Susan Joy Clark's Blog

The Art of the Prank

“They somehow look more impressive on canvas,” said my roommate, Ryan, standing beside me and staring at the three easels and what was propped on them. “And in frames,” he added.

“As opposed to the prototypes?” I asked. I sipped my black Gevalia coffee.

Ryan scratched his head, fluffing his sandy blond hair. “I don't think it's called a prototype in regard to painting.”

“Preliminary drawings then?”

“I think they're called 'studies,'” said Ryan.

“I think you're right,” I said. “I don't think the artist studied too much, do you?”

“You know better than I do,” said Ryan, “but … no. Wait. Do you mean Leah or Carson?”

“We're calling him Pavel Shutka. Remember?”

“Right,” said Ryan.

The painting to the left was a tangle of rainbow colored lines with more open loops visible on the outer edges and more of a dense knot of colors at the center. The middle painting was similar with coiling lines that almost looked like an unraveling ball of yarn, only not as spherical or orderly, with some random black lines in the eye of it, which, from certain angles, made me think of an insect. The painting on the right had big scooping loops of color like ocean waves crossing the canvas and some mysterious black scrawls on the far right side of it. Each had a unique signature with thin, tall, steeply right slanting letters – P. Shutka.

Ryan turned away from the paintings to look at me, “Ready?”

“Ready,” I said. I set my coffee cup down on the counter. “How do I look?” I fanned out my arms to the sides.

“Like a young Trotsky.”

“Seriously? I know I'm Russian-American, but ...”

Ryan pulled out his phone, typed, swiped and then handed it to me. He had done a Google image search for Trotsky apparently. The wild waves, the goatee, the glasses … He did have somewhat of a point.

“You feel like you're looking in a mirror, don't you?”

“Not quite,” I said, “But I see your point.”

Ryan took his phone back and began to pack up the canvases in a large art portfolio case.

“I was really asking about the clothes. I wasn't sure whether to do business casual or full on Cary Grant.”

Ryan looked me up and down, at my tie-free but designer jacket and pants ensemble. “You look understatedly elegant … like an artsy hipster.”

“Okay. I'll take that,” I said. “How do you like the watch?” I held out my right hand and pulled up my jacket sleeve a little. “A Movado, you know, the kind they call the 'museum watch.'”

“Okay,” said Ryan. “You look like a rich artsy hipster. Where'd you get it?”

We headed out of the apartment with the art portfolio. “On loan, from my client, George. He wanted me to look the part.”

“Ah.”

After fifteen minutes' travel, we were at the big glass doors of the MoMA, New York's Museum of Modern Art. Ryan pulled out his phone, did some more texting, and we found our way to a private event room, with a lectern and microphone set up on our right and rows of chairs to our left. A woman with a blonde coiffure, black tailored suit and heels greeted us at the door to the room.

She held out her hand, and I shook it. “Mr. Kuzmich, it is so nice to finally meet you in person.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said. I put on the Russian accent thick. As a second generation Russian-American, I could do it easily and remove it easily too.

“Call me Suzanne,” she said.

“Certainly … Suzanne,” I said. “You may call me Vlad.”

A flurry of other introductions ensued, and then the paintings were removed and set up in places of honor on the wall behind the lectern. “Vlad, these are exquisite!” gushed Suzanne.

“You think so … Yes?” I asked.

“The emotion in every line … and the texture. It almost looks like crayon, but it isn't, is it?”

“No,” I said. “It's all oil paints.”

“Very interesting,” she said, standing back a little to observe them from a distance. “A little Twombly-esque, I think ...”

She referred to an artist I knew about, who had a similar scrawling style. His multi-million dollar works were displayed elsewhere in the museum.

“Yet, it is his own style.”

“Quite right,” I said.

“All right,” Suzanne said to me. “People will start coming with their tickets. We have about fifteen minutes, and then you can speak.”

People gradually filled the seats in the room. When the time came, Suzanne gave me a grand introduction. “We are so honored to have with us Mr. Vlad Kuzmich, who so generously has loaned us these three works, Winter's Night, Anguish and Communism from his private collection. All three paintings are from an emerging Russian artist, Pavel Shutka. Mr. Kuzmich, please ...” She waved her hand for me to come forward and stepped aside.

As I looked out at the faces before me, my heart began to pound as I fully realized the precarious position I was in. In spite of that, I put forth my most confident smile. “Hello everyone.”

A few hellos echoed back at me.

“As an art lover, I am so pleased to share with you the works of an emerging artist from my home country. Great art should be shared and should bring opportunity to everyone to analyze and interpret. Shutka has only been discovered in the past three years, but, already, he has been acclaimed by several Russian art publications and has had his works displayed in the other MMoMA. You have to say it exactly like this... Mmmm … Moma,” I said.

This drew a few laughs from the audience.

“Yes, the Moscow Museum of Modern Art. Shutka has gained a reputation for his aggressive strokes, his raw emotion and his deep philosophical statements ...” Somehow, I made it through another fifteen minutes of similar speech.

