Guilie Castillo-Oriard's Blog, page 11

The Drawbacks of Paradise

I do love Curaçao. I love living here, I love its 'prickly kind of beauty', its contrasts, its contradictions. To me, this tiny island that so few people have heard of -- and of those who have, most relate it to a blue orangey-tasting liquor -- is paradise.

But paradise, any paradise, comes with drawbacks. And, depending on who you are and what you love, the drawbacks and their relevance to you may vary:
Prohibitive traveling to -- well, anywhere. We may be just off the coast to Venezuela, but flying to Caracas (a 40-min flight) is just as expensive as the just-under-three-hour flight to Miami. Even Aruba, which is a stone's throw away (if you're, say, Walter Johnson), isn't exactly weekend-escape cheap.


Cost of life. I mean, this is an island. And the soil isn't particularly fruitful (though that's changing; more on that later). So everything is imported. Take a stroll through the produce section at a supermarket and I dare you not to gasp at the prices.

Choices (or lack thereof). Again, it's an island. Containers full of goodies come -- and get snatched up (in spite of ridiculous of pricing) faster than you can say Yay! And they leave behind nothing but a memory, because chances of restocking within a reasonable time span are nil. Even weather offers no variety -- which might seem like a wonderful thing when you're sitting up in North Dakota in the middle of winter, but -- trust me, one summer of 30C temps and no wind, and the idea of snow becomes so much more appealing.

Limited socializing. There are 150,000 people living in Curaçao. It's not
I could keep going. Everyone who's lived here, whether native yu di Kòrsou or imported, has their own list of complaints. For those of us who stay, though, the negatives are a matter of perception. Sure, traveling is a hassle, but how often do you really need to travel? Everything's more expensive and there's little to choose from, but it's a relaxed social atmosphere; do you really need that much? And there's a small-town charm to knowing everyone, even for antisocial curmudgeons like me.

Image: Eureka BooksellersEverything has a silver lining, right? Yes. Except for one thing. And this one drives me insane.

Books.

There are ONLY TWO BOOKSTORES in Curaçao. And while they have a decent selection (maybe even more than decent) in Dutch, I don't read Dutch. My bad, I'm not integrating or assimilating or whatever. Sure. But the fact remains that, to an avid reader like myself, not having a single bookstore that I can browse through for longer than five minutes is torture.

But -- non-Curaçao residents tell me -- now there's Amazon (and other online book sellers). Sure, browsing a website is not nearly as much fun as browsing a bookstore (there's that book smell missing, for one) but -- hey. I can get books. Problem solved.

Let me explain why that solution is no solution at all. On the 6th of June I ordered through Amazon two books for my poetry reading circle. First problem: international shipping isn't always available, especially for second-hand items (the books I wanted, a volume of Rilke's poetry and Rimbaud's Illuminations, were not available new). I finally found one that did ship internationally (supplied through Amazon) -- which brings me to the second problem: the cost of shipping was more than the price of both books together.


Okay. Fine. I ordered anyway. It wasn't even expedited shipping, but it didn't matter; I only needed these books by the end of July, when we'd start reading one of them (the poetry group was kind enough to leave the decision of which to read to which one arrived to Curaçao first -- cool group of people). Six-seven weeks should be enough time, I thought.

I thought wrong.

By July 20th, when nothing had arrived, I contacted Amazon. A super friendly guy checked on the packages and told me one had been returned "due to damage in transit". I'd been issued a refund; did I want to place the order again? Yes, sure, but what about the other one? "It seems to have arrived at the destination," he told me. "But the carrier is delaying delivery for some reason. Never seen that before." Great. "I'll issue a refund for that shipping charge," he said. I really appreciate that, but what about my book? "The package will be delivered by July 25th. By the absolute latest." Well. Okay, then.

July 25th came and went. No book. I gave up on it. And then yesterday this showed up in the mailbox:


Yesterday was August 6th. My order was placed on June 6th. Two months. And the reason was written all over the envelope.

Third problem: when I say no one knows where Curaçao is, I mean it. Not even postal services. Some creative (and certainly well-intentioned, if misguided) soul added St. Eustatius to my address. The only relationship Statia (as the island is known in these parts) has to Curaçao is that once upon a time (pre 10/10/2010) they were both part of the Netherlands Antilles.

