meditation? Been there, done that. I’m incurable!
After getting my degree in French and moving to Paris, one of my first tasks was to learn the profanity subset of the French lexicon. I needed to arm myself with the appropriate curse words in order to function. Lucky for me, French is rich with profanity. Also, the French have no qualms with cussing and it goes uncensored on TV. The worst language and even female nudity run rampant on national television. Talk show hosts spew merde and enculé. Commercials commonly feature beautiful naked women in the shower blissfully soaping them selves from the waist up. Vive la France. So after watching a lot of TV and a quick tutorial from the brilliant satirical lyricist
All my research has only fortified my dependence on expletives, which could just be research bias. But then why was I recently asked to “Like” this Facebook page? Profanity found me!
At a family gathering over the 4th of July weekend, I met an awesome young lady in her 20’s, who was majoring in aerospace and also raises bees. Her beekeeping was fascinating. But even more fascinating was the way she talked about it. She started the beehive as a school project and her experience sounded both enchanting and harrowing. But even better, she dropped F-bombs like pronouns. I made a point of smiling my approval. The latest generation of adult women uses profanity with no sense of guilt. So the real problem isn’t my cussing. It’s my perceived public stigma against women swearing.
For me, curse words in general and the F-word specifically, are used under two circumstances, for emphasis and under duress. But mostly for the lack of a better word.
For emphasis, sometimes the F-word is the only way to drive a point home. For example, recently, I attended a book launch hosted by Jamie Lee Curtis who dropped the F-bomb with the poise and eloquence of the Duchess of Cambridge. She instantly became my new girl crush. That was an example of the artful F-bomb.
Under duress, the F-word is equally if not more essential. One of my golf buddies observed that when I’m falling apart on a particular hole I yell FUCK! four times and then I’m able to play better again. That’s the formula and substituting a non-expletive won’t work. It's FUCK x 4 = better golf. That is an example the artless F-bomb.
In my advanced French classes I had to read essays by Montagne and other philosophers and learned that the word essay is derived from the French word essayer, which means to try, or to try out. By writing an essay, we try out ideas. We think them through. It’s a great exercise that I highly recommend to everyone.
Alas, it is unlikely this essay will cure my bad language. But, what the fuck? It’s worth a shot. I’ll let you know if it works.
Please leave a comment* and let me know your experience with profanity.
*Note: Although I usually allow open comments, due to the nature of this blog post all comments will be reviewed before posting. Have fun with it!
ON CUSSING ��� AN ESSAY (800 WORDS) - #ThursdayThoughts
Whoever said it was easy to stop cussing was full of shit!! Whether you call it cussing or cursing, profanity, as defined by Merriam-Webster, is "an offensive word" or "offensive language,” a subset of a language's lexicon that is generally considered to be strongly impolite, rude or offensive.
But is it? Has cussing gone mainstream?
For me, the propensity for cussing is innate. Having literally grown up in a family of truck drivers, I was exposed to curse words since birth. But, I’m also the most fowl-mouthed member of my family, so it is also a personality trait. In my novel Foliage: An International Banking Spy Thriller , I touch on how genetic lineage can determine personality traits.
A recent article Personality Can Change Over A Lifetime, And Usually For The Better supports this premise, but also claims that we can change, albeit slowly, “The effects of personality traits on behavior are easiest to see when people are observed repeatedly across a variety of situations. For example, you probably know some people who consistently (but not always) show up on time, and others who consistently run late. And while personality traits are relatively stable over time, they can and often do gradually change across the life span. What's more, those changes are usually for the better.”
So my genetically ordained personality trait of incurable potty mouth will gradually change for the better? Bullshit. After decades of therapy I have made zero progress cleaning up my language. And there is no quick fix. Hypnosis? Tried it. Transcendental Meditation? Been there, done that. I’m incurable!