When it was over, I took a breath of relief and joined Ryan at the rear of the room. A couple of waiters began to circulate the room serving champagne and a few hors d'oeuvres to the paying guests. As one passed us, Ryan took a flute of champagne, and handed me one. A few moments later, he gave me a discreet ear bud. When I put it in my ear, I was privy to all the comments people were making by the paintings and about the paintings in the other part of the room. Glancing at Ryan's phone, we could even see the people's gawking faces from the painting's perspective, all thanks to my roommate's technical geekdom.

A pair of young college age women stood by the first painting, discussing their observations with each other. The one on the right wore a pink skirt and ballet flats and looked like she needed to be studying Degas at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Her friend, looking more bohemian and bold, wore mismatched prints, colorful striped tights and bangles. “What do you suppose it means? Winter's Night? The colors aren't very wintry, are they?” asked Pink.

The colors of that particular painting were bright and covered the entire spectrum.

“Don't be so literal. He's trying to depict an emotional winter,” said Stripes.

“But wouldn't blues and blacks and grays be good for an emotional winter too?”

“I think,” said Stripes, “that he is in turmoil. Look at all those tangle of lines. It's dizzying. It's like being pulled into a vortex, a vortex of turmoil.”

“It looks like crayon,” said Pink.

“It isn't,” said her companion. “Mr. Kuzmich said it isn't, but it's made to look like crayon. I think the artist is going back to his childhood, kind of like a person who's been traumatized goes back to the fetal position.”

“Mmm... Maybe,” said Pink.

The two had even more interesting thoughts at the third painting, Communism. “It must be those black lines on the right that represent Communism. They seem to be stretching out like they're ready to swallow everything in its path,” said Stripes.

“You think? But if the black lines represent Communism swallowing everything, shouldn't they be on the right, you know, the east moving west, towards the left?” asked Pink, seeming to analyze the painting in terms of a map.

Stripes gasped and held out a hand, her bangles shaking, to take Pink's wrist. “You're right. I think he's making a pro-Communist statement. The bright colors are Communism, and the black is the western world.”

This was getting interesting. I tried not to choke on my shrimp canapé.

A short while later, another woman seized my attention for an entirely different reason. The woman had unnaturally red hair – helped from a bottle – bangs and a long bob. She spoke with a Russian accent, a genuine one, as she said aloud, “Shutka. Shutka is not a proper Russian name. It means 'joke' in Russian.” I watched her on Ryan's screen and also looked at her from across the room.

Ryan and I exchanged glances. “I like this woman,” I said. I genuinely meant it, but I was also a little worried.

The woman continued, “Picasso, I understand. Mondrian, I can appreciate, but this … this is scribbling. This can't be right.”

I nodded at Ryan and then walked across the room to introduce myself to this woman. I spoke in Russian. “Privet. Otkuda vy?” Hi. Where are you from?

We continued to speak in Russian to each other and shared that we were both from St. Petersburg. In my case, my parents were from there. After talking to her for a while, I invited her to join Ryan and me at a nearby Starbucks.

Later, over a dark espresso, I shared with her, “You're right about Shutka. It's a joke. He's a joke. He doesn't exist.”

My new friend, Olga, put her hand over her heart. “How did you know what I thought about the name?”

“I have my ways,” I said. I grinned mysteriously.

Ryan looked at me with raised eyebrows and a worried look.

“'Pavel Shutka' is actually two people,” I told her. “Would you like to see the artists?”

She nodded.

I pulled out my phone, brought up a picture and turned the screen to her, showing her a photo of my three-year-old nephew Carson. “My nephew,” I said, “Carson.”

Olga leaned into the phone. “He paints?”

“No,” said Ryan, swirling his coffee, “our artist friend Leah painted it from Carson's crayon drawings.” Ryan brought up a photo of Leah, in her artist's smock, on his phone and showed it to Olga.

I took the phone back and pulled up more pictures of Carson with his original crayon creations which we had named Winter's Night, Anguish and Communism.

I gazed down into my coffee. “We thought it might be going a bit too far to frame the original crayon drawings on computer paper and pass it off as an adult's modern art. We gave Carson's drawings to Leah, and she projected them onto canvas, enlarging them and painting the same patterns with the same colors onto canvas. It did take her a bit of work to do that, to mix paint colors to match the Crayola colors and – though we didn't ask her to do this – create a bit of crayon texture.”

Olga sipped her frappuccino and shook her head in disbelief.

“I first got the idea of the prank a year ago at Easter when Carson kept giving me his drawings. I thought what makes his artwork amateur and primitive and something that Twombly creates worth millions of dollars and museum space?”

Ryan nodded. “Who are the real scammers?” he said. “Are we the scammers or is the modern art world scamming everyone?”

I did a Google image search on my phone and brought up a photo of one of Cy Twombly's untitled pieces. I showed it to Olga. “It looks like a bland public bathroom wall with some spackle and a little bit of scribbled graffiti.”

Olga laughed. “I agree. Your nephew's work is more interesting and looks nicer.” She shook her head. “But how did you do it? How did you convince the museum to display paintings by this Shutka?”

Ryan caught my eye a second. “It wasn't easy. As he said, Paul had this idea a year ago.”

“Paul?”

“My real name,” I said. “Pavel actually. I am Russian, and my family's from St. Petersburg as I said, but my real name is Paul Denisovich.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” said Olga. “I won't give you away. I find what you did so interesting, and I think it proves a point.”

