Paddy Eger's Blog, page 2
October 9, 2015
Q&A About When the Music Stops-Dance On
Q: What is the significance of the title, When the Music Stops-Dance On?
A: We all need second chances. When a dancer, like Marta has such specific needs to fulfill attain her career goal it requires specific skills that may or may not be regained through practice and hard work. I wanted Marta to strive to return to dancing if she could overcome her injury. And, if she couldn't, to find a way to be content with change in her life.
Q. Your latest book, When the Music Stops, is part two in Marta's story. How does it move the original storyline forward?
A: Marta returns home to focus on recovering from her ballet injury with the hope of regaining the ability to dance. Her personal life also demands decisions: is she ready for a committed relationship, marriage or does she want time alone to get to know herself. Which suitor will she turn to: Steve or Sam? Can she see a world beyond dance?
Q. Are the same lead characters, Marta, Steve and Lynne present in this novel?
A: Yes they are. Marta remains the principal character. Steve and Lynne continue as her supporters and take a secondary role. All of them stand at crossroads as they solidify their careers and move toward their twenties. We'll follow Lynne's journey in the third book, Letters to Follow: A Dancer's Adventure.
Q. What new characters appear in When the Music Stops?
A. Lindsay Holland, Marta's former dance instructor becomes a more important character along with her advanced ballet student Rosalia Marcus and her devious mother, Zandora Marcus. We also meet Lily Rose, a handful of women in her exercise class as well as Sam Faris.
We spend time with her Mom and her boyfriend Robert and add in a young flirtatious carpenter named Dennis and a group of women who attend Marta's exercise class and go on to provide unexpected support for her.
Q. What obstacles does Marta face on her road to recovery and deciding her future?
A: Marta is like the rest of us at age eighteen as we step from the shelter of home to grasp our independence. She must make life-focusing decisions. Each has ramifications to be weighed before she chooses her future path. As Marta rebuilds her life she must deal with new situations and obstacles nay of us never experience at a young age.
Strengthening her ankle to dance again is a long, slow process. Her exercise regimen demands daily work. Trying to be independent and earn her way cuts into that exercise time.
Her personal decisions keep coming in waves. Can teaching dance classes satisfy her longing to dance or should she leave dancing behind her as a memory? If she continues how does she fit into the dance studio? A big decision awaits Marta if she stays.
Marta is starting feel a desire for a romantic relationship. Which male companion offers Marta the support she wants and needs and, will he also fill her need to be loved?
To read the entire story, you will find it on Amazon and in fine bookstore everywhere.
A: We all need second chances. When a dancer, like Marta has such specific needs to fulfill attain her career goal it requires specific skills that may or may not be regained through practice and hard work. I wanted Marta to strive to return to dancing if she could overcome her injury. And, if she couldn't, to find a way to be content with change in her life.
Q. Your latest book, When the Music Stops, is part two in Marta's story. How does it move the original storyline forward?
A: Marta returns home to focus on recovering from her ballet injury with the hope of regaining the ability to dance. Her personal life also demands decisions: is she ready for a committed relationship, marriage or does she want time alone to get to know herself. Which suitor will she turn to: Steve or Sam? Can she see a world beyond dance?
Q. Are the same lead characters, Marta, Steve and Lynne present in this novel?
A: Yes they are. Marta remains the principal character. Steve and Lynne continue as her supporters and take a secondary role. All of them stand at crossroads as they solidify their careers and move toward their twenties. We'll follow Lynne's journey in the third book, Letters to Follow: A Dancer's Adventure.
Q. What new characters appear in When the Music Stops?
A. Lindsay Holland, Marta's former dance instructor becomes a more important character along with her advanced ballet student Rosalia Marcus and her devious mother, Zandora Marcus. We also meet Lily Rose, a handful of women in her exercise class as well as Sam Faris.
We spend time with her Mom and her boyfriend Robert and add in a young flirtatious carpenter named Dennis and a group of women who attend Marta's exercise class and go on to provide unexpected support for her.
Q. What obstacles does Marta face on her road to recovery and deciding her future?
A: Marta is like the rest of us at age eighteen as we step from the shelter of home to grasp our independence. She must make life-focusing decisions. Each has ramifications to be weighed before she chooses her future path. As Marta rebuilds her life she must deal with new situations and obstacles nay of us never experience at a young age.
Strengthening her ankle to dance again is a long, slow process. Her exercise regimen demands daily work. Trying to be independent and earn her way cuts into that exercise time.
Her personal decisions keep coming in waves. Can teaching dance classes satisfy her longing to dance or should she leave dancing behind her as a memory? If she continues how does she fit into the dance studio? A big decision awaits Marta if she stays.
Marta is starting feel a desire for a romantic relationship. Which male companion offers Marta the support she wants and needs and, will he also fill her need to be loved?
To read the entire story, you will find it on Amazon and in fine bookstore everywhere.
September 19, 2015
Marta and Me: 1950s Telephones
Our phones during my and Marta's growing up years bore no resemblance to modern day phones. The technological advances made life easier but came with inherent problems as well.
When I was a child, we had a square black phone box attached to the kitchen nook wall. You lifted the Bakelite earpiece from a cradle on the side of the box and spoke into the mouthpiece attached to the front, reminiscent of the “old fashioned’ ringer phones. The earpiece cord could be stretched out to allow my parents to sit at the kitchen table while talking.
To place a call away from the party line of neighbors, the cradle for the earpiece was clicked a specified number of times. An operator came on and asked what number the caller wanted. Then the operator placed the call. In a couple of minutes you could be talking to people anywhere across the country. They’d sound like they were next door.
Party line calls circumvented the operator: two clicks connected us with the Lowe’s, three with another neighbor. If a person was already using the line, you heard their conversation when you lifted the receiver. You could join in, hang up and wait, or eavesdrop; all were acceptable behavior.