After getting my degree in French and moving to Paris, one of my first tasks was to learn the profanity subset of the French lexicon. I needed to arm myself with the appropriate curse words in order to function. Lucky for me, French is rich with profanity. Also, the French have no qualms with cussing and it goes uncensored on TV. The worst language and even female nudity run rampant on national television. Talk show hosts spew merde and enculé. Commercials commonly feature beautiful naked women in the shower blissfully soaping them selves from the waist up. Vive la France. So after watching a lot of TV and a quick tutorial from the brilliant satirical lyricist
All my research has only fortified my enthusiasm for expletives, which could just be research bias. But then why was I recently asked to “Like” this Facebook page? Profanity found me!
At a family gathering over the 4th of July weekend, I met an awesome young lady in her 20’s, who was majoring in aerospace and also raises bees. Her beekeeping was fascinating. But even more fascinating was the way she talked about it. She started the beehive as a school project and her experience sounded both enchanting and harrowing. But even better, she dropped F-bombs like pronouns. I made a point of smiling my approval. The latest generation of adult women uses profanity with no sense of guilt. So the real problem isn’t my cussing. It’s my perceived public stigmatism against women swearing.
For me, curse words in general and the F-word specifically, are used under two circumstances, for emphasis and under duress. But mostly for the lack of a better word.
For emphasis, sometimes the F-word is the only way to drive a point home. For example, recently, I attended a book launch hosted by Jamie Lee Curtis who dropped the F-bomb with the poise and eloquence of the Duchess of Cambridge. She instantly became my new girl crush. That was an example of the artful F-bomb.
Under duress, the F-word is equally if not more essential. One of my golf buddies observed that when I’m falling apart on a particular hole I yell FUCK! four times and then I’m able to play better again. That’s the formula and substituting a non-expletive won’t work. It's FUCK x times = better golf. That is an example the artless F-bomb.
In my advanced French classes I had to read essays by Montagne and other philosophers and learned that the word essay is derived from the French word essayer, which means to try, or to try out. By writing an essay, we try out ideas. We think them through. It’s a great exercise that I highly recommend to everyone.
Alas, it is unlikely this essay will cure my bad language. But, what the fuck? It’s worth a shot. I’ll let you know if it works.
Please leave a comment* and let me know your experience with profanity.
*Note: Although I usually allow open comments, due to the nature of this blog post all comments will be reviewed before posting. Have fun with it!
June 11, 2016
POLITICS AS USUAL?
As we head toward Election Day November 8th, I have to wonder, what are we all fighting for? So we can have more stuff, bigger cars, more guns?
When my nephew was stationed in Afghanistan in 2013, bravely committed to his duties as a Joint Fires Observer seeking out and disarming IED’s, he texted me almost daily to keep me apprised of his safety. But he never once complained and was always self-deprecating and respectful of job. He was face-to-face with the Taliban on a daily basis and even after an IED took the whole engine and front end off of the truck in his convoy, his unwavering courage was awe-inspiring.
In 2010, I began writing my novel, Foliage: An International Bank Spy Thriller, because back in 1990 when I lived in Paris and Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait, the reasons for the US intervention were clear. It was an amazing time, watching the war live on CNN. But I never forgot during those days in Europe you could sense there was something going on behind the scenes and I always wanted to dig deeper, try to understand.
For my book, the goal was ambitious yet simple, write about complex issues in the form of a novel, with a story that moved forward quickly and was easy to digest. It took four years to write but as anyone who has read it will attest, it is a well-researched and yet not overwhelming look back at the cause of our dependence on fossil fuels, greed.
Another recently released novel, The Mercy Journals by Claudia Casper, presents a mesmerizing look forward, a thoughtful and well-researched study of what is to come if we don’t start getting serious about what we’re doing to our planet. It is an all-too-plausible thesis of the near future, (only thirty years from now, according to Casper), a fresh look, moving, powerful, realistic and devastatingly beautiful. This book ties together the years of building dependence on fossil fuels and the culmination to the inevitable, which is now right in front of us. It explores human nature and our insane inability to learn from our mistakes.