“So, we worked on this idea for a whole year, and we involved a lot of other friends and connections, including those in Russia.” Ryan glanced at me. “We have friends who are journalists, marketing specialists, web designers, and they were all in on the prank. We used them to create a buzz and a bit of a campaign.”

“But were these Shutka paintings ever in the Moscow Museum of Modern Art?”

“No,” I said. “But we gave this museum the impression that they were, by some Photoshop skills and links to a false webpage for the Moscow MoMA.” I brought up the false webpage and the Photoshopped image.

“It's amazing you were able to get away with it … so far, but it might not last. Surely, somebody else besides me will know the meaning of 'shutka' or someone can check with the Moscow museum,” said Olga.

“Perhaps,” I said, “But I think they will be too embarrassed by the incident to press charges. After all, we have video and audio evidence that they considered this great art,” I said. I sat back and smiled.

“And these paintings are only on loan to the museum?”

“Yes.”

“Will you sell me one?”

“Why?” I said. “It's worthless, and you thought they were ugly.”

“But it has such an interesting story, the painting that made a fool out of artistic critics,” she said. “You confess it's not worth millions, but perhaps you would take $1200?”

“It's a lot more than I think it's worth, but if you really want it?” I shrugged and looked at Ryan.

He shrugged and nodded back at me.

“We can't keep the money you know,” I said to Ryan. “We'll give half to Leah and half to Carson … for his college fund.”


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This story was originally published on Reedsy and written from the writing prompt, "Write about someone who spent a whole year planning a big prank, and now they're finally ready to pull it off."

"Action Men with Silly Putty" receives great new reviews from Readers' Favorite!

Reviewed By Melissa Tanaka for Readers’ Favorite

Action Men with Silly Putty: A Jack Donegal Mystery by Susan Joy Clark centers on a man by the name of Jack Donegal, who is an eccentric toy inventor, and his colleague, Andy Westin. Jack becomes a target when he is mistaken for another man after purchasing an antique teddy bear at a toy auction. From there, the two men take the situation into their own hands and decide to investigate the mystery behind the teddy bear and the secrets that it holds.

The first person point of view makes it very easy for readers to become engaged in the story, quickly slipping into the mind of Andy as he helps his boss and best friend untangle the web of mysteries that surrounds the bear and the criminals pursuing it. Although Andy is much more relatable a character, Jack is an enigma to witness, whether he is pulling random tidbits of information from the depths of his brain or quickly splicing together various contraptions in order to save the day. The witty banter between the two men and their lack of experience in sleuthing endears them to the reader, and by the end of the first chapter you cannot help but root for them. They James Bond their way out of several different situations, resulting in hilarity and various degrees of success.

Action Men with Silly Putty is a dream come true for mystery fans, mixing comedy and suspense along with classic gadgets such as hidden cameras, recording devices, vibration sensors, and everything else a spy could possibly need. I absolutely loved this book!

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Reviewed By Cheryl E. Rodriguez for Readers’ Favorite

Susan Joy Clark’s Action Men with Silly Putty: A Jack Donegal Mystery is a hilarious mystery adventure. Jack Donegal and Andy Westin are business partners and best friends. They are toy men, meaning that they are not short, but in the toy business. Jack is a quirky and zany inventor – a master of everything - a techno-geek! Andy is the grounded and sensible marketing manager. This dynamic duo is in a league all of their own. While attending an estate auction in San Francisco, Jack purchases an antique teddy bear. Turns out, this is not your normal teddy bear. Jack is mugged in a case of mistaken identity, which catapults the toy men into an unbelievable adventure. Jack is determined is to out scam the scammers and find the secret behind this mysterious bear. Together, Jack and Andy put together the pieces this implausible puzzle, one “strange piece at a time.”

Action Men with Silly Putty: A Jack Donegal Mystery is fun, engaging, and delightfully entertaining, you won’t want to put it down! Susan Joy Clark pens a mystery novel full of comedic escapades. The bungling Mr. Magoo combines with the eccentricity of Columbo in the main character of Jack Donegal. Clark’s narrative is witty, comical and adventuresome. The writing style is artfully imaginative, using amusing and uncanny descriptions. The story is written from the point of view of the side-kick, which is rare, but really works! The antics of the characters keep the action moving quickly.

The best description of this creative work is silly-serious; it encompasses both abstract and concrete, humor and mystery, famous artwork, secret societies, and dating advice. The villains are bad guys, thugs with slightly dark motives and criminal intentions, contrasting with the good guys who are out for justice, and motivated to do what is right. Action Men with Silly Putty: A Jack Donegal Mystery is a wild goose chase full of hare-brained ideas and geeky technology. It is a fun and enjoyable read from beginning to end.