Large red circle is Curaçao. Teeny circle at center right is St. Eustatius.
Yeah, real close.
Well, no wonder the package was delayed. Except it doesn't seem to have made it to St. Eustatius, either. Instead, there's this:

Misguided. No sh*t, Sherlock.Dominican Republic? DOMINICAN REPUBLIC??? How did--? No, forget it. I don't even want to know.

And don't even ask about Rimbaud's Illuminations, the other book I ordered (which I reordered after it got returned because of "damage in transit"). Amazon says it'll be delivered Aug 20th. If past experience is any indication of future expectations, it should arrive somewhere in late September.

Bottom line, though: I have a gorgeous volume of Rilke's poetry. Having given up on ever receiving it, you can imagine how outrageously pleased I was yesterday. And there you have it, a silver lining after all: shattered expectations do, sometimes, lead to unexpected joys.

#BoTB Results for Big Yellow Taxi: Joni or the Crows?

Well, well. I didn't expect such a wide margin. Really? 1:2? (Or is it 2:1?) Joni Mitchell, indisputable winner of this battle. (Which, by the way, I'm sure Counting Crows would concede. They'd be totally cool with it.)

Final tally, just to rub it in:


Joni: 12DebbieFAEStephenJanieElliptical ManMikeSusanRobinDeniseJeffreyJohnMichele
Counting Crows: 6YolandaLeeBirgitCherdoCarolCathy
Thanks, y'all, for the visits and the votes, and above all for taking the time to elucidate and dissect your reasoning on what is for most people essentially a gut choice. You rock!

See you on the 15th!

#BoTB: Big Yellow Taxi

Happy August, y'all!

You know what that means... New month, new Battle of The Bands. Nothing instrumental this time, just straight-up rock, good times, and a social statement. Pretty timely for me, seeing as... Well, I'll write a separate post for that. In the meantime, I give you:

JONI MITCHELL

Big Yellow Taxi, a Joni original, was a big hit back in the 70's. But I never heard of it--though I'm a '73 babe--until this other band brought it back for a new generation in the '90s. Contestant #2:
COUNTING CROWS

Hey, pssst... Speaking of NYC. If you're in town next month, I'm launching my book, THE MIRACLE OF SMALL THINGS, at La Casa Azul bookstore on Wed Sept 2nd. You're invited :)
Who's the favorite? It's up to you. Vote in the comments, say why a particular version did it (or didn't) for you, and come back next Friday (Aug 7th) to check out the final tally -- including my own vote. In the meantime, have a fabulous start to Month #8! And take a hop over to the other Battle participants; awesome blogs, fantastic people, and the most eclectic group of music lovers ever.
STMcC Presents 'Battle of The Bands'Far Away SeriesDebbie D. ("Doglady")Holli's Hoots and HollersYour Daily DoseAlex CavanaughTossing It OutMike's RamblingsJingle Jangle JungleCurious as a CathyCherdo on the FlipsideThe Sound of One Hand TypingWomen: We Shall OvercomeJ. A. ScottBook LoverAngels Barkdcrelief ~ Battle of The BandsNovelBrews
(If I've missed anyone, let me know in the comments and I'll add you ;) )

#Cherished: If This Teddy Could Talk...

On a bookshelf behind my desk, out of sight unless you know where to look, sits a toy koala bear. He's old, dusty, and faded. The hair on his ears is matted. His eyes are scratched, and the tan felt of one eyelid has peeled off. The plastic pear he wears as a nose needs to be glued back on. Again. And yet his grin remains. A tad sardonic maybe--not surprising, given the degree of abandonment he's put up with. But there's real bonhomie, too. Good-natured patience. I'm here, that grin seems to say. Whenever you remember.


Is there anything as sad as a forgotten once-beloved toy? These cast-offs speak of lost childhoods, changing priorities, the ephemeral nature of our attachments, even the ones that feel, at the time, forged in steel. Most of all, I suppose, these little personalities -- for who can deny them that bit of humanity? -- remind us of the selves we've left behind.