That’s what we all need to think about. What are we doing it all for? There is cause and effect. Continuity. Things happen for a reason. But it’s not just about doing research, watching the news, surfing the Internet or reading a book. It’s about each one of us digging deep and exploring what we really think about what’s going on around us.
Think things through. It’s a simple lesson that I learned in college but one that changed my life. Our individual consciousness is a powerful thing when it makes up the collective consciousness. If we don’t reflect and really think things through individually to understand our own minds, someone else will tell us what we think. Knowing our selves. That’s the least we can do to honor those who have fought so bravely for us all. It’s also a show of respect for all those who devote their lives to public service. Yes I’m talking about politicians. It’s a dirty job, but deep down we know that those who do it have good intentions. Think about it.
Then go to the voting booth this November and be the cause to the effect.
The post POLITICS AS USUAL? appeared first on Lorraine Evanoff.
POLITICS AS USUAL?
When my nephew was stationed in Afghanistan in 2013, bravely committed to his duties as a Joint Fires Observer seeking out and disarming IED’s, he texted me almost daily to keep me apprised of his safety. But he never once complained and was always self-deprecating and respectful of job. He was face-to-face with the Taliban on a daily basis and even after an IED took the whole engine and front end off of the truck in his convoy, his unwavering courage was awe-inspiring.
In 2010, I began writing my novel, Foliage: An International Bank Spy Thriller, because back in 1990 when I lived in Paris and Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait, the reasons for the US intervention were clear. It was an amazing time, watching the war live on CNN. But I never forgot during those days in Europe you could sense there was something going on behind the scenes and I always wanted to dig deeper, try to understand.
For my book, the goal was ambitious yet simple, write about complex issues in the form of a novel, with a story that moved forward quickly and was easy to digest. It took four years to write but as anyone who has read it will attest, it is a well-researched and yet not overwhelming look back at the cause of our dependence on fossil fuels, greed.
Another recently released novel, The Mercy Journals by Claudia Casper, presents a mesmerizing look forward, a thoughtful and well-researched study of what is to come if we don’t start getting serious about what we’re doing to our planet. It is an all-too-plausible thesis of the near future, (only thirty years from now, according to Casper), a fresh look, moving, powerful, realistic and devastatingly beautiful. This book ties together the years of building dependence on fossil fuels and the culmination to the inevitable, which is now right in front of us. It explores human nature and our insane inability to learn from our mistakes.
That’s what we all need to think about. What are we doing it all for? There is cause and effect. Continuity. Things happen for a reason. But it’s not just about doing research, watching the news, surfing the Internet or reading a book. It’s about each one of us digging deep and exploring what we really think about what’s going on around us.
Think things through. It’s a simple lesson that I learned in college but one that changed my life. Our individual consciousness is a powerful thing when it makes up the collective consciousness. If we don’t reflect and really think things through individually to understand our own minds, someone else will tell us what we think. Knowing our selves. That’s the least we can do to honor those who have fought so bravely for us all. It’s also a show of respect for all those who devote their lives to public service. Yes I’m talking about politicians. It’s a dirty job, but deep down we know that those who do it have good intentions. Think about it.
Then go to the voting booth this November and be the cause to the effect.
May 17, 2016
250-WORD TUESDAYS
The Kind, The Cruel and The Ugly
PART 1: THE CRUEL
Lorraine Evanoff with friendIt was the 43rd Cannes Film Festival and for our new Krzysztof Kieslowski film The Double Life of Veronique, much of the financing would come from pre-sales. We had already sold the biggest territories, so I took one of the red-carpet passes to see Akira Kurosawa’s Dreams. The red carpet was scary enough with a group. Alone required courage and new shoes.
Most of my income went towards my overpriced Paris apartment in the 6th so a colleague loaned me a sexy white dress with a low-cut back and I bought some white strappy mules in a shop below the Gray d’Albion. Not Louboutin, but they’d do. It was chilly, so I threw on a black linen jacket.
