Film Friday--"Bringing up Baby"

I've recently discovered Cary Grant, and my love for Cary Grant movies. I've seen several at this point, and I love them all for different reasons. My favorites are the "screwball comedies" and so I'll be talking about those for the next several weeks. The first is Bringing Up Baby. I'm sure y'all have probably seen this movie--I'm a late comer. I'm also woefully uneducated when it comes to classic movies, as Vivien can tell you. But much to her delight, I'm currently doing my best to rectify that.

I love Bringing Up Baby for several reasons. First, Cary Grant is just wonderfully hot in this film. I love a smart, slightly distracted, geeky, flustered man in thick glasses, I really do. I also love how Grant's character, David, changes throughout the film. As Kate Hepburn shakes up his life he becomes more confident and more assertive