Our next phone had a rotary dial. To dial, you put your finger into the circle opening that corresponded to the individual numbers you were dialing and you pulled the dial around to a stopper near the “1”. For example, if you wanted ‘four’, you pulled it around to the stopper and it clicked four times on its returned to its original position.
When the telephone company needed additional phone numbers they added a prefix; ours began ESsex. My Mom never made that transition; if you asked her a number, she left off the prefix, reverting to the earlier number. You’d need to pin her down and ask for the prefix before you could make a call outside Bremerton. By then the party line might be busy and you’d have to wait.
Because the phone was still a party line and hung on the kitchen nook wall, all calls remained public. The only way to speak privately was to whisper which attracted attention by its quietness. When we got a private number I was delighted, but our solitary phone remained in the kitchen so teen phone calls still lacked privacy.
When I was a child, we had a square black phone box attached to the kitchen nook wall. You lifted the Bakelite earpiece from a cradle on the side of the box and spoke into the mouthpiece attached to the front, reminiscent of the “old fashioned’ ringer phones. The earpiece cord could be stretched out to allow my parents to sit at the kitchen table while talking.
To place a call away from the party line of neighbors, the cradle for the earpiece was clicked a specified number of times. An operator came on and asked what number the caller wanted. Then the operator placed the call. In a couple of minutes you could be talking to people anywhere across the country. They’d sound like they were next door.
Party line calls circumvented the operator: two clicks connected us with the Lowe’s, three with another neighbor. If a person was already using the line, you heard their conversation when you lifted the receiver. You could join in, hang up and wait, or eavesdrop; all were acceptable behavior.
Our next phone had a rotary dial. To dial, you put your finger into the circle opening that corresponded to the individual numbers you were dialing and you pulled the dial around to a stopper near the “1”. For example, if you wanted ‘four’, you pulled it around to the stopper and it clicked four times on its returned to its original position.
When the telephone company needed additional phone numbers they added a prefix; ours began ESsex. My Mom never made that transition; if you asked her a number, she left off the prefix, reverting to the earlier number. You’d need to pin her down and ask for the prefix before you could make a call outside Bremerton. By then the party line might be busy and you’d have to wait.
Because the phone was still a party line and hung on the kitchen nook wall, all calls remained public. The only way to speak privately was to whisper which attracted attention by its quietness. When we got a private number I was delighted, but our solitary phone remained in the kitchen so teen phone calls still lacked privacy.
September 8, 2015
Marta and Me: Wash Day and The Clothesline
One way I shared my life with my POV character:
Each wash day Mom separated clothes from the hamper in the bathroom. She carried the laundry basket of whites to the garage as the first load.
Mom rolled the wringer washer into position beside the smooth, deep-sided cement utility tub. She pulled the short hose on the faucet into the washer and turned on the hot water. While the tub filled, she added Ivory Flakes (99 and 44/100th % pure like the ad said)and Chlorine bleach and sloshed them around. Next she plugged in the power cord and added the clothes.
The agitator gyrated like someone doing The Twist. Clothes appeared and sank in the bleach-smelling frothy water. Our clothes wore out from bleaching, but they didn’t have stains.
When every stain was gone, Mom set the washed clothes aside, drained the water into the utility tub and started over with the medium colored clothes. That water would be left in the tub to wash the dark clothes next. After all, the clothes weren’t filthy; we’d just worn them three or four days. They mostly needed ‘freshening’.
Rinsing came next. Whites then mediums and darks took turns in the washer. After a few good swishes, each item was removed and hand-twisted before being put through the wringer, two rubber-coated rollers on the top of the wash machine. Mom turned a crank which flattened the clothes. Excess water dropped away into the utility tub. The squash-me-all-flat clothes were placed in the laundry basket and taken to the clothesline.
When clothes overloaded the wringer the two rollers sprung apart. Mom had to stop, reset the rollers and latch them back into place. I was never allowed to use the wringer for fear I’d get myself caught up in the rollers.
All backyards had clotheslines, mostly homemade ‘T’ posts with taut lines. Dad made ours to cross the backyard from the grape arbor to Mr. McManus’ fence gate. The sturdy six by six beams were painted white to match the arbor. Twice a year Dad cut back grape tendrils that hitched a ride along the wires, planning an escape into Mr. McManus’ fence.
On sunny days Mom pegged the wash outside. She stuck wooden pegs or clothespins in her mouth to save picking them up one-by-one. Sheets hung furthest from the house, unmentionables hung on the middle clothesline and towels flapped close to the kitchen window.
When Mom thought they were dry, I was sent out to feel them. I’d walk my face ran against the towels, by-pass the ‘underthings’ and walk my body with outstretched arms against each sheet testing for dryness. Dried clothes smelled like fresh air; towels were crunchy and stiff like hair with blue Dippity Doo slathered on it.
Until I was tall enough to reach the pegs, Mom took down the laundry. If I yanked them down, the wire springs in the clothespins flew out and became lost in the grass to be ‘found’ by bare feet or tossed about by lawn mowers in the summer. Neither a comforting event.
Rainy days the clothes hung in the garage. I let Mom decide when they were dry; it wasn’t as much fun testing them inside. They always felt damp to me.
When the clothesline was empty in the summer, Mom helped me hang blankets and large, worn tablecloths or bedspreads along the clotheslines to make forts. The dull brown wool Army blankets and my old pink chenille bedspread were my favorites. They hung close to the ground so when I sat down, my head remained out of sight. Even though my legs and bottom were only partially concealed, I felt hidden. The sun warmed the blankets as I sat in the fort with my crayons and color books, imagining other worlds.
If the neighbor kids came over, we’d run under and around the blankets playing chase and keep away. But the clothesline house was mostly my quiet backyard place on the cool grass each summer.
Each wash day Mom separated clothes from the hamper in the bathroom. She carried the laundry basket of whites to the garage as the first load.