I shuffled with the crowd past the photographer pool and up the 20 red-carpeted steps. At the top I took the door on the left to avoid some of the spotlight. But that’s where things went horribly wrong. Two tuxedoed bouncers tssked, wagging their index fingers in that French manner. With a coquettish smile I turned, slipping my jacket down to show them my dress. One of them pointed down to my new shoes, “Pas de pantouffles.”
“Ce sont pas des pantouffles!” I argued. They were calling my shoes slippers! Rejected, but mercifully allowed to wait there until everyone left, I coolly headed back down against the side rail hoping the remaining fans assumed I was staff or press. But nothing could ease my mortification. And I never got to see Dreams.
PART 2: THE UGLY
Left to right: Lorraine Evanoff, Leonardo de la Fuente, Krzysztof Kieslowski, Irene Jacob,Philippe Volter, Slowomir Idziak, Zbigniew Preisner
Left to right: Lorraine Evanoff, Leonardo de la Fuente, Krzysztof Kieslowski, Irene Jacob,
Philippe Volter, Slowomir Idziak, Zbigniew Preisner
Krzysztof Kieslowski had won the 1989 Cannes Jury Prize for his critically acclaimed Thou Shalt Not Kill from his Decalogue series, launching the Polish director in Western Europe. Ever grateful, Kieslowski asked the Cannon Films buyer Leonardo de la Fuente (and my boss at the time), to produce his next film.
We broke off from Cannon and formed Sideral Productions. Kieslowski’s new script The Double Life of Veronique was originally written with Andie MacDowell in mind. However, MacDowell had accepted a conflicting role in Hudson Hawk so we held an open casting to find a new leading lady, during which Krzysztof discovered Irène Jacob. The resulting beautiful film was selected in Official Competition in the 44th Cannes Film Festival.
Being a producer and also having a small role in the film, I was part of the red carpet cast and crew. We had all assembled to walk the red carpet when there was a commotion. Apparently Irène had run away upset. Moments later, we all reassembled and walked the red carpet, stopping for the flashing cameras, then up the steps, sans incident.
However, later I would learn from the make-up artist what had caused the disruption. It was me! It turns out that Irène felt I looked better than her for the red carpet. We had only worked briefly together as I had a very minor role. But somehow the lead actress, who went on to win the Best Actress Award, was afraid of me, the girl with the slippers.
PART 3: THE KIND
Left to right: Didier Bourdon, Lorraine Evanoff, John Hurt, Raul Ruiz
During the 45th Cannes Film Festival, I was the lead actress of Dark at Noon, in Official Competition. Directed by Raul Ruiz and co-starring John Hurt, David Warner and Didier Bourdon, it was the culmination of months of script rewrites, rehearsals, shooting on location in Portugal and post-production recording of me singing for voice-over.
To prepare, Raul Ruiz (considered the Chilean Buñuel), also suggested I read some surreal literature. Having a degree in French, I was already well versed in Sartre, Breton, Cocteau, etc. so I read Labyrinths by Jorges Luis Borges for some South American surrealism.
But two months shooting in Portugal with the genius French comedian Didier Bourdon and Royal Academy chums John Hurt and David Warner was more than enough surrealism for anyone. Word from the wise, do not tell Hurt and Warner that farts make you laugh. Their antics will have you in tears.
During filming we all became close. There were some affairs as is de rigueur on film shoots. I even knitted a tiny sweater for the newborn son of John and his lovely American wife Joan and we exchanged Christmas cards for years.
But I will never forget our Cannes red carpet, when all of us dressed in formalwear loaded into the limo to be driven less than two blocks to the Palais with paparazzi cameras flashing and fans shouting and John looked me in the eye and with a familial grin said, “Now, this is surreal.”
The post 250-WORD TUESDAYS appeared first on Lorraine Evanoff.