Reviewed By Jack Magnus for Readers’ Favorite

Action Men with Silly Putty: A Jack Donegal Mystery, Book 1 is an amateur sleuth mystery novel written by Susan Joy Clark. Andy Westin and his boss, Jack Donegal, were toy men. They lived, breathed and played their occupation and had a great time doing it. It was during one of their business trips to the San Francisco Toy Fair that they came upon an auction where Jack was unable to resist the charms of a 1915 Steiff teddy bear. That bear had been part of the estate of a California wine heiress, Georgina Elwood, a recluse and collector. Immediately after taking possession of his new teddy, strange things started happening to Jack and Andy. First, Jack was assaulted by two armed men who thought he was someone else and threatened him with an ornately carved knife. Then his iPhone turned out to be missing. Not a problem for them as Andy had the Find My Phone app, but their misadventures were just beginning, and the two toy men were delighted to discover a mystery worthy of their complete attention.

Susan Joy Clark's private investigator mystery novel, Action Men with Silly Putty: A Jack Donegal Mystery, Book 1, will delight readers who enjoy a bit of humor mixed in with their sleuthing and pleasantly surprise those readers such as myself who are usually unaware of - or worse - unappreciative of comedic touches in their reading material. I had a grand time following Andy and his iconic boss, Jack, as they gallivanted around the Bay Area and Southern California and played at being detectives. Andy is the consummate narrator who, while completely authentic and original in his own right, agreeably reminded me at times of Nero Wolf's able and wisecracking sidekick, Archie Goodwin. Clark's story is breezy, fun and fast-paced, and her plot is inspired. Jack and Andy are two of the most intriguing new private eyes I've come across in quite some time, and I can't wait until their creator conjures up another irresistible conundrum for them to play with. Action Men with Silly Putty: A Jack Donegal Mystery, Book 1 is most highly recommended.

The Map Thief by Michael Blanding

The Map Thief by Michael Blanding

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


I enjoyed reading about Forbes Smiley III, thief of rare maps. It would be interesting to anyone who likes history and antiques and perhaps a little dull to those who are not interested in these things. There's quite a lot of detail and history about the various maps in question. The history is necessary to understand the rarity and value of the items stolen. It doesn't read like a suspenseful thriller, but I found it quite interesting, partly because I found the character of Smiley. While reading, I told someone that Smiley seems like a "popular nerd." Part of what we admire in those at the top of the social totem pole is confidence, I think. Smiley had intellectual, nerdy interests, but he was also extroverted, confident and gregarious. I liked the description of the over-the-top professionally executed dollhouse he built for a store's window display while he was still a student. He seemed to have so many talents, except in the area of managing money. Smiley, I think, would be a likeable man to those who did not know he was a thief, and he was liked by those who were his victims. After reading the conclusion, I believe he feels genuine regret for betraying those who trusted him. The book also has bits of interesting forensic evidence that incriminated Smiley.



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Christmas at Green Gables

I am currently reading Anne of Windy Poplars, not because the book had any association for me to Christmas, but because I was reminded of it, and when I did not find it on my book shelves or in my Kindle collection of "Anne" books, I began to feel like I had skipped over this book in the series. However, today I read a Christmas scene that helps to put me in the spirit of the season.

This book is the fourth in the Anne of Green Gables series. This one covers a three year period where Anne is teaching and corresponding with Gilbert Blythe, who is now her fiance, while he is at medical school.

The Christmas scene takes place in the second year when Anne invites Katherine Brooke, a fellow teacher who has been anything but friendly to her, home to Green Gables for Christmas. Anne and Katherine ride to Green Gables on a sleigh, and the scene brings forth all of those nostalgic Currier & Ives kind of feelings and gives me the feeling I'd like to have this experience.

One of the things I've always liked about the Anne books is the descriptive passages. Here is an example ...

The snow crisped under the runners; the music of the bells tinkled through the ranks of tall pointed firs, snow-laden.The White Way of Delight had little festoons of stars tangled in the trees. And on the last hill but one, they saw the great gulf, white and mystical under the moon but not yet ice-bound.

Soon after their arrival, the two go snowshoeing, and this too makes me feel like I want to have this experience in some pretty wintry setting. It made me reflect that although today, we find snowshoeing and perhaps even sleigh rides as some sort of recreation, these things served a practical means of getting around during this time period, just as skiing also served as a practical means of transportation at certain times and places.

They went through Lover's Lane, full of lovely tree shadows, and across fields where little fir trees fringed the fences and through woods which were full of secrets and seemed always on the point of telling you but never did ... and through open glades that were like pools of silver.

At this point, alone together in nature, the two women have a talk. Katherine admits she is jealous of Anne for having a beau and friends everywhere and seeming to have everything. Katherine has never felt loved by anyone. Anne tells her she was raised in an orphanage and can understand that feeling.

Katherine has a change of heart towards Anne. I can imagine a critic dismissing this whole scene as Pollyanna like sentimentalism. (In fact, this book has Anne winning over her enemies, softening the heart of an old crank, getting a couple together and generally spreading sunshine everywhere.) However, this scenario doesn't seem so unbelievable to me.

I have personally observed jealous girls acting horribly towards other girls who are really quite likeable. I also think it might be easy for some people to assume that a happy person with many good things in their favor had never experienced hard times.

The next day has them making a plum pudding, "a great big plummy one", cutting down a fir for a Christmas tree and gathering creeping spruce and ground pine for wreaths. How nice to be so close to nature. Anne also has a reunion with Gilbert.

Here are a few nice things I found for fans of the "Anne" books.