His name is Beary. He slept in the crook of my arm for years and years, stood watch over the kingdom of my bedroom while I, its omnipotent god and ruler, met the obligations of school and ballet and basketball. He was never a toy in the strictest sense of the word; he rarely played a part in my mini-operas of fairies and princesses and pirates and damsels in distress saved by magic (and their own wits... I was already a feminist under all those pink tulle frills). No, Beary--from his arrival, when I was maybe 6 or 7--was always a companion rather than a playmate. A kindred soul (my first). A guardian angel, maybe, without the religious and/or protective connotation.

He shared sleeping space with a few other darlings, but while those came and went, Beary stayed. Beary was the one that came along (carry-on; never checked baggage) on a three-month trip to Europe. Beary was the sole carry-over during that harsh marshland of childhood-to-adulthood; I cried my first bitter tears of heartbreak into his pudgy belly, and when all but the most significant toys had either been given away or put into storage, he always had pride of place, either by my bedside or on my desk.

Over the years, I've lost many things that hurt: love letters, books, posters, postcards, photo albums with my whole childhood and adolescence in them. And Beary. Moving on requires jettisoning things we're not ready to leave behind. I've learned to let go, because--well, because holding on does no one any good.

Last year, when I was in Mexico to renew my passport, my mother came to my bedroom as I was packing for my pre-dawn flight and said, "I have a surprise for you." She produced Beary, recently laundered, grinning that Hey You grin of his. "I didn't have time to fix his nose," she said, shoving him into my arms too fast, as if afraid maybe I'd use the falling bit of plastic as a reason to reject him.

I left behind a kilo package of tortilla corn flour in order to make him fit. Carry-on, of course, and screw the weird looks I got from Customs. Beary doesn't travel in cargo.


The #Cherished blogfest celebrates objects that pull on the heartstrings of memory. If you enjoyed this post, visit the other participating blogs--and join up with your own story of a cherished object of your own. The linky list is open until the end of the day tomorrow (Sunday). And a big round of applause for #Cherished hosts Damyanti, Dan Antion, Paul Ruddock, Peter Nena, and Sharukh Bamboat!

#BoTB results -- Gabriel's Oboe

This came perilously close to being a shut-out.

Here's the tally, without my vote:

EnnioLeeJohn
Yo Yo MaHolliDebbieMadilynCherdoMicheleSusanMikeClowieJeffreyStephenBirgitFAE
Thanks to Lee and John for keeping it at a more acceptable blow-out instead. Wouldn't it have been horrible if the Great Ennio had left without a single vote?

Powerful lessons here. We all more or less agreed that Morricone is a brilliant composer; some of us--including me--count his soundtracks among our all-time favorite music. And yet... even then most of us prefer Yo Yo Ma's version.

It was a tad unfair, I admit... Pitting musician/interpreter against composer/conductor. Orchestra/choir vs. soloist. But I truly thought the "unfairness" would work against, and not for, Yo Yo Ma. I'm pleased with the results, I admit--I've always felt guilty for enjoying his version on my iPod more than the actual film soundtrack. And your voting helped me understand why: there's a core difference between music composed for a film--music arranged for a film--and the arrangement required for a stand-alone piece. It was a battle not just between musician/interpreter and composer/conductor, not even between arrangements, but between different senses of the function of music.

Loved this. Thank you all for the visits and the votes and, especially, the insights.

See y'all on August 1st!

The MIRACLE Saga of Unforeseen Obstacles (& Pleasures): The Copyright Melee

I'm lucky that my publisher has a sense of humor.

Somewhere in the revisions round for the first proof copy (which, like anything else ordered from abroad--abroad meaning anywhere, Curaçao being an island--took forever to get here), the publisher asks,

Oh, hey, your MC quotes a line of poetry in the second chapter. Shouldn't that be credited in the copyright page?

Yes. YES. How did that slip through the cracks? It's a fragment from T.S. Eliot. T.S. Eliot. Of course it needs to be credited. Easily fixed; a quick look inside my favorite Eliot volume, an email to the publisher, and phewalldone.

And then,

What about the lines of this one song the guy sings at the end? Who should we credit those to?