250-WORD TUESDAYS
The Kind, The Cruel and The Ugly
PART 1: THE CRUEL
Lorraine Evanoff with friend It was the 43rd Cannes Film Festival and for our new Krzysztof Kieslowski film The Double Life of Veronique, much of the financing would come from pre-sales. We had already sold the biggest territories, so I took one of the red-carpet passes to see Akira Kurosawa's Dreams. The red carpet was scary enough with a group. Alone required courage and new shoes.Most of my income went towards my overpriced Paris apartment in the 6th so a colleague loaned me a sexy white dress with a low-cut back and I bought some white strappy mules in a shop below the Gray d’Albion. Not Louboutin, but they’d do. It was chilly, so I threw on a black linen jacket.
I shuffled with the crowd past the photographer pool and up the 20 red-carpeted steps. At the top I took the door on the left to avoid some of the spotlight. But that’s where things went horribly wrong. Two tuxedoed bouncers tssked, wagging their index fingers in that French manner. With a coquettish smile I turned, slipping my jacket down to show them my dress. One of them pointed down to my new shoes, “Pas de pantouffles.”
“Ce sont pas des pantouffles!” I argued. They were calling my shoes slippers! Rejected, but mercifully allowed to wait there until everyone left, I coolly headed back down against the side rail hoping the remaining fans assumed I was staff or press. But nothing could ease my mortification. And I never got to see Dreams. PART 2: THE UGLY
Left to right: Lorraine Evanoff, Leonardo de la Fuente, Krzysztof Kieslowski, Irene Jacob, Philippe Volter, Slowomir Idziak, Zbigniew Preisner Krzysztof Kieslowski had won the 1989 Cannes Jury Prize for his critically acclaimed Thou Shalt Not Kill from his Decalogue series, launching the Polish director in Western Europe. Ever grateful, Kieslowski asked the Cannon Films buyer Leonardo de la Fuente (and my boss at the time), to produce his next film.
We broke off from Cannon and formed Sideral Productions. Kieslowski’s new script The Double Life of Veronique was originally written with Andie MacDowell in mind. However, MacDowell had accepted a conflicting role in Hudson Hawk so we held an open casting to find a new leading lady, during which Krzysztof discovered Irène Jacob. The resulting beautiful film was selected in Official Competition in the 44th Cannes Film Festival.
Being a producer and also having a small role in the film, I was part of the red carpet cast and crew. We had all assembled to walk the red carpet when there was a commotion. Apparently Irène had run away upset. Moments later, we all reassembled and walked the red carpet, stopping for the flashing cameras, then up the steps, sans incident.
However, later I would learn from the make-up artist what had caused the disruption. It was me! It turns out that Irène felt I looked better than her for the red carpet. We had only worked briefly together as I had a very minor role. But somehow the lead actress, who went on to win the Best Actress Award, was afraid of me, the girl with the slippers.
PART 3: THE KIND
Left to right: Didier Bourdon, Lorraine Evanoff, John Hurt, Raul RuizDuring the 45th Cannes Film Festival, I was the lead actress of Dark at Noon, in Official Competition. Directed by Raul Ruiz and co-starring John Hurt, David Warner and Didier Bourdon, it was the culmination of months of script rewrites, rehearsals, shooting on location in Portugal and post-production recording of me singing for voice-over.
To prepare, Raul Ruiz (considered the Chilean Buñuel), also suggested I read some surreal literature. Having a degree in French, I was already well versed in Sartre, Breton, Cocteau, etc. so I read Labyrinths by Jorges Luis Borges for some South American surrealism.
But two months shooting in Portugal with the genius French comedian Didier Bourdon and Royal Academy chums John Hurt and David Warner was more than enough surrealism for anyone. Word from the wise, do not tell Hurt and Warner that farts make you laugh. Their antics will have you in tears.
During filming we all became close. There were some affairs as is de rigueur on film shoots. I even knitted a tiny sweater for the newborn son of John and his lovely American wife Joan and we exchanged Christmas cards for years.
