Paddy Eger's Blog, page 4
August 24, 2014
Excerpt fromWhen the Music Stops
Chapter 1
Marta straightened her shoulders, gathered belongings and descended the metal stairs onto the train station platform. She hobbled through the crush of tired-looking travelers and entered the waiting room. Only two people waited inside the depot door. Neither was her mother.
A uniformed man stood on a platform high above the large room beside a large illuminated clock which read 12:21. He adjusted the removable lettering to read the new day's date: May 28, 1958. She'd left Billings, Montana less than twenty-four hours ago but the absence of her friends already stung.
The porter took his time pushing the overloaded cart into the waiting room. Once he'd unloaded each bag inside a roped off area, passengers crowded forward to redeem their bags and hurry out the exit. No mom, no rush. Marta waited until the area cleared then collected her two bags and checked the clock again. 12:35. She bit her lip as she scanned the waiting area. Where was her mom?
Marta straightened her shoulders, gathered belongings and descended the metal stairs onto the train station platform. She hobbled through the crush of tired-looking travelers and entered the waiting room. Only two people waited inside the depot door. Neither was her mother.
A uniformed man stood on a platform high above the large room beside a large illuminated clock which read 12:21. He adjusted the removable lettering to read the new day's date: May 28, 1958. She'd left Billings, Montana less than twenty-four hours ago but the absence of her friends already stung.
The porter took his time pushing the overloaded cart into the waiting room. Once he'd unloaded each bag inside a roped off area, passengers crowded forward to redeem their bags and hurry out the exit. No mom, no rush. Marta waited until the area cleared then collected her two bags and checked the clock again. 12:35. She bit her lip as she scanned the waiting area. Where was her mom?
August 20, 2014
The Many Sights and Sounds of Poetry
You've probably heard of several forms of poetry: Acrostic, Alphabet, Found, Haiku, Limerick, List, Palindrome or Mirror, Ode, Prose and Sonnet. You may even know of Elegy, Parody, Sestina, Triolet and Villanelle forms. But this list is less than half of the ones recorded by Robert Lee Brewer in an article I recently read, only a third of the forms I found in a book years ago and probably a drop in the bucket when I looked up 'types of poetry' online. I was amazed by the variety being used!
Like in prose writing, poetry seeks to show you ideas as well as write them. The difference is that some poetic forms are visually organized to treat the eye where a story must rely on creating visual images through the selection of words. Check out these visual poetic forms:
Fibonacci Poem
My
brain
can find
such solace
in this simple verse
made of certain syllable words.
________________________________________
Lanterne Poem
boys
tackling
running fast
scoring touchdowns
lads
It's an amazing list that I suggest you check out. Try expressing your 'story ideas' in a poetic form. It will challenge you to find original ways to write.
Like in prose writing, poetry seeks to show you ideas as well as write them. The difference is that some poetic forms are visually organized to treat the eye where a story must rely on creating visual images through the selection of words. Check out these visual poetic forms:
Fibonacci Poem
My
brain
can find
such solace
in this simple verse
made of certain syllable words.
________________________________________
Lanterne Poem
boys
tackling
running fast
scoring touchdowns
lads
It's an amazing list that I suggest you check out. Try expressing your 'story ideas' in a poetic form. It will challenge you to find original ways to write.
July 24, 2014
New Book Character Reveal
Her name is Lily Rose Costello. She's a new character created by a 15-year old guest from her name being drawn at random at a book event. Thank you Lucile!
In book two, When the Music Stops, Lily Rose steps into Marta life as a member of the theatre committee visiting the set of the summer teen play where Marta is working. Lily Rose places her young daughter in Marta's kinder dance class then stays involved with Marta through adult exercise classes. As their friendship builds, Lily Rose becomes a vital support to the dance studio and Marta, making a difference neither saw coming.
So who is Lily Rose? She's the former lead singer from Lil Rose and the Sounds, a rock group from the last decade, the 1940s. This tall, blonde haired woman brings energy and life to Marta's world.
Thanks, Lucile. I love the character you created. I'm certain the readers will as well when the book reaches their hands early next year.
In book two, When the Music Stops, Lily Rose steps into Marta life as a member of the theatre committee visiting the set of the summer teen play where Marta is working. Lily Rose places her young daughter in Marta's kinder dance class then stays involved with Marta through adult exercise classes. As their friendship builds, Lily Rose becomes a vital support to the dance studio and Marta, making a difference neither saw coming.
So who is Lily Rose? She's the former lead singer from Lil Rose and the Sounds, a rock group from the last decade, the 1940s. This tall, blonde haired woman brings energy and life to Marta's world.
Thanks, Lucile. I love the character you created. I'm certain the readers will as well when the book reaches their hands early next year.
July 3, 2014
Childhood Summer Vacation
When I was small summer meant vacation time along Hood Canal at a small resort called Rest-a-While with my parents, Elle and Jonas Selbryth. The tiny wood-framed cabins bordered the gravelly beach and were stuffy on a hot summer day so we spent much of our days outside.