What am I, an idiot? How can I possibly forget about freaking attributions? First for T.S. Eliot, and now for one of Mexico's most popular mariachi singers... Seriously. Yes, please include a credit to Mr. Pepe Aguilar.

Just like that? Pepe Aguilar?

No, I guess--wait, let me check how exactly the dude's name is listed in the song's copyright info. And, also, whether the song is, in fact, his. It's a popular song. Many artists have recorded it.

Oooohboy.

First, there is no copyright info. Title of the song: check. Title of the album: check. Performing artist: check. Songwriter: nothing. Eventually, I found a half-assed showbiz gossip article about Mr. Aguilar being upset about some bachata singer in the Dominican Republic recording this song of his--which is not really his (or he wouldn't have been crying No Fair to a magazine, he'd have been in court); turns out this other dude by the name of Fato wrote it for Mr. Aguilar.

Fato???

Eventually I got his real name: Enrique Guzmán Yañez. (Never heard of him.) But I still couldn't find actual copyright details for the song. Fine, Mr. Fato wrote it--but who owns the copyright? Fato? Mr. Aguilar (unlikely, given the Dominican issue)? The record label? Sources were not just unclear but contradictory.

And that wasn't the only problem. How much of the song was it okay to quote without infringing copyright? I had no idea, and neither did my Australian publisher. Anything regarding Mexican law is, unhelpfully, only in Spanish.

I found the latest version of the Mexican Intellectual Property law online, downloaded it, and read it. The whole thing. (My six years in the tax and wealth-planning world finally put to literary use.) And I was able to establish for the publisher (and for me!) that the portion of the song quoted in the book would not infringe copyright, or require authorization, or incur remuneration for the copyright holder, based on sections so-and-so of articles so-and-so.* (And I filed away a copy of this law, with relevant sections highlighted, just in case.)

My point here is that inexperience is a serious handicap. Even with my years behind a desk of law and (semi) order, if I'd been self-publishing this book I'd have ended up with, best-case, a problem. I simply didn't think. I've no doubt that self-publishing is the best way to go for many, many people, but I'm so, so glad I had a publisher to cross my t's and dot my i's.




*In case you ever want to quote stuff registered in Mexico: Mexican law pretty much follows the Fair Use statute of common law. Meaning that as long as the portion you're using does not constitute a substantial or simulative reproduction, and as long as you're not seeking direct financial gain from using it, you're good to go. So, for instance, if I'd quoted the whole song, or at least half of it, and/or if I'd used it to promote sales, we would've needed authorization and/or been liable for remuneration to the copyright owner.

Battle of The Bands -- Gabriel's Oboe

This is probably the most uplifting piece of music I've ever heard. I get chills every time. Every single time. And the movie is brilliant, too. This is not the only scene where the music is used, but it's the first (I think), and it's certainly the one that gives it meaning (for me).

The Mission, 1986  (Robert De Niro, Jeremy Irons, directed by Roland Joffé, score by Ennio Morricone)
On to the battle. First up: the great man himself, Ennio Morricone conducting a full-scale orchestra complete with choir and all. (Unfair? Maybe. Chalk it up to composer's perks ;) ) 

Mr. Morricone, by the way, is reputedly coming back to the silver screen soon, and in a Western, no less, with Tarantino's The Hateful Eight (coming 2016).

~ * ~
The challenger is another great, the (French? Chinese-American?) cellist Yo-Yo Ma, with a different arrangement (and sans choir) that highlights--of course--his cello.



Sadly, I couldn't find an actual video of Yo-Yo Ma playing. But if you close your eyes...

There you have it. A composer / conductor (arguably the best in showbiz today) and an incredibly gifted musician. I suppose this battle isn't so much about the performers as between the interpretations. I'm curious to see what you think. Leave me a comment with your vote, feel free to elaborate on the whys and wherefores (I heart long comments), and come back next Monday to check out the results (and my vote).

In the meantime, pay a visit to these other #BoTB participants; some pretty awesome face-offs, and fantastic bloggers.