But I will never forget our Cannes red carpet, when all of us dressed in formalwear loaded into the limo to be driven less than two blocks to the Palais with paparazzi cameras flashing and fans shouting and John looked me in the eye and with a familial grin said, “Now, this is surreal.”
May 2, 2016
Barnes & Noble, DePaul University Loop Campus
THE BOOK SIGNING MYSTERIES (cont.)As always, mystery and intrigue followed Louise…
In homage to her grandmother who was a DePaul University alum, Louise’s next book signing was at The Barnes & Noble DePaul University Campus in the Chicago Loop.
A podium and a dozen folding chairs were set up in a corner near the main entrance. Louise greeted a few early arrivals while bookstore denizens prowled and students studied near the window hidden by bookshelves, ready to lean in and listen.
A 40ish man bundled in layers of scruffy clothing seated in the second row acerbically posed questions about the International Banking Spy Thriller, “Banks own the government. Are you a banker?” He seemed the quintessential conspiracy theorist and she wondered if she was being filmed for Candid Camera. She didn’t reply but welcomed him with a discerning smile. A round middle-aged woman sitting on the other end of the row behind him gave Louise a cherubic smile. She recalled a similar woman at The Book Cellar the night before, perhaps an angel in a slightly different incarnation?
Louise drifted toward the back row to speak to more guests, when out of the aisles of books stepped a burly man in an overcoat and a German accent who started a spontaneous conversation with her, she wondered if he was a long-lost relative. “Did you know there are two interpretations of this word in Mein Kampf?” he inquired, pointing to a passage in his note-filled copy of the newly released American version. “This word has been commonly misunderstood…”
Having heard about the new publication of Mein Kampf, which had recently entered public domain, she cautiously engaged him in the subject matter. Not having read any version of Hitler’s The Struggle, she had little to contribute to the conversation. As he read the passage out loud it became clear it was about Hitler’s justification for racism that apparently hadn’t been explicit in a prior translation. She had wondered what one could gain out of reading the hateful manifesto, and now she saw the importance of a proper translation.
The guy could have been cast in this scene by Alfred Hitchcock him self. She loved that Chicago had no shortage of intriguing characters and there seemed to be some vortex pulling them all to this spot at this point in time. The manager caught her eye, beckoning her. The German disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. She took the podium and gave her introduction, right after which the conspiracy theorist resumed hurling pointed questions, “Does the government run the banks?”
“It’s complicated,” she replied. “If you read my book, you’ll see there are a lot of gray areas.” Before he could reply other people quickly posed questions in an attempt to stifle him. Louise continued to field questions back and forth, grateful for the buffering, but holding her own with the conspiracy theorist. After all, this was to be expected with the explosive subject matter of her novel.
Finally the discussion waned and people started purchasing books and approaching her to sign. After the last customer copy plus 10 more for the store were signed she placed the cap on her Sharpie and gathered her things. She thanked the manager, shouldered her bag and left to meet a girlfriend for drinks. The revolving door thudded and the cold air hit her fully in the face just as a man swung the opposite direction into the store. Something about him was familiar so she stood out in the cold watching him pivot towards the now-empty podium and chairs.
Realizing that the event was over he headed back out through the revolving door just as she was going back in. He rushed east down Jackson towards the El. She spun the door 360 degrees back out after him. He ran up to the platform two steps at a time to catch the arriving train. She hurried, but eyeballing the timing she knew she wouldn’t make it. The doors swooshed open and the man jumped aboard. Looking at his watch as he turned back around, he raised his head in time to lock eyes with Louise, the doors closing on her, and read her lips, “It’s you…” The train jerked forward and down the tracks.
Thursday, February 18, 2016 at 6:00 PM
Barnes & Noble, DePaul University Loop Campus DePaul Center
1 E Jackson Blvd, Chicago, IL 60604 - (312) 362-8792
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/foliage-lorraine-evanoff/1122880933
Barnes & Noble, DePaul University Loop Campus
THE BOOK SIGNING MYSTERIES (cont.)