I played with the other kids I met along the beach. We splashed in the water, tossed balls, ate our dinners beside beach fires and collected shells at low tides. My parents played cards with people from other cabins, shared magazines and books while they sat on the beach eating raw oysters by the bucketfuls.
Since the resort was less than an hour’s drive from our home in Bremerton, family friends stopped by evenings for drinks and fresh oysters. The adults lounged around and watched their kids swim. They played more cards, talked and ate more oysters. Each morning black-edged, fire-roasted shells lay stacked beside burned out beach fires.
As a young girl I loved the water and swam around like a fish. Dad joined me the years he was still alive. We shot water at each other and dove down for white rocks tossed into slightly deeper water. My mom took care of the blanket and towels and brought out snacks to tide us over until dinnertime. We ate normal meals so I didn’t have to eat the slimy, ugly oysters until I learned that I liked their salty taste years later.
When I returned home I brought deeply-scooped shells that made good dishes for my times with my friends in my playhouse. The scent of saltwater clung to the shells for weeks after our vacation. My pocketful of pretty rocks that filled my pockets were added to my rock box. Together they were my souvenirs of my summer weeks at Rest-A-While cottages.
I played with the other kids I met along the beach. We splashed in the water, tossed balls, ate our dinners beside beach fires and collected shells at low tides. My parents played cards with people from other cabins, shared magazines and books while they sat on the beach eating raw oysters by the bucketfuls.
Since the resort was less than an hour’s drive from our home in Bremerton, family friends stopped by evenings for drinks and fresh oysters. The adults lounged around and watched their kids swim. They played more cards, talked and ate more oysters. Each morning black-edged, fire-roasted shells lay stacked beside burned out beach fires.
As a young girl I loved the water and swam around like a fish. Dad joined me the years he was still alive. We shot water at each other and dove down for white rocks tossed into slightly deeper water. My mom took care of the blanket and towels and brought out snacks to tide us over until dinnertime. We ate normal meals so I didn’t have to eat the slimy, ugly oysters until I learned that I liked their salty taste years later.
When I returned home I brought deeply-scooped shells that made good dishes for my times with my friends in my playhouse. The scent of saltwater clung to the shells for weeks after our vacation. My pocketful of pretty rocks that filled my pockets were added to my rock box. Together they were my souvenirs of my summer weeks at Rest-A-While cottages.
June 26, 2014
The Good Old Days 1958-59
As a young person starting out on my own, the 'good old days' didn't seem so great. I saw prices inching upward as I tried to find a way to make ends meet. Here are a few of the changes I noted over just one year!
Postage went from 3 cents a letter to 4
Gas jumped from 24 cents to 25 cents
Most food items inched up a penny each
The biggest change occurred as Mrs. B.'s room rent increased by $5 a month as I left. Luckily when I returned to Bremerton that late spring of 1958, I stayed with my mom. I had no idea that I'd be moving out on my own in the spring of 1959 would be tied to so many other events!
Postage went from 3 cents a letter to 4
Gas jumped from 24 cents to 25 cents
Most food items inched up a penny each
The biggest change occurred as Mrs. B.'s room rent increased by $5 a month as I left. Luckily when I returned to Bremerton that late spring of 1958, I stayed with my mom. I had no idea that I'd be moving out on my own in the spring of 1959 would be tied to so many other events!
June 19, 2014
Marta's Blog: The Neighbor's TV
My name is Marta Selbryth, well it was Selbryth before I married. I want to take you back to my growing years which were filled with so many differences from my present ones. Join me!
The Neighbor's TV
My first opportunity to watch TV came when I was eight and crossed the street to my neighbor's home. I became a regular in their living room at 4:55 to watch the black and white test pattern for the five minutes before the Howdy Doody show began.
Butch and I watched Buffalo Bill, Howdy and Clarabell, the Clown with rapt attention. We wanted to sit in their peanut gallery and maybe be chosen to be a brief part of the show. (We had no idea that the show was not happening somewhere in our hometown of Bremerton.)
We also watched Kookla,Fran and Ollie then relinquished the single channel to Butch's parents so they could watch the evening news. Besides, why did we care what was happening around the United States when we could scurry outside and play pirates on the upturned wheelbarrow.
By the time I moved to Billings to begin my dancing career my interests had grown. After Mrs. B. got her first TV during the Christmas of 1957,I occasionally sat with her, Shorty and James to watch a Perry Como special or Playhouse 90. Most of my evenings I spent practicing in the basement space Mrs. B. allowed me to use. In all cases, my evenings were free of Carol. That girl was hard to take!
The Neighbor's TV
My first opportunity to watch TV came when I was eight and crossed the street to my neighbor's home. I became a regular in their living room at 4:55 to watch the black and white test pattern for the five minutes before the Howdy Doody show began.
Butch and I watched Buffalo Bill, Howdy and Clarabell, the Clown with rapt attention. We wanted to sit in their peanut gallery and maybe be chosen to be a brief part of the show. (We had no idea that the show was not happening somewhere in our hometown of Bremerton.)
We also watched Kookla,Fran and Ollie then relinquished the single channel to Butch's parents so they could watch the evening news. Besides, why did we care what was happening around the United States when we could scurry outside and play pirates on the upturned wheelbarrow.