Mom rolled the wringer washer into position beside the smooth, deep-sided cement utility tub. She pulled the short hose on the faucet into the washer and turned on the hot water. While the tub filled, she added Ivory Flakes (99 and 44/100th % pure like the ad said)and Chlorine bleach and sloshed them around. Next she plugged in the power cord and added the clothes.
The agitator gyrated like someone doing The Twist. Clothes appeared and sank in the bleach-smelling frothy water. Our clothes wore out from bleaching, but they didn’t have stains.
When every stain was gone, Mom set the washed clothes aside, drained the water into the utility tub and started over with the medium colored clothes. That water would be left in the tub to wash the dark clothes next. After all, the clothes weren’t filthy; we’d just worn them three or four days. They mostly needed ‘freshening’.
Rinsing came next. Whites then mediums and darks took turns in the washer. After a few good swishes, each item was removed and hand-twisted before being put through the wringer, two rubber-coated rollers on the top of the wash machine. Mom turned a crank which flattened the clothes. Excess water dropped away into the utility tub. The squash-me-all-flat clothes were placed in the laundry basket and taken to the clothesline.
When clothes overloaded the wringer the two rollers sprung apart. Mom had to stop, reset the rollers and latch them back into place. I was never allowed to use the wringer for fear I’d get myself caught up in the rollers.
All backyards had clotheslines, mostly homemade ‘T’ posts with taut lines. Dad made ours to cross the backyard from the grape arbor to Mr. McManus’ fence gate. The sturdy six by six beams were painted white to match the arbor. Twice a year Dad cut back grape tendrils that hitched a ride along the wires, planning an escape into Mr. McManus’ fence.
On sunny days Mom pegged the wash outside. She stuck wooden pegs or clothespins in her mouth to save picking them up one-by-one. Sheets hung furthest from the house, unmentionables hung on the middle clothesline and towels flapped close to the kitchen window.
When Mom thought they were dry, I was sent out to feel them. I’d walk my face ran against the towels, by-pass the ‘underthings’ and walk my body with outstretched arms against each sheet testing for dryness. Dried clothes smelled like fresh air; towels were crunchy and stiff like hair with blue Dippity Doo slathered on it.
Until I was tall enough to reach the pegs, Mom took down the laundry. If I yanked them down, the wire springs in the clothespins flew out and became lost in the grass to be ‘found’ by bare feet or tossed about by lawn mowers in the summer. Neither a comforting event.
Rainy days the clothes hung in the garage. I let Mom decide when they were dry; it wasn’t as much fun testing them inside. They always felt damp to me.
When the clothesline was empty in the summer, Mom helped me hang blankets and large, worn tablecloths or bedspreads along the clotheslines to make forts. The dull brown wool Army blankets and my old pink chenille bedspread were my favorites. They hung close to the ground so when I sat down, my head remained out of sight. Even though my legs and bottom were only partially concealed, I felt hidden. The sun warmed the blankets as I sat in the fort with my crayons and color books, imagining other worlds.
If the neighbor kids came over, we’d run under and around the blankets playing chase and keep away. But the clothesline house was mostly my quiet backyard place on the cool grass each summer.
August 15, 2015
Dance, Dance, Dance
I've enjoyed writing about dance because my dance lessons were an important part of my life until I was twenty. I tried tap, ballet, pointe, character and jazz, but never tumbling. When I got half way upside down, I lost all sense of direction and space. I’d fall back onto the mat or the nearby floor in a heap.
Tap was the easiest for me. My black patent shoes had loose taps on the toes and solid taps fastened to the heels. Walking was noisy, like jingle bells. Each year I enjoyed the chance to create increasingly complex sound patterns; I even learned a routine that had me dancing up and down steps.
I started lessons at three, doing ‘toe-heel’ walks, and ‘shuffle-steps’. It was intended that both feet learned to do the same steps. I was sufficiently coordinated so changing back and forth never bothered me. In addition to learning the combinations through repetition, I used the sound of the steps and their placement on the floor to remember them.
My most interesting tap routine was created by Danny Hoctor. He recorded one side of the 78 record with the music as well as the sound of his feet dancing the steps so a dancer could “copy” the sounds and steps. After I learned the routine, I turned over the record and danced using only the music. That routine never left my brain.
Ballet and pointe were a struggle, but I learned and performed both. In junior high I wanted to be a ballerina until I realized I was too gangly and inflexible to succeed. Even with years of lessons and practice, my feet never turned out enough and my legs never extended high enough to fulfill that dream.
One thrill lasted throughout my life; watching professional dancers perform. In my early teens Margie Speck took our dance class to Seattle. We dressed in our best outfits and rode the ferry to see the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo and the Sadler Wells Ballet. Seeing their costumes, watching them spin and move gracefully across the stage inspired us; we went home anxious to create our own magical performances.
During my junior high years, the then-new Joffrey Ballet used our dance studio to warm up before a performance at the local auditorium. Being close to true professionals, watching them perform the same warm-ups I’d done for years, sweating and repeating their routines while wearing black leotards impressed and surprised me. It made me realize it wasn’t what they wore that inspired; it was what how they dances.
About that same time, I began jazz dance classes. The movements were contrary to ballet’s prescribed foot placement and rounded arm positions. I loved the freedom to bend, slide, stick out my elbows and bounce to the beat. My favorite music was “Peter Gun”. I carried that dance to several contests and performances, adding my own style.
Character dances were fun as well. We learned Hawaiian, Hindi, Irish jigs, the Mexican Hat dance, Can-can, Russian folk dances, the Charleston and more I’ve forgotten. We performed comic routines to Tennessee Ernie Ford’s “Shotgun Boogie”, Leroy Anderson’s “The Waltzing Cat, and the then popular “Rock Around the Clock”. We enjoyed the chance to "cut loose".
When I was teaching in the co-op school, PCEP, I conned five teachers to join me in dancing for a school family event. I created simple steps for “Rock Around the Clock”. We practiced a handful to times, but I doubt they forgave me for their perceived embarrassment that night. I had a blast!