The Anne of Green Gables Christmas Treasury

And Jamie Oliver's recipe for plum pudding.

Jamie Oliver's plum pudding recipe

My mother has a set of Christmas village houses for the Sarah, Plain and Tall books that were once available from Hallmark. (You may be able to find these still from eBay.)

Wouldn't it be nice if there were Avonlea Christmas village houses available?

From Man Buns to Geek Chic

I was at a diner with my parents not long ago. A soccer game was on the TV, and I noticed the hairstyle of one of the players. "Oh no," I said. "A man bun." That does seem to be a growing (no pun intended?) trend these days.

These are the kinds of observations I make while watching sports. The last time I watched a football (American football) game with one of my brothers, I made small talk about the team colors and their uniforms. My brother laughed at me.

I find myself paying attention to men's fashion trends now more than ever now that I have two fun fictional guys to dress in the "Action Men" series. All of the suspects in Action Men with Silly Putty: A Jack Donegal Mystery are male, and they all had to be distinguishable and unique. From a detective's point of view, a physical description of a suspect is vital information.

I sometimes think building a fictional world for a novel is a little like a more sophisticated form of our childhood play. Dressing characters is like playing with paper dolls. Designing a character's home is like playing with dollhouses. Who knew I'd have such fun with "paper dolls" that were so masculine?

In addition to noticing men's clothing styles, I'm taking note of various styles in facial hair from "Duck Dynasty" beards to goatees and various kinds of hairstyles.

I'm a fan of the 1920s humor writer, P.G. Wodehouse, and, in addition to the books, I have enjoyed some of the BBC Jeeves and Wooster programs starring Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry. Some of the humor in the stories stems from a difference in opinion over fashion. Well, I suppose you would expect a British valet like Jeeves to have opinions on what a gentleman should wear. A fan on Youtube put together a montage from the shows on the many ways Jeeves disapproves.

You can also read a couple of the fashion fiasco scenarios in these cartoons. As the images are small, I've spelled out the captions.

For the cartoon above ... Wooster --"This white mess jacket is brand new!" Jeeves -- "I assumed it had got into your wardrobe by mistake, sir." Jeeves, third frame -- "Or else it had been placed there by your enemies."

For the cartoon below ... First frame, Wooster -- "What on earth's the matter, Jeeves?" Second frame, Jeeves -- "I apologize, sir. It was unforgivable of me. I shall be better directly. It's just ... Mr. Little's tie, sir. It has little horseshoes on it." Third frame, Wooster -- "Oh, yes, yes, I had noticed that." Fourth frame, Jeeves -- "It's sometimes difficult just to shrug these things off, sir."

If Jeeves was made a little ill by a horseshoe pattern on a tie, some of the styles I put on Jack Donegal would give him a temperature and send him to bed, that is, if it were possible to pull him out of P.G. Wodehouse world and introduce him to my character. I have sometimes described Jack's style as geek chic.

Jack is a bit of an individualist who has his own unique way of expressing himself in style, much to the mortification of his more conservative best buddy, Andy Westin. The two buddies are more complementary than similar in a lot of ways, a bit like the Odd Couple.

Since Jack is in the toy industry, specifically an inventor of toys and the head of his own toy company, his wardrobe choices often reflect his whimsical side and a tribute to toys or games. I could see Jack wearing this Popeye watch ...

Or these Tetris socks ...

Or the Pac Man tie.

Andy Westin has had to roll his eyes at some of Jack's fashion choices. In Chapter 5, "We Become Spies at the Expense of My Dignity," Andy himself is coerced by Jack to wear a disguise that goes against the grain, something he describes as a hippie Indian chief outfit.

Without giving any plot spoilers, I will give you some humorous book excerpts relating to Jack's fashion choices.

"Jack was looking at me with the most bewildered look on his face, and it was then that I realized he was wearing Wallace and Gromit pajamas. As odd as that was, it somehow made sense, as this one ridiculous piece of clothing jointly expressed his love of things juvenile and playful, inventors, invention and dogs."

Later, Jack goes outside while still in his pajamas to take care of some task, and absentmindedly, almost goes to his female neighbor's condo while still in his Wallace and Gromit pajamas. Andy stops him. "We went back inside. I sat in the living room and read a little bit of his latest copy of TDMonthly, while he was in his room changing his clothes. A minute or two later, he reemerged fully-dressed, but it was barely an improvement. He came down the stairs in a bright blue dress shirt, a tie printed all over in Monopoly money, suspenders spotted in the colors of the game Twister and his swing dancing shoes. From his belt loop, a mostly useless but unique pocket watch dangled, sporting a Colonel Mustard figure from Clue. I say that the watch was mostly useless, not because it wasn't a working watch, but because it was useless if Jack didn't actually consult it once in a while. Basically, Jack had transformed himself into a walking billboard for Toys 'R Us."

"... Jack was apparently of the opinion that each individual piece in his wardrobe should be screaming with personality. Maybe it was time to call Clinton Kelly and arrange an intervention. I sighed or maybe I groaned. 'It's better than the pajamas.'"

There's a lot more of this sort of humor in the book. If you click on the Colonel Mustard link, you will see the pocket watch that inspired me.