STMcC Presents 'Battle of The Bands'Far Away SeriesDebbie D. ("Doglady")Holli's Hoots and HollersYour Daily DoseAlex CavanaughTossing It OutMike's RamblingsJingle Jangle JungleCurious as a CathyCherdo on the FlipsideThe Sound of One Hand TypingWomen: We Shall OvercomeJ. A. ScottBook LoverAngels Barkdcrelief ~ Battle of The Bands

#BoTB: July 1st results (Jersey Girl, Tom vs. Bruce)

Oh, wow. I never expected this to be so close. Cherdo's just-under-the-wire broke the 7-7 tie, putting The Boss above Mr. Waits. The tally looks like this:

Tom Waits'  Jersey Girl  -- Total 7STMcCFarawayEyesRobinSusan ScottDixieDebbie DogladyCathy
Bruce Springsteen's Jersey Girl -- Total 8BirgitArleeJeffrey ScottMicheleDolorahMikeHolliCherdo
Hold that cheering, Springsteen fans. I haven't voted yet.

And my vote is for Tom Waits.

Which brings us back to a tie. 8-8. What does one do in these cases, O Ye BoTB Masters?

Why Tom? Well... he does it for me. I like Bruce's version--it's, in fact, the first one I heard and fell in love with, but... There's something about that grittiness of Tom's that, one, can't be emulated, really, and two, just makes the song come alive. (For me.)

And that brings me to another thing: why I'm in love, so soon after joining, with BoTB. There's no real reason a face-off between two versions of a song should be so much fun... There's not that much to it, is there? Ah, but done like this--it's the community, for one (you bunch of wonderful people, you), and it's also something special I discovered. The living reminder that one human's poison is another's delicacy. How one person may love a version and another hate it, often for the very same reasons... It's a lesson I love, a lesson I forget too often. I think most of us do, at a subconscious level. And I think it's a lesson worth living.

Thank you, BoTB family, for welcoming me so heartily. I look forward to many, many more battles with you :)

P.S. -- If you want to hear either song--or both--again, here's the original BoTB post.

My very first Battle of the Bands -- Jersey Girl

I've been a fan of BoTB for a very, very long time... and finally decided to join in. I'm sure this one has been done before--how could it not?--but I couldn't find it in the BoTB files. And it's a favorite of mine. (Well, one of them is.)
I give you:

 ~ Jersey Girl ~

v.1:

got no time for the corner boys, down in the street makin' all that noise,don't want no whores on eighth avenue, cause tonight i'm gonna be with you.
cause tonight i'm gonna take that ride, across the river to the jersey side,take my baby to the carnival, and i'll take you on all the rides, sing sha lala la la la sha la la la.
down the shore everything's alright, you with your baby on a saturday night,don't you know that all my dreams come true, when i'm walkin' down the streetwith you, sing sha la la la la la sha la la la.
you know she thrills me with all her charms, when i'm wrapped up in mybaby's arms, my little angel gives me everything, i know someday that she'llwear my ring.
so don't bother me cause i got no time, i'm on my way to see that girl ofmine, nothin' else matters in this whole wide world, when you're in love witha jersey girl, sing sha la la la la la la.
and i call your name, i can't sleep at night, sha la la la la la la.

(Lyrics source) 

v.2:

I got no time for the corner boys Down in the street making all that noise Or the girls out on the avenue 'Cause tonight I want to be with you 
Tonight I'm gonna take that ride Across the river to the Jersey side Take my baby to the carnival And I'll take her on all the rides 
'Cause down the shore everything's all right You and your baby on a Saturday night You know all my dreams come true When I'm walking down the street with you 
Sha la la la la la la Sha la la la la la la la la Sha la la la la la la la Sha la la la I'm in love with a Jersey girl 
You know she thrills me with all her charms When I'm wrapped up in my baby's arms My little girl gives me everything I know that some day she'll wear my ring 
So don't bother me man I ain't got no time I'm on my way to see that girl of mine 'Cause nothing matters in this whole wide world When you're in love with a Jersey girl 
Sha la la la la la la Sha la la la la la la la la Sha la la la la la la la Sha la la la I'm in love with a Jersey girl 
I see you on the street and you look so tired I know that job you got leaves you so uninspired When I come by to take you out to eat you're lyin' all dressed up on the bed baby fast asleep 
Go in the bathroom and put your makeup on We're gonna take that little brat of yours and drop her off at your mom?s I know a place where the dancing?s free Now baby won't you come with me 
'Cause down the shore everything's all right You and your baby on a Saturday night Nothing matters in this whole wide world When you're in love with a Jersey girl

(Lyrics source)

Which version gives you the tingles, whether by association or musical achievement? Vote in the comments! I'd love to know what you think. (Results will be announced on July 7th.)