Across the years the genre that became preeminent for me was classical. Whenever I wanted to relax or work through a problem, I turned on classical music; most especially ballet music. The combination of musical instruments playing and the rhythms created a sense of well-being throughout my body and mind.
Dancing so many years allowed me to entertain in a variety of locales beyond recitals. From grade school upward I entertained in solos and groups for school programs, the Navy hospital, local granges, Elks and Eagles parties, the Seattle World’s Fair, two talent contests. I loved moving, feeling my body explore the music. Perhaps that's enough reason for any of us to dance.
Tap was the easiest for me. My black patent shoes had loose taps on the toes and solid taps fastened to the heels. Walking was noisy, like jingle bells. Each year I enjoyed the chance to create increasingly complex sound patterns; I even learned a routine that had me dancing up and down steps.
I started lessons at three, doing ‘toe-heel’ walks, and ‘shuffle-steps’. It was intended that both feet learned to do the same steps. I was sufficiently coordinated so changing back and forth never bothered me. In addition to learning the combinations through repetition, I used the sound of the steps and their placement on the floor to remember them.
My most interesting tap routine was created by Danny Hoctor. He recorded one side of the 78 record with the music as well as the sound of his feet dancing the steps so a dancer could “copy” the sounds and steps. After I learned the routine, I turned over the record and danced using only the music. That routine never left my brain.
Ballet and pointe were a struggle, but I learned and performed both. In junior high I wanted to be a ballerina until I realized I was too gangly and inflexible to succeed. Even with years of lessons and practice, my feet never turned out enough and my legs never extended high enough to fulfill that dream.
One thrill lasted throughout my life; watching professional dancers perform. In my early teens Margie Speck took our dance class to Seattle. We dressed in our best outfits and rode the ferry to see the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo and the Sadler Wells Ballet. Seeing their costumes, watching them spin and move gracefully across the stage inspired us; we went home anxious to create our own magical performances.
During my junior high years, the then-new Joffrey Ballet used our dance studio to warm up before a performance at the local auditorium. Being close to true professionals, watching them perform the same warm-ups I’d done for years, sweating and repeating their routines while wearing black leotards impressed and surprised me. It made me realize it wasn’t what they wore that inspired; it was what how they dances.
About that same time, I began jazz dance classes. The movements were contrary to ballet’s prescribed foot placement and rounded arm positions. I loved the freedom to bend, slide, stick out my elbows and bounce to the beat. My favorite music was “Peter Gun”. I carried that dance to several contests and performances, adding my own style.
Character dances were fun as well. We learned Hawaiian, Hindi, Irish jigs, the Mexican Hat dance, Can-can, Russian folk dances, the Charleston and more I’ve forgotten. We performed comic routines to Tennessee Ernie Ford’s “Shotgun Boogie”, Leroy Anderson’s “The Waltzing Cat, and the then popular “Rock Around the Clock”. We enjoyed the chance to "cut loose".
When I was teaching in the co-op school, PCEP, I conned five teachers to join me in dancing for a school family event. I created simple steps for “Rock Around the Clock”. We practiced a handful to times, but I doubt they forgave me for their perceived embarrassment that night. I had a blast!
Across the years the genre that became preeminent for me was classical. Whenever I wanted to relax or work through a problem, I turned on classical music; most especially ballet music. The combination of musical instruments playing and the rhythms created a sense of well-being throughout my body and mind.
Dancing so many years allowed me to entertain in a variety of locales beyond recitals. From grade school upward I entertained in solos and groups for school programs, the Navy hospital, local granges, Elks and Eagles parties, the Seattle World’s Fair, two talent contests. I loved moving, feeling my body explore the music. Perhaps that's enough reason for any of us to dance.
August 3, 2015
The Giveaway Winners Are...
Thanks to everyone who participated on my book giveaway for When the Music Stops-Dance On. It's fun to see where the winners are located. There's Marcie from Surprise, AZ...Sandra from Everett, WA (17 miles from where I live!)... Laura from Cypress, TX ... Susan from Pacheco, CA and Glenn from Florence, WI. I hope each one will enjoy reading part two of Marta's story. As they say, your hard copy of the book is 'in the mail' later today.
When the Music Stops-Dance On is currently available through Amazon and will soon be available through bookstores. Take a sneak peak into the story on my website www.paddyeger.com
When the Music Stops-Dance On is currently available through Amazon and will soon be available through bookstores. Take a sneak peak into the story on my website www.paddyeger.com
July 25, 2015
Writing and Reviews
Writing is a solitary craft but one that later invites the world in to see what's been produced.
I love to write. I also appreciate my critique groups as I work on new projects. In my mind my writing is clear and understandable.It's easy to think I've created a great chapter only to find out that I've confused readers or left our details. That sends me back to my computer to make needed changes.
Once the book is edited and sent to be printed the worrying sets in: did I create characters readers relate to? did I add enough excitement? will readers be satisfied after they finish reading the book? (Yes, I become neurotic for a while!)
Waiting for reviews feels like it takes forever. The 6 weeks or more needed before reviewers or others read my book feels like a year. I hold my breath, knowing not everyone will enjoy my story, but hoping most will find value in my themes.
Reviews are coming in now. When I open them I'm nervous but also excited. When one is not as good as I'd hoped, I worry about what I could have done to give the reader a better experience. When I receive a favorable review, I do my version of a happy dance and am interested in what they take away from my story.
Authors appreciate feedback. Like everything we do, there is room for growth. Also, we appreciate knowing what appealed to you, our readers which leads us to include similar notions in future books.
Bottom line: Write reviews for us. Let us know what you think. It matters a great deal to us.
I love to write. I also appreciate my critique groups as I work on new projects. In my mind my writing is clear and understandable.It's easy to think I've created a great chapter only to find out that I've confused readers or left our details. That sends me back to my computer to make needed changes.
Once the book is edited and sent to be printed the worrying sets in: did I create characters readers relate to? did I add enough excitement? will readers be satisfied after they finish reading the book? (Yes, I become neurotic for a while!)