Whitman's Assortment of Christmas Thoughts

I remember getting those boxes of Whitman's chocolates at Christmas time and reading the chart on the inside of the lid. This post is just a few of my thoughts about various Christmas topics, somewhat random but tied to a common theme, a little nutty and a little sweet.

I have no shortage of creative people in my life. One such creative friend, Maria, decided to do a photo shoot of her teen-aged daughters and some of their friends in a snowy Oregon woodland scene this year.

The effect was wonderful. Beautiful girls with braided hair, Scandinavian knits and scarves posed among trees with lace-like branches covered in crystal. On one close-up, I noticed a snowflake on the girl's eyelash. When I commented to my friend -- this was a Facebook post -- she admitted that she had shaken the tree over the girl for effect!

Yes, we know how snowflakes are shaped. We've known this since we first cut paper snowflakes in elementary school. Still, when I see snow falling or on the ground or even a single flake nestled on someone's eyelash, I rarely contemplate its microscopic beauty and uniqueness. God has put a lot of beauty into the world. Lately, I have come across these nature photos in my perusal of Pinterest, and I really appreciate them.

I'm reminded of a biographical children's picture book, Snowflake Bentley, a book that won the 1999 Caldecott Medal. The book tells the story of Wilson Bentley, one of the first known photographers of snowflakes who gained some renown in the late 1800s.

I confess that I have not read any more of this book than I was able to preview on Amazon, but based on that preview alone, I would purchase it for or recommend it to those in the targeted audience.

Here are a few of Bentley's snowflake photographs.

Today, Facebook reminded me of what I posted on Dec. 4, 2014. Here it is. "I decided to read 'The Nutcracker,' the original story by E.T.A Hoffmann on my Kindle this month. I came to a little rhyme that included this line 'Hee hee, pee pee.' I think it is basically meant to be nonsense syllables, but I have to wonder did 'pee pee' have a different meaning to Victorian children than it does today? Of course, it was translated to English from German. So, now I wonder, what exactly is the German for 'hee hee, pee pee?'" Ah, there's nothing like a little unintentional potty humor when reading a Victorian era book.

The precise version I read was
Nutcracker and Mouse King and the Tale of the Nutcracker which included the story by E.T.A. Hoffmann and the Alexandre Dumas version.

I've enjoyed Tchaikovsky's music "The Nutcracker Suite" ever since I was a little girl listening to my father's vinyl records. Very recently, I heard a very different interpretation of some of those classic instrumental pieces. My friend's son, Bill Arnold, has an album available on CD Baby, Expedition: Nutcracker Suite Eight tracks including "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies," "Dance of the Reed Pipes" and "Waltz of the Flowers" are reinterpreted with various world sounds such as reggae, Dixieland jazz, Celtic, samba and gypsy jazz. Bill is a composer, singer and multi-instrumentalist specializing in world flutes and voice.

I don't know if it's a calypso or reggae beat I hear, but I especially like Overture Miniature. Another fun track is Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, a version with a Latin jazz feel featuring a bass and castanets.

I like surprising fun musical style fusions. This came out in a small way in my mystery, Action Men with Silly Putty: A Jack Donegal Mystery.

In the very beginning of the novel, we are introduced to a suspect that only Jack Donegal has seen. This suspect has an interesting condition, heterochromia iridum, where he has two differently colored eyes. My narrator, Andy Westin, gives him the nickname Kaleidoscope Eyes, inspired from the Beatles song "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds." To quote Andy, "It wasn't my favorite song in the world as I'm not too fond of getting looped up and seeing pink elephants or walruses with egg men or whatever it is you are supposed to see while under the influence, but it was that line 'the girl with kaleidoscope eyes.' It seemed fitting."

Much later, Jack and Andy are sitting in a Mexican restaurant with a strolling mariachi band. The two decide to talk about this suspect using his nickname, and the mariachi band at their table thinks they are putting in a request for "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" and begin to play it mariachi-style.

All of this came out of my crazy imagination for the humor of it, but after I wrote this scene, I became curious if there was such a thing as a Beatles mariachi fusion. I did not find "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" specifically, but I did find Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da, by a group called Mariachillout and several other Beatles songs by the same group. And you know what? I liked it! I liked it so well that I incorporated "Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da" into the scene as well.

So, maybe this last bit wasn't so Christmasy, but this is -- a fun Christmas medley on an album called Fiesta Navidad

"Brawny" Sugar Plum Fairies and Other Fun with Words

This Thanksgiving, I tried a new board game with my family. My family loves playing various games together on the holidays. You've Been Sentenced may sound like a law-related game, but it is actually a word game perfect for writers.

Each player is dealt 10 pentagonal shaped cards with different words on them. Each side of the card has a different word, usually different forms of the same word, so you have options for singular or plural nouns or various verb tenses, among other choices. The idea is to build a grammatically correct sentence with the word cards. As the word selection is random, it can make for some very strange sentences, reminiscent of Mad Libs. I came up with, "Bob Hope fished by the Caribbean, getting junk," which actually makes a good bit of sense. Our weirdest sentence of the night was, "What bottom feeder easily oils the gross, wet skin of Roy Rogers?" It was my dear sister-in-law Melody that came up with that one.