As always, mystery and intrigue followed Louise…
In homage to her grandmother who was a DePaul University alum, Louise’s next book signing was at The Barnes & Noble DePaul University Campus in the Chicago Loop.
A podium and a dozen folding chairs were set up in a corner near the main entrance. Louise greeted a few early arrivals while bookstore denizens prowled and students studied near the window hidden by bookshelves, ready to lean in and listen.
A 40ish man bundled in layers of scruffy clothing seated in the second row acerbically posed questions about the International Banking Spy Thriller, “Banks own the government. Are you a banker?” He seemed the quintessential conspiracy theorist and she wondered if she was being filmed for Candid Camera. She didn’t reply but welcomed him with a discerning smile. A round middle-aged woman sitting on the other end of the row behind him gave Louise a cherubic smile. She recalled a similar woman at The Book Cellar the night before, perhaps an angel in a slightly different incarnation?
Louise drifted toward the back row to speak to more guests, when out of the aisles of books stepped a burly man in an overcoat and a German accent who started a spontaneous conversation with her, she wondered if he was a long-lost relative. “Did you know there are two interpretations of this word in Mein Kampf?” he inquired, pointing to a passage in his note-filled copy of the newly released American version. “This word has been commonly misunderstood…”
Having heard about the new publication of Mein Kampf, which had recently entered public domain, she cautiously engaged him in the subject matter. Not having read any version of Hitler’s The Struggle, she had little to contribute to the conversation. As he read the passage out loud it became clear it was about Hitler’s justification for racism that apparently hadn’t been explicit in a prior translation. She had wondered what one could gain out of reading the hateful manifesto, and now she saw the importance of a proper translation.
Both guys could have been cast in this scene by Alfred Hitchcock him self. She loved that Chicago had no shortage of intriguing characters and there seemed to be some vortex pulling them all to this spot at this point in time. The manager caught her eye, beckoning her. The German disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. She took the podium and gave her introduction, right after which the conspiracy theorist resumed hurling pointed questions, “Does the government run the banks?”
“It’s complicated,” she replied. “If you read my book, you’ll see there are a lot of gray areas.” Before he could reply other people quickly posed questions in an attempt to stifle him. Louise continued to field questions back and forth, grateful for the buffering, but holding her own with the conspiracy theorist. After all, this was to be expected with the explosive subject matter of her novel.
Finally the discussion waned and people started purchasing books and approaching her to sign. After the last customer copy plus 10 more for the store were signed she placed the cap on her Sharpie and gathered her things. She thanked the manager, shouldered her bag and exited to meet a girlfriend for drinks. The revolving door thudded and the cold air hit her fully in the face just as a man swung the opposite direction into the store. Something about him was familiar so she stood out in the cold watching him pivot towards the now-empty podium and chairs.
Realizing that the event was over he headed back out through the revolving door just as she was going back in. He rushed east down Jackson towards the El. She spun the door 360 degrees back out after him. He ran up to the platform two steps at a time to catch the arriving train. She hurried, but eyeballing the timing she knew she wouldn’t make it. The doors swooshed open and the man jumped aboard. Looking at his watch as he turned back around, he raised his head just in time to lock eyes with Louise. The doors closed on her and he read her lips, “It’s you…” The train jerked forward and down the tracks.
Thursday, February 18, 2016 at 6:00 PM
Barnes & Noble, DePaul University Loop Campus DePaul Center
1 E Jackson Blvd, Chicago, IL 60604 – (312) 362-8792
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/foliage-lorraine-evanoff/1122880933
The post Barnes & Noble, DePaul University Loop Campus appeared first on Lorraine Evanoff.
April 11, 2016
The Book Cellar
THE BOOK SIGNING MYSTERIES (cont.)As always, mystery and intrigue followed Louise...
The February book tour continued in Chicago. Her mother, Mary, being a native Chicagoan, Louise was deemed an honorary local author. The second book-signing venue, The Book Cellar, is a hipster hub in historic Lincoln Square, adjacent to the Swedish neighborhood of Andersonville several miles north of downtown.
Louise arrived early, bankers’ habits dying hard. Taking advantage of her anonymity, she browsed, perusing Lovecraft, Poe, Nietzsche, Sartre and de Beauvoir. Besides the patrons of the delicious food and wine counter, the same bookshop denizens she had noted at her previous event were out and about, bookish types, exploring, devouring books, in their element amongst the aisles, noses buried in the packed shelves, the comfy window nook and the numerous café tables set up for the night’s reading.
Her core temperature had thawed since coming in out of the chilled Chicago evening and she was ready to reveal her identity to the cheery staff. They offered welcoming smiles and refreshment as guests began trickling in. She greeted several familiar faces including her publicist, a family friend, and a former professor of her mother’s.
The second of the local authors, a former attorney who was less anxious than her, but equally conscientious, arrived right on time (apparently attorneys also have bankers' habits). The third author clearly not a former banker or attorney (rather a former skinhead), arrived 10 minutes after scheduled reading time.
Louise took her spot before the audience in front of the artfully-stacked wine cubbies. No mike, but a glass somehow in her hand, this time a bubbly Prosecco (better known to her as Prosexy). Why she, a newbie author, would be slated to do the first reading instead of the two veterans seemed like a dare, so she went for it.
She recited her rehearsed introduction and read a short excerpt thinking it just enough of a teaser. The other two authors’ readings were incrementally longer. Louise made a mental note: read longer excerpts. Then all three authors formed a panel to take questions. Some of the audience demanded answers not revealed in Louise's first book of the series. Other guests, aspiring writers, were very inquisitive about the writing process.
Then Louise turned to the former attorney in the panel and asked about her book, which Louise had already read in preparation of the event and thoroughly enjoyed. Afterwards, since the third author’s book, (an autobiographical chronicle of his youth as a skinhead), was unavailable on Kindle, Louise purchased a copy and asked him to sign it. (Shortly thereafter, she read it and found it fascinating and brilliant.)
Just as the panel ended, two more guests arrived. A beautiful red-haired author and her publicist introduced themselves. They had come at the behest of Louise’s friend, the foremost authority on Sherlock Holmes. Louise was thrilled to make the connection, new girlfriends!
The remaining crowd finished the last of their wine and funneled out. Louise was secretly relieved that no mystery guest had appeared in the shadows and was ready to celebrate her first Chicago promotional event.
The red head and her publicist, also gorgeous, insisted they hit a local pub then Uber home, or in Louise’s case, back to her hotel. They exited into the brisk night in search of the warmth and charm of a local wine-bar or sexy singles bar (did they still call it that?)
They walked through the doors of what seemed to be the closest locals' joint, only to be accosted by the smell of poo coming from some backed-up plumbing. Simultaneously they backed out the door and, once outside, took deep breaths, pivoted and headed into a tinted-glass bar directly across the street.
They ordered cheap wine and scotch that was displayed like a police line-up against the mirrored wall behind the bar. They drank and shared the joys and miseries of publishing. Louise was thrilled to learn that this was somewhat of a ritual amongst writers. She looked forward to future events, but not to the cheap wine.
Hungry, she decided to sneak away from her new-founds BFFs and grab a cab back to her hotel and splurge on room service. All in all the night was a success. She had made it through her second book signing, sans the appearance of any mysterious face in the crowd.
But as she stood up from her barstool, checking her look in the mirrored wall, suddenly out of the corner of her eye, the unmistakable mystery visitor appeared in the shadows. She turned but he was gone.
Wednesday, February 17, 2016 at 7:00 PM - Local Author Night
Book Cellar
4736-38 Lincoln Avenue, Chicago, IL 60625 - (773) 293 1665
http://www.bookcellarinc.com/event/local-author-night-ft-lorraine-evanoff-lynne-raimondo-don-de-grazia