Waiting for reviews feels like it takes forever. The 6 weeks or more needed before reviewers or others read my book feels like a year. I hold my breath, knowing not everyone will enjoy my story, but hoping most will find value in my themes.
Reviews are coming in now. When I open them I'm nervous but also excited. When one is not as good as I'd hoped, I worry about what I could have done to give the reader a better experience. When I receive a favorable review, I do my version of a happy dance and am interested in what they take away from my story.
Authors appreciate feedback. Like everything we do, there is room for growth. Also, we appreciate knowing what appealed to you, our readers which leads us to include similar notions in future books.
Bottom line: Write reviews for us. Let us know what you think. It matters a great deal to us.
July 8, 2015
Book Giveaway: When the Music Stops
Remember, the book giveaway! It began last month and ends July 20th. It's your chance to have a signed copy before it becomes available in bookstores.
Marta's story from book 1 continues as she returns home to begin her recovery. She must deal with changes in her mother's life as well as her own as she enters adulthood with all it's challenges, romantic interludes and decisions. I'll be curious to know how you see Marta's attempts to take control of her life. Is she realistic or holding back? Is she making good decisions or stepping around the hard issues? Is her 1959 set of problems that different than those older teens face today (if you take away the technology changes)?
Let me know!
Paddy
Marta's story from book 1 continues as she returns home to begin her recovery. She must deal with changes in her mother's life as well as her own as she enters adulthood with all it's challenges, romantic interludes and decisions. I'll be curious to know how you see Marta's attempts to take control of her life. Is she realistic or holding back? Is she making good decisions or stepping around the hard issues? Is her 1959 set of problems that different than those older teens face today (if you take away the technology changes)?
Let me know!
Paddy
June 2, 2015
Author Interview by Anna Swenda
Paddy Eger Author Interview
Posted on June 1, 2015 by Anna E
Summer has become synonymous with reading and author interviews it seems. I am so excited to finally be interviewing and including West Coast author Paddy Eger to the group!
PE– Paddy Eger AS– ME
AS- I am so excited to finally be interviewing you! Your book 84 Ribbons was one of my first books to read and review last summer. You set the bar quite high for the rest of my summer reading. I am thrilled to say, you have once again set that bar! You are also now my farthest author interview/guest blogger all of the way out on the West Coast! Thank you for taking the time to chat.
AS– Where is your favorite place to write? Do you have any thing in particular you like to have with you? Tea, specific music, candles, outside etc…
PE– I’m one of those people who sits at a desktop to work. I have my cup of tea nearby and sip it when I’m thinking about little problems or celebrating a well-written paragraph. Usually I prefer a quiet space, except when I’m writing about ballets my dancers are preparing to perform. Then I play the music and often find professional ballet companies YouTube videos to watch. That really inspires me!
AS– You are a Washington native. How do you think the environment influenced your writing?
PE– Since I live in rain country, it’s easy to spend my time writing. I like including weather and our landscape as part of my setting since I love the salt water, the mountains and our forests. For my ballet trilogy, I’ve based in here where I grew up.
In 84 Ribbons, book one of the ballet trilogy, I wanted Marta to step away from her comfort zone so I sent her to Billings, Montana. Of course, I had to explore that area so my geography was accurate. I even stayed on an older B&B to get the feel of living in a boarding house setting. I also drove around town and spotted a large house that could become Marta’s residence. I had fun drawing the floor plans of the various locations Marta visited.
In When the Music Stops, book two in my trilogy, I take Marta and her mom to my favorite ocean beach, Kalaloch. They share an important conversation there and I’m able to introduce readers to that stretch of Washington beach as well.
AS– Writing was not your first career, teaching was! How do you think that has impacted your writing? Was it a difficult transition?
PE– I’ve always loved words: their sounds, the way they feel on my tongue and how writers use those same 26 letters in such creative ways. Among my ‘wordy’ past times are reading, word searches and writing my impressions of the world around me. I was one of those test-takers who loves essays and groaned at being put into selecting True-False boxes.
I taught primary grades most of my career. Reading with kids, playing word games and also reading aloud to the class made me happy. I still work in classrooms helping students with writing so you see, I didn’t completely leave teaching.
AS– You do have educational work published. When did you realize that you might actually have a knack for writing fiction and go for it?
PE– For several years I lead training for classroom volunteers so I needed to create my curriculum. That was my first attempt to write a book. I enjoyed crafting the book so I went on to create accompanying materials. About that same time, I friend of mine, who is a well-known author, invited me to take her writing class. I needed a piece of fiction. Since I’d danced and still had interest in ballet, I decided to write about a young dancer who wanted to become a professional.
My writing was adequate, but I knew little about writing fiction so I slaved through the class. When a book agent met with me, she said she saw potential in my writing. That’s when I felt I might be able to create a short book. I was wrong. Turns out with over three hundred pages in my first book, I wasn’t done with my story. Once I realized I had more to say, I knew the writing bug had bitten me.
AS– What steps did you take to make it happen? Education, workshops, networking etc.
PE– My friend’s workshop got me started writing, but I knew I needed to learn more so I attended a local conference, Write On The Sound, joined a critique group and read articles and books on the craft of writing. I continue working to better my writing by attending classes and have added a second critique group. I write and read blogs and articles, network with writers and follow several writing information sources looking for ways to improve myself. It’s a full-time job!
AS– How much of Marta, Lynne, Bartley and the others, come from your own experiences in the dance world?
PE– I tried to give my female leads my love of classical music and ballet. Since I danced for seventeen years, I know many of the basics of ballet; class warm up sequencing, performance issues and understanding the late 1950s when I also danced. I never had the opportunity to dance professionally, but I knew the types of issues dancers’ faced then (and now) from people I spoke with and biographies I read. Professional dancers assure me I’m correct in addressing the issues I’ve taken on in my ballet stories.