According to game rules, we questioned the sense of that sentence, but my mother judged that the sentence should count since it was grammatically correct. I asked Melody, "Is his skin wet and gross, because he was oiled?" Melody leans in and says very gently, beginning to laugh, "No, because he's dead." We had to laugh. You must understand that this woman is the sweetest woman in the world and is not a fan of horror fiction or movies. We laughed not so much at the morbidity of it, but the absurdity of it all.

I mean no disrespect to Roy Rogers. My mother, originally from Nebraska, was a big fan of his movies as she was growing up. I believe he was a good Christian man, and his soul is not in the grave but in glory.

We played another game we've come to really enjoy, Apples to Apples. In this game, you are dealt red apple cards with various nouns or noun phrases and sometimes proper nouns. In each round, each player must select a red apple card that goes along with the green apple adjective card randomly selected. The judge for the round determines which is the best match. Sometimes, through a combination of luck and skill, you can select the perfect matching word. In the first game I ever played, I was delighted to match my "Elvis Presley" card with the "revolutionary" green card. I won that round with that card, and I was hooked.

Of course, like the other game, the cards are random, and you have to do the best with what you're dealt. Sometimes, you don't have the perfect sensible match, but you might have the perfect ironic match. On Thanksgiving Day, for one round of this game, the green card was "brawny." None of my card choices made any true sense with that card, but I did have the perfect ironic answer, "Sugar Plum Fairies." That was a winning card.

What are your favorite word games or board games?

Review of "Queen Lucia" by E.F. Benson

Queen Lucia by E.F. Benson

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Emmeline "Lucia" Lucas considers herself the queen of her little domain of Riseholme. She gives the best parties, plays Beethoven, is a fount of art and culture and speaks Italian (at least in bits and pieces.) A couple of other women threaten her social position as queen bee and the hub of the community, whether it's Mrs. Quantock who has the community excited over her yoga-teaching guru or Olga Bracely who entrances everyone with her opera-singing voice. Lucia's pride suffers a humiliation or two, as she is shown up more than once in the areas of her "expertise." Lucia may seem to be petty, proud and a bit manipulative -- not the usual main character of a story -- but we enjoy laughing with her or maybe at her and the foibles of human nature.



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Story Excerpt -- "Barbershop on Espresso Double Shots" or "Life is Not a Musical"

This is an excerpt from a new mystery story I'm writing with the Jack Donegal and Andy Westin characters from "Action Men with Silly Putty." This particular section is just for humor and doesn't move along the mystery plot much. The context is that Jack and Andy have both been roped into taking part in a friend's creative marriage proposal. Jack is to serenade the couple with his barbershop quartet made up of his college buddies, and Andy is to act as their "French" waiter. When the big event arrives, the engagement ring, a 1910 Lalique antique, is stolen. As there are a lot of musical references, I have linked the song references to music on Youtube. I tried to find acapella or barbershop versions of the songs, but, in some cases, it's the original versions.

The weekend of the big event arrived, and Jack's Sentimental Gentlemen crashed at our place, practicing late into the night, more for fun, I think, than necessity. There was Rob Case, the big mustachioed bass, Jamie Hewitt, the tall blond lead, and Jeremy Adams, the bespectacled, balding baritone. In just a few minutes, they were setting up camp all over the condo and goofing around like boys in summer camp, wondering who would fall for the old shaving cream prank again. I finally fell asleep to the sound of “Hello, my baby, hello, my honey, hello my ragtime gal” in four part harmony.

The next morning, I woke up with the alarm and discovered an obstacle on the way to the bathroom, Rob laying in his sleeping bag in the bathroom hallway. I tapped the sole of his foot with my toe. “Ssspp... Rob, I need to go to the john.”

The man popped upright, bent at the waist. “Good morning, good morning …” he sang. I was trying to place just where I knew the song from, but I was too distracted by his barbershop candy-striped jacket he wore, apparently under the sleeping bag, that made him look like a piece of Fruit Stripes bubble gum. “We've sung the whole night through. Good morning, good morning to you.” Jamie and Jeremy popped their heads around the corner.

Normally, I'm a pleasure in the mornings, but when I don't get my eight hours of sleep, I'm probably a good candidate for the grizzly bear dance. I gave them all a slit-eyed stare. “You guys are way too cheerful for this early hour.”

The three of them just looked at each other and seemed to communicate something with their eyes. Then it was this lovely tune, “I think I'll go for a walk outside. The sunshine is calling my name, just hear me now, I just can't stay in bed all day, …” This I recognized from “The Brady Bunch.” It wasn't exactly an old timey 1910 ballad, but these barbershop guys will sing any old thing they can harmonize. They had to go and pick the most saccharine cheerful song of all.

“Very funny gentlemen,” I said. I stepped backwards into the bathroom. “Goodbye,” I said and shut the door.

Just when I thought I had the last word, they were at it again, singing through the bathroom door, “You say goodbye, but I say hello. Hello, hello. I don't know why you say 'goodbye.' I say 'hello.'”

Funny, funny guys, but after all, a guy is entitled to some privacy.

