Some people just won’t leave you alone!

You know the kind. You’re at your desk in your office, deep in your work, suitably harried, and they yell at you to come out. Lock the door and they crawl in through the window. Throw your arms around your computer and they drag you away kicking and screaming, sandals flying, power cord flopping, trackball marble bouncing down the stairs.

 

Alicia Street, Lynn Kelley and Rachel Funk Heller, I give up! I’ll play the Lucky 7 Meme. Thanks for asking.

These are the rules:

1) Go to page 77 of your current manuscript.

2) Go to line 7.

3) Find and post the next 7 lines, sentences or paragraphs.

4) Tag another 7 writers and drag them away from whatever they were doing—I mean, let them know.

Since I’ve written only short stories in the last year, I had to dig up my novel Continue reading

“That’s Amore!” (Not)

The circumstances surrounding the recent disastrous sinking of a cruise ship inspired my husband, Raphael, to write new lyrics to the classic Dean Martin song, “That’s Amore.” If you saw the movie, Moonstruck, you heard Dean Martin sing that song. In case you haven’t heard it, check out this YouTube version.

Warning: In middle school, Raphael had his own reserved desk in detention. He has preserved some of that 14-year-old attitude. Thank goodness.

Sung to the music of “That’s Amore!”

When your boat hits a reef
‘Cause your captain’s in briefs,
That’s our cruise ship.

Parts we should overhaul
But the chief’s a meatball,
That’s a mild slip.

Safety bells tinga linga ling,
O’er the rail you they’ll fling, Continue reading

Overture, curtain, lights? Live it.

One of my greatest pleasures in high school was when I’d go with a bunch of friends to see a Broadway show on a Saturday afternoon.

We’d take the Long Island Railroad in to Penn Station and walk to Times Square, to the trailer in a little grassy area where last-minute tickets were sold. We’d wrangle with each other about which show to see at which price. One of my friends, who now reviews for Variety®, usually had the last word but, as I remember, we usually chose whatever looked good at $2 a seat.

My friends and I went to some of the grand old New York theaters, like the Helen Hayes, the Schubert. The feel of those red velveteen seats and the scent of theater dust alone were worth the $2.

The best moment was when the curtain came up and the lights went on. I always experienced that electric sense of anticipation: something wonderful was going to happen.

The play itself might turn out to be bad, but I always took away that wonderful feeling of anticipation. It kept me alive through the train ride home, through the rest of the weekend and through the long, boring weeks at school.

This morning at seven, I sat on my back steps. The sun came up behind me, shining into the dark forest deeps, highlighting individual tree trunks, vines, branches, the way golden footlights pick out the set on a half-lit stage. The first songbird trilled, another answered, then the valley was full of music.

I felt a wonderful sense of anticipation, the same feeling I’d had just before the curtain came up in the Helen Hayes Theatre.

Do we voraciously consume books, movies, television, music, video games, not for themselves, but for that wonderful feeling of anticipation as the entertainment starts? Are our lives so constrained and boring that we need that artificial jolt to feel alive? This one will be great. This one will fulfill, justify, empower me.

We think the feeling comes from the media, when it really comes from the dawn.

It’s the feeling of a new start. The feeling of the birth of one of the wonderful days of our life.

Take it back.

By S.J. Driscoll