AS– I just finished reading When the Music Stops but also read 84 Ribbons, which I LOVED. I know how hard it is to write a review on a sequel, but how difficult was it writing a sequel?
PE– Writing a sequel was easy since I wasn’t done telling Marta’s story when book one ended. I always knew my story’s arc; I just didn’t know all the details when I started book one. Marta’s story came to me as a title with a rough outline in one day. Characters started popping up (some uninvited) and wanted to be part of my story, so I let them in. I feel they added depth to Marta’s life.
AS– *SPOILER* Marta has a few love interests between the two books. How did you decide whom she ended up with? I really, really, liked Sam. I couldn’t tell you why, but I was disappointed that she doesn’t pick him! haha
PE– I liked Steve. He fell in love with Marta almost from the moment he met her. I know he was a pain at times, but I wanted him to end up with Marta. I liked their opposites: she barely finished high school while he was completing college when they met, he was spontaneous while she was guarded and cautious.
When I started book two, I didn’t know what other guys would step into her life. I had great fun writing Dennis (the jerk!) but knew that was not going to work! Then Sam appeared and I liked him a lot. The more time he appeared, the harder it was to dump him, but I promised Steve he’d prevail.
AS– The next installment follows Lynne across Europe. Have you ever had the chance to travel to some of her stops?
PE– Lynne story is totally based on places I visited on trips to Europe. Actually it was on one trip while I was writing 84 Ribbons that I decided Lynne needed a book and I started writing notes to myself about what I enjoyed in the small villages especially. As Marta’s brash sidekick, I wanted to share here story. She seems so upbeat and together when she’s in books one and two. In Letters to Follow-A Dancer’s Adventure, book three, we’ll open the curtain on her life and also tie up loose ends for Marta.
AS– What is the best advice you have been given as a writer thus far?
PE– Write, write, write. Sit down every day and write. Like all skills, you need to practice, practice, practice. Most of what you write will be questionable; some will be worth keeping. For now, save it all. Tidbits of ideas often lead to inspiration later on.
ALSO: Anna, I want to thank you for interviewing me. I appreciate the opportunity to talk about my books and main characters. After spending so much time together they feel real to me. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.
Thank you for writing reviews for both 84 Ribbons and When the Music Stops. Hearing what readers think of our stories help us develop our craft.
To learn more about Paddy and her writings, visit her website http://www.paddyeger.com. You can also find her on Pinterest, Facebook and Twitter.
Posted on June 1, 2015 by Anna E
Summer has become synonymous with reading and author interviews it seems. I am so excited to finally be interviewing and including West Coast author Paddy Eger to the group!
PE– Paddy Eger AS– ME
AS- I am so excited to finally be interviewing you! Your book 84 Ribbons was one of my first books to read and review last summer. You set the bar quite high for the rest of my summer reading. I am thrilled to say, you have once again set that bar! You are also now my farthest author interview/guest blogger all of the way out on the West Coast! Thank you for taking the time to chat.
AS– Where is your favorite place to write? Do you have any thing in particular you like to have with you? Tea, specific music, candles, outside etc…
PE– I’m one of those people who sits at a desktop to work. I have my cup of tea nearby and sip it when I’m thinking about little problems or celebrating a well-written paragraph. Usually I prefer a quiet space, except when I’m writing about ballets my dancers are preparing to perform. Then I play the music and often find professional ballet companies YouTube videos to watch. That really inspires me!
AS– You are a Washington native. How do you think the environment influenced your writing?
PE– Since I live in rain country, it’s easy to spend my time writing. I like including weather and our landscape as part of my setting since I love the salt water, the mountains and our forests. For my ballet trilogy, I’ve based in here where I grew up.
In 84 Ribbons, book one of the ballet trilogy, I wanted Marta to step away from her comfort zone so I sent her to Billings, Montana. Of course, I had to explore that area so my geography was accurate. I even stayed on an older B&B to get the feel of living in a boarding house setting. I also drove around town and spotted a large house that could become Marta’s residence. I had fun drawing the floor plans of the various locations Marta visited.
In When the Music Stops, book two in my trilogy, I take Marta and her mom to my favorite ocean beach, Kalaloch. They share an important conversation there and I’m able to introduce readers to that stretch of Washington beach as well.
AS– Writing was not your first career, teaching was! How do you think that has impacted your writing? Was it a difficult transition?
PE– I’ve always loved words: their sounds, the way they feel on my tongue and how writers use those same 26 letters in such creative ways. Among my ‘wordy’ past times are reading, word searches and writing my impressions of the world around me. I was one of those test-takers who loves essays and groaned at being put into selecting True-False boxes.
I taught primary grades most of my career. Reading with kids, playing word games and also reading aloud to the class made me happy. I still work in classrooms helping students with writing so you see, I didn’t completely leave teaching.
AS– You do have educational work published. When did you realize that you might actually have a knack for writing fiction and go for it?
PE– For several years I lead training for classroom volunteers so I needed to create my curriculum. That was my first attempt to write a book. I enjoyed crafting the book so I went on to create accompanying materials. About that same time, I friend of mine, who is a well-known author, invited me to take her writing class. I needed a piece of fiction. Since I’d danced and still had interest in ballet, I decided to write about a young dancer who wanted to become a professional.
My writing was adequate, but I knew little about writing fiction so I slaved through the class. When a book agent met with me, she said she saw potential in my writing. That’s when I felt I might be able to create a short book. I was wrong. Turns out with over three hundred pages in my first book, I wasn’t done with my story. Once I realized I had more to say, I knew the writing bug had bitten me.
AS– What steps did you take to make it happen? Education, workshops, networking etc.
PE– My friend’s workshop got me started writing, but I knew I needed to learn more so I attended a local conference, Write On The Sound, joined a critique group and read articles and books on the craft of writing. I continue working to better my writing by attending classes and have added a second critique group. I write and read blogs and articles, network with writers and follow several writing information sources looking for ways to improve myself. It’s a full-time job!
AS– How much of Marta, Lynne, Bartley and the others, come from your own experiences in the dance world?
PE– I tried to give my female leads my love of classical music and ballet. Since I danced for seventeen years, I know many of the basics of ballet; class warm up sequencing, performance issues and understanding the late 1950s when I also danced. I never had the opportunity to dance professionally, but I knew the types of issues dancers’ faced then (and now) from people I spoke with and biographies I read. Professional dancers assure me I’m correct in addressing the issues I’ve taken on in my ballet stories.
AS– I just finished reading When the Music Stops but also read 84 Ribbons, which I LOVED. I know how hard it is to write a review on a sequel, but how difficult was it writing a sequel?
PE– Writing a sequel was easy since I wasn’t done telling Marta’s story when book one ended. I always knew my story’s arc; I just didn’t know all the details when I started book one. Marta’s story came to me as a title with a rough outline in one day. Characters started popping up (some uninvited) and wanted to be part of my story, so I let them in. I feel they added depth to Marta’s life.
AS– *SPOILER* Marta has a few love interests between the two books. How did you decide whom she ended up with? I really, really, liked Sam. I couldn’t tell you why, but I was disappointed that she doesn’t pick him! haha
PE– I liked Steve. He fell in love with Marta almost from the moment he met her. I know he was a pain at times, but I wanted him to end up with Marta. I liked their opposites: she barely finished high school while he was completing college when they met, he was spontaneous while she was guarded and cautious.
When I started book two, I didn’t know what other guys would step into her life. I had great fun writing Dennis (the jerk!) but knew that was not going to work! Then Sam appeared and I liked him a lot. The more time he appeared, the harder it was to dump him, but I promised Steve he’d prevail.
AS– The next installment follows Lynne across Europe. Have you ever had the chance to travel to some of her stops?
PE– Lynne story is totally based on places I visited on trips to Europe. Actually it was on one trip while I was writing 84 Ribbons that I decided Lynne needed a book and I started writing notes to myself about what I enjoyed in the small villages especially. As Marta’s brash sidekick, I wanted to share here story. She seems so upbeat and together when she’s in books one and two. In Letters to Follow-A Dancer’s Adventure, book three, we’ll open the curtain on her life and also tie up loose ends for Marta.
AS– What is the best advice you have been given as a writer thus far?
PE– Write, write, write. Sit down every day and write. Like all skills, you need to practice, practice, practice. Most of what you write will be questionable; some will be worth keeping. For now, save it all. Tidbits of ideas often lead to inspiration later on.
ALSO: Anna, I want to thank you for interviewing me. I appreciate the opportunity to talk about my books and main characters. After spending so much time together they feel real to me. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.
Thank you for writing reviews for both 84 Ribbons and When the Music Stops. Hearing what readers think of our stories help us develop our craft.
To learn more about Paddy and her writings, visit her website http://www.paddyeger.com. You can also find her on Pinterest, Facebook and Twitter.
May 27, 2015
Capp’s Corner Store
As I grew up, the corner store played an important role in the neighborhood. Our last minute needs: coffee, butter, bread and cigarettes were purchased from the family-owned Capp’s Grocery. Parents sent kids to retrieve phoned-in orders or hand-scribbled lists. (Yes, we even picked up our parent's cigarettes.)
From age six to twelve I walked the two blocks: up a hill and across one semi-busy street. The wooden building had a small painted sign over the swinging doors and several half windows across the front. A single gas pump stood by a one-door garage on one side of the building. Out front, the gravel parking area held three to four cars.
The store had a hanging light fixtures, a low, messy counter and rows of shelves organized by product type: canned goods, bread, paper products, and such. It smelled of a mixture of dust, cardboard and ground meat. The wooden floor creaked in several places, especially along the route from the front door to the cooler in back which held milk, cream, butter, cheese and eggs.
Along side the cash register were the colorful packs of gum: yellow Juicy Fruit, green Wrigley’s Spearmint, blue Beman’s Pepsin, white Clove and blue Black Jack. Penny candy stood on the counter in open glass bowls. The ice cream treats filled a nearby free-standing freezer with a clear plastic top that let me see everything inside. To select a treat I’d slide open one side and reach in.
Mr. Capp, a short man with a receding hairline, wore a soiled butcher apron that covered his pants and shoes: one size did not fit all. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but he tolerated kids pawing through the penny candy and opening the ice cream treats slider, letting the cold air escape.
When I arrived to pick up Mom’s order, he had it bagged on the counter. If I had permission, I bought a Dixie cup of orange sherbet and vanilla ice cream. Once every week or so, one of my parents walked up and settled the bill.
Mr. Capp’s fresh produce arrived in crates in open-backed trucks and consisted of carrots, yellow onions and potatoes grown locally or from nearby Seattle or Tacoma. Most shriveled before being purchased . Seasonal produce: apples from eastern Washington, oranges from California and bananas from South America disappeared on the day each arrived.
The canned food labels I remember are S&W, Campbell’s, Van de Camp, Del Monte and Hormel canned Spam. Milk and Coke came in glass bottles; the dreaded Vienna sausages peaked out from their small glass jars. There were no frozen or ethnic foods.
Bread arrived in small delivery trucks. Sunbeam used bright yellow trucks with the face of a smiling blonde girl painted on each side. The colorful Wonder bread trucks were painted to mimic the bread wrapped; red, yellow and blue circles over a white background. Both breads tasted like fluffy air and folded easily in small hands.
A small meat counter took up one wall. When we bought hamburger, Mr. Capp ground our order behind his glass-front his meat counter. He’d grab a handful of beef, push it through his grinder, weighed it and wrapped it in white butcher paper. Same for pork sausage.
We seldom bought Mr. Capps’ meats. Instead we picked up meat on our Saturday treks to the A&P (Atlantic and Pacific). Dad toted the heavier bags along the five-block walk leaving the lighter ones for Mom and me.
Mr. Capp’s store and the A&P were vastly different. At Mr. Capp’s we gathered arm loads of items and placed them on the counter and he bagged them. The A&P had shopping baskets to gather up purchases and people bagged them for us. At Capp’s, we paid down our bill weekly; at A&P you paid for every item you bought on the day you bought it. Mr. Capp sat on a stool behind his counter where he tallied our purchases in scraps of paper. The A&P had a box near the front of the store where the manager stood to oversee the store as well as the cashiers who rang up purchases and handed us paper receipts.
Capp’s store stood on my school route. After school, many classmates bought treats on their way home. Since my Mom made my snacks, I never stopped in. But, sometimes, if I was sent to the store, I’d be allowed to spend five cents for a Dixie cup or I’d spend my own twelve cents and buy a deluxe Raspberry or Chocolate ice cream sundae. When I only had a penny, I brought a Lick’em-ade straw and sucked or coughed down the Jell-o-like powder.
When Mr. Capp sold his store to a convenience franchise, we stopped shopping there. The new owner wasn’t from the neighborhood so he didn’t talk with kids. Also, he wanted to be paid as each purchase was made. He brought in packaged meat and new counters. By then we owned a car, so going to the A&P or driving to the locally-owned T& M (Ted and Mel’s) was just as easy, plus it had a greater selection, lower prices and friendlier faces.
From age six to twelve I walked the two blocks: up a hill and across one semi-busy street. The wooden building had a small painted sign over the swinging doors and several half windows across the front. A single gas pump stood by a one-door garage on one side of the building. Out front, the gravel parking area held three to four cars.
The store had a hanging light fixtures, a low, messy counter and rows of shelves organized by product type: canned goods, bread, paper products, and such. It smelled of a mixture of dust, cardboard and ground meat. The wooden floor creaked in several places, especially along the route from the front door to the cooler in back which held milk, cream, butter, cheese and eggs.
Along side the cash register were the colorful packs of gum: yellow Juicy Fruit, green Wrigley’s Spearmint, blue Beman’s Pepsin, white Clove and blue Black Jack. Penny candy stood on the counter in open glass bowls. The ice cream treats filled a nearby free-standing freezer with a clear plastic top that let me see everything inside. To select a treat I’d slide open one side and reach in.
Mr. Capp, a short man with a receding hairline, wore a soiled butcher apron that covered his pants and shoes: one size did not fit all. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but he tolerated kids pawing through the penny candy and opening the ice cream treats slider, letting the cold air escape.
When I arrived to pick up Mom’s order, he had it bagged on the counter. If I had permission, I bought a Dixie cup of orange sherbet and vanilla ice cream. Once every week or so, one of my parents walked up and settled the bill.
Mr. Capp’s fresh produce arrived in crates in open-backed trucks and consisted of carrots, yellow onions and potatoes grown locally or from nearby Seattle or Tacoma. Most shriveled before being purchased . Seasonal produce: apples from eastern Washington, oranges from California and bananas from South America disappeared on the day each arrived.
The canned food labels I remember are S&W, Campbell’s, Van de Camp, Del Monte and Hormel canned Spam. Milk and Coke came in glass bottles; the dreaded Vienna sausages peaked out from their small glass jars. There were no frozen or ethnic foods.
Bread arrived in small delivery trucks. Sunbeam used bright yellow trucks with the face of a smiling blonde girl painted on each side. The colorful Wonder bread trucks were painted to mimic the bread wrapped; red, yellow and blue circles over a white background. Both breads tasted like fluffy air and folded easily in small hands.
A small meat counter took up one wall. When we bought hamburger, Mr. Capp ground our order behind his glass-front his meat counter. He’d grab a handful of beef, push it through his grinder, weighed it and wrapped it in white butcher paper. Same for pork sausage.
We seldom bought Mr. Capps’ meats. Instead we picked up meat on our Saturday treks to the A&P (Atlantic and Pacific). Dad toted the heavier bags along the five-block walk leaving the lighter ones for Mom and me.
Mr. Capp’s store and the A&P were vastly different. At Mr. Capp’s we gathered arm loads of items and placed them on the counter and he bagged them. The A&P had shopping baskets to gather up purchases and people bagged them for us. At Capp’s, we paid down our bill weekly; at A&P you paid for every item you bought on the day you bought it. Mr. Capp sat on a stool behind his counter where he tallied our purchases in scraps of paper. The A&P had a box near the front of the store where the manager stood to oversee the store as well as the cashiers who rang up purchases and handed us paper receipts.
Capp’s store stood on my school route. After school, many classmates bought treats on their way home. Since my Mom made my snacks, I never stopped in. But, sometimes, if I was sent to the store, I’d be allowed to spend five cents for a Dixie cup or I’d spend my own twelve cents and buy a deluxe Raspberry or Chocolate ice cream sundae. When I only had a penny, I brought a Lick’em-ade straw and sucked or coughed down the Jell-o-like powder.
When Mr. Capp sold his store to a convenience franchise, we stopped shopping there. The new owner wasn’t from the neighborhood so he didn’t talk with kids. Also, he wanted to be paid as each purchase was made. He brought in packaged meat and new counters. By then we owned a car, so going to the A&P or driving to the locally-owned T& M (Ted and Mel’s) was just as easy, plus it had a greater selection, lower prices and friendlier faces.
April 26, 2015
Marta's Story in Book Two
Ballet is a delicate balance...
Marta's story continues. She'd taken the train home and starts on a journey of rebuilding her career as well as seeking to understand her romantic connection to Steve and to other young men. Follow Marta's chance to work on her recovery, teach young dancers and find her direction.
If you'd be interested in pre-ordering book two, When the Music Stops-Dance On, please contact me directly.
Marta's story continues. She'd taken the train home and starts on a journey of rebuilding her career as well as seeking to understand her romantic connection to Steve and to other young men. Follow Marta's chance to work on her recovery, teach young dancers and find her direction.
If you'd be interested in pre-ordering book two, When the Music Stops-Dance On, please contact me directly.