Later, when I wandered down to the kitchen to get myself some breakfast, I was again surrounded by the barbershop boys. By now, Jack had joined them. I didn't feel quite awake, but I opened a cupboard, picked up a box of Fruity Pebbles and stared at it for a bit.

I looked towards the kitchen doorway, and there were the four guys lined up as if there was some unwritten rule about their standing arrangement. They were looking pretty ridiculous too. They were in full costume in Fruit Stripes bubble gum jackets of purple, pink, lavender and yellow stripes. I felt like I would be blinded by their candy store colors. If that wasn't bad enough, they each had one of those four colors for their pants. They looked at each other and seemed to communicate some sort of silent code. Yet again, they broke into song, “Flintstones, meet the Flintstones. They're a modern Stone Age family. From the town of Bedrock, they're a page right out of history...”

I thought maybe I wanted something warm and put the box back in the cupboard. I stared into the freezer – which I suppose is a strange place to find something warm – and found some Jimmy Dean sausage sandwiches. I pulled out the box and started to read the microwave instructions. This is as close as Jack and I get to cooking anything. As I was nuking my sandwich, I looked towards the doorway, and the barbershop guys seemed to be struck by a new inspiration.

“Oomata aah, oomata aah.” I wasn't sure if they were grunting or beatboxing, but I was beginning to feel like I was the star of “The Andy Westin Show”, a new reality shoe where a barbershop quartet follows the star around and provides the soundtrack of his life. “Wa Ooh.” Then Jamie started to sing, “Every morning at the mine you could see him arrive. He stood six foot six and weighed two forty five.” It took me a moment to recognize it, since it was sung and not spoken, but I finally saw the connection between their song choice and my breakfast choice.

“'Big Bad John', Jimmy Dean, very good,” I said. I wondered what songs they would have serenaded me with if I had poured a glass of milk or orange juice. “Aren't you guys going to eat anything?”

“We got up early and went to Dunkin Donuts,” said Jamie.

“And had espresso … double shots,” said Jeremy in a manner perky enough to make it believable.

“So you guys are full of sugar and caffeine? Why does this not surprise me?”

Jack handed me a cup and a bag just then. “We brought you back a coffee and a Boston cream doughnut.”

“When were you going to tell me this?” I asked. The microwave rang, and I pulled out my hot sandwich.

“I don't know.” Jack shrugged. “I guess I got carried away with creating a breakfast soundtrack.”

“I'll take the coffee and leave the doughnut for later,” I said. I sat down at the table with my coffee, and the other four sat down with me, seeming more like spectators than breakfast companions.

Suddenly, Jamie started in with “I ...” and the others joined him on “love coffee. I love tea. I love the Java Jive, and it loves me.”

I shook my head. This was getting out of hand. I sipped my coffee and wondered if I would ever be as caffeinated as these other guys.

“Or there's this,” said Jack, and he began to make some chiming percussive sounds. The others started to sing, “Way down among Brazilians, coffee beans grow by the billions, so they've got to find some coffee cups to fill. They've got an awful lot of coffee in Brazil...”

“Life is not a musical!” I told them. For lack of better ammunition, I picked up some sugar packets and pelted all of them in turn. I was suddenly glad my role in Tom's proposal did not require the same kind of costume. Mine was classy: white shirt, black pants, black vest, black bow tie and a half length French waiter's apron. I shook my head at them, contemplating their pastel pants. “I can't believe I'm going to have to be seen in public with you. You look like you're either a bunch of 'Lawrence Welk Show' wannabes or getting ready for the Easter parade.”

“Hey,” said Jamie. “It's barbershop. It's tradition. Haven't you ever seen the Dapper Dans at Walt Disney World?”

Then they were singing again, “Well, the players gonna play, play, play, play, play, and the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate. I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake. Shake it off. Shake it off.” They'd chosen a Taylor Swift song this time. These guys were wildly careening through music history. It was going to be a long day.

A Gussie Fink-Nottle Moment

Do you ever understand the gist of a word without fully knowing the precise definition? A short time ago, I understood the word "newt" to refer to some sort of small lizard, but I was a little vague about just exactly what sort it was.

Ever since reading several of the Jeeves & Wooster stories and books by P.G. Wodehouse, the first thing that pops into my mind after reading the word "newt" is the character of Gussie Fink-Nottle. Gussie is a nice but nerdy character of somewhat limited interests ... newts.

I came across the word again recently while doing a word puzzle on a trivia game site. The puzzle defined "newt" as a "brightly-colored salamander." That definition, in particular the "brightly-colored" part, triggered a memory of when I was fourteen years old and vacationing in the Poconos. Taking a little stroll through the woods, I noticed a bright orange salamander on the side of a tree. I was so impressed by him and his bright orange color that I gently plucked him off the tree and held him in my hand for a few minutes before returning him to his tree. (You will see from an earlier post that I don't necessarily shy away from amphibians.)

I then did a Google image search for newt and found several photographs that looked like replicas of my little orange friend from the Poconos. A couple of sites identified it as a red-spotted newt.

I am still pretty certain that I don't want to obsess about newts to the exclusion of all else, but I think I can agree with Gussie Fink-Nottle that they have their charms.

I have posted the photo, so you can all have a Gussie Fink-Nottle moment and behold the newt in all his beauteousness.