Loving the BoTB? So many other awesome face-offs out there! Find the full list at Stephen T. McCarthy's blog--and vote on his own face-off: Tito Puentes vs. The Dave Brubeck Quartet, a tough, tough choice.

See you at the other BoTB blogs!

Oh, and P.S. -- Since it's my first BoTB post ever, if you have any suggestions or tips to make it better next time, please do share :)

What's taking so freakin' long??? (Part I)

Writing--no, scratch that; publishing is not for the impatient. And I am the mother of impatience. Which is why I'm kind of amazed that I haven't thrown a hissy fit yet. (Yet, I emphasize.)

No, actually I know exactly why I haven't. It's because I'm so damn busy. I don't have time to be impatient. As a matter of fact, days are going by like sand through toes at the surfline. Like, for instance, it's Tuesday already and--what do you mean Thursday? I NEED MY WEDNESDAY BACK!

I mean, how hard can it be? THE MIRACLE OF SMALL THINGS had already been published in Pure Slush's 2014 A Year In Stories. Well, sort of. Last year, when Truth Serum Press (sister press of Pure Slush) agreed to publish it as a standalone book, we felt there was a piece missing from the original 12 stories, so--okay, I wrote a 13th story. Which turned out a tad longer than expected. And took longer, too, to finish. (I sweated blood on that one.)

But aside from that, I thought it was a matter of some small (fine, smallish) revisions. You know, quirky wording that somehow escaped both my and the editor's eagle eyes the first few times. And then there were the places where, due to the word count limit for the originals, I cut character arcs short or held back on information that actually did move the story forward. So these things had to be remedied for the standalone version. And then revised. And re-revised. And re-re-re...

The 2014 A Year In Stories project by the awesome folks at Pure Slush.
THE MIRACLE OF SMALL THINGS was originally published in these volumes,
one story a month, from January to December 2014.And that's what no one tells you. Every time--every time--you read what you wrote, especially if it's, say, in an actual book (i.e., not in your computer or the draft you printed for revision), you'll find stuff that needs tweaking.

And it's not even the complex, story-arc stuff. It's the simple things. Like this one:

[...] the places where we were once happy.

Wait. Hmm. It has better rhythm as 

the places where we were happy once.

Or does it?

And--oh, crap. How did I miss this?

In that moment, in the red bougainvillea by the terrace [etc.]

In/in? Seriously?? At least this one's easy to fix; just change one in to something else. But--which one? 

In that moment, on the red bougainvillea

or

At that moment, in the red bougainvillea

OR

In that moment, at the red bougainvillea

Like that. Every page. Every freaking sentence. And, no matter how many new and improved versions I read through, I keep finding stuff to tweak. (When does it end? Please, someone tell me it does end.)

But. BUT. Yesterday I received my first proof copy, and the second one is on its way as of today. (Then I'll get to read that and find more tweakable stuff. Yay. No, seriously--not about the tweaks, but MY FIRST PROOF COPY! YAAAY!)

The first proof copy!And the book launch is set to happen in September in New York City, at La Casa Azul, a mega-fabulous Latino-oriented and independent-author-supporting bookstore that's coolness personified, and whose personnel have been nothing but kind and accommodating to this clueless novice. And it looks like we'll have a more-than-decent turnout, especially since I don't live in the city and no one knows me from Eve, there or anywhere else. (Hey, are you in or around NYC? September 2, 6pm--it's a date!)

So there's plenty to celebrate. And plenty, plenty to keep me busy. Who has time for impatience with so much to do before then?

Coming soon on the MIRACLE saga of unforeseen obstacles and pleasures: The Copyright Melee.

Oh! Speaking of--please read Lynne Hinkey's MARINA MELEE as soon as you can. Absolutely brilliant novel that captures life in the Caribbean to a... well, to a C :) Seriously. Haven't enjoyed a book this much in a long time.