By the time I moved to Billings to begin my dancing career my interests had grown. After Mrs. B. got her first TV during the Christmas of 1957,I occasionally sat with her, Shorty and James to watch a Perry Como special or Playhouse 90. Most of my evenings I spent practicing in the basement space Mrs. B. allowed me to use. In all cases, my evenings were free of Carol. That girl was hard to take!
March 7, 2014
Marta's Blog: The Truth Behind the Fiction:
(Writing about the Tattered Book mentioned in 84 Ribbons)
In my novel, 84 Ribbons, Steve attends his first ballet with several unexpected occurrences. After, when he meets with Marta, he gives her a tattered book that he found in the Billings used book store.
In Truth, I found the book at Powell's Bookstore in Portland, Oregon. We'd gone there with friends to find whatever books appealed to us that day.
I'd never been to the multi-storied building so I became totally overcome by it's vastness. Kind of like a kid's first time in Toys R Us. I walked from floor to floor and end to end on each floor trying to focus.
Finally I asked for help and decided to look for books about dance. The shelves were fairly lean pickin's. Then the tiny tattered book, The Ballet Lover's Pocket Book:Techniques Without Tears for the Ballet Lover by Kay Ambrose caught my attention. The faded cover flaked off when I picked up the book. The front matter pages contained line drawings about make-up for various ballets. This 1945 book discussed dance steps, warm-ups, choreography, costumes and lighting in it's scant 65 pages complete with drawings and an index.
How could I leave it on the shelf with Marta's story solidifying in my head? I plunked down $3.95 and tucked it into my pocket since I knew I'd never find it again, even if I only left its shelf for a hour. (Powell's is that vast!)
Problem. How to include the book in the story? Marta wouldn't buy it for herself. Lynne and Bartley either. That left Steve. So, I sent him to the ballet and had him gift Marta with the book. He added his own words, through me, and the book became part of the story.
In my novel, 84 Ribbons, Steve attends his first ballet with several unexpected occurrences. After, when he meets with Marta, he gives her a tattered book that he found in the Billings used book store.
In Truth, I found the book at Powell's Bookstore in Portland, Oregon. We'd gone there with friends to find whatever books appealed to us that day.
I'd never been to the multi-storied building so I became totally overcome by it's vastness. Kind of like a kid's first time in Toys R Us. I walked from floor to floor and end to end on each floor trying to focus.
Finally I asked for help and decided to look for books about dance. The shelves were fairly lean pickin's. Then the tiny tattered book, The Ballet Lover's Pocket Book:Techniques Without Tears for the Ballet Lover by Kay Ambrose caught my attention. The faded cover flaked off when I picked up the book. The front matter pages contained line drawings about make-up for various ballets. This 1945 book discussed dance steps, warm-ups, choreography, costumes and lighting in it's scant 65 pages complete with drawings and an index.
How could I leave it on the shelf with Marta's story solidifying in my head? I plunked down $3.95 and tucked it into my pocket since I knew I'd never find it again, even if I only left its shelf for a hour. (Powell's is that vast!)
Problem. How to include the book in the story? Marta wouldn't buy it for herself. Lynne and Bartley either. That left Steve. So, I sent him to the ballet and had him gift Marta with the book. He added his own words, through me, and the book became part of the story.
December 9, 2013
Marta's Blog: A Look Back
My name is Marta Selbryth, well it was Selbryth, before I married. I want to take you back to my growing years which were filled with so many differences from my present ones. Join me.
First Recollections
Spinning. I remember spinning around in our living room with my arms spread wide and my eyes squinted so I looked like I had my eyes closed.
My father sat in his leatherette chair, my mom sat on the couch in front of the gold gilt mirror watching me, gasping when I moved too close to the coffee table. I thought I was a ballerina. They told me how lovely I spun around.
When I became six, I began dance lessons complete with pink leotards and black ballet slippers. We danced and spun in slow motion to music played by violins. We pointed our toes. We curtsied. In June we put on make-up, dotted Swiss aprons over black leotards to dance and spin for an audience. I was hooked! My love affair with ballet, spinning and music lingers today.
Please comments. Share your recollections or stories you've been told about the late 1950s. Let's share those it-seems-like-yesterday moments before they are lost forever.
First Recollections
Spinning. I remember spinning around in our living room with my arms spread wide and my eyes squinted so I looked like I had my eyes closed.
My father sat in his leatherette chair, my mom sat on the couch in front of the gold gilt mirror watching me, gasping when I moved too close to the coffee table. I thought I was a ballerina. They told me how lovely I spun around.
When I became six, I began dance lessons complete with pink leotards and black ballet slippers. We danced and spun in slow motion to music played by violins. We pointed our toes. We curtsied. In June we put on make-up, dotted Swiss aprons over black leotards to dance and spin for an audience. I was hooked! My love affair with ballet, spinning and music lingers today.
Please comments. Share your recollections or stories you've been told about the late 1950s. Let's share those it-seems-like-yesterday moments before they are lost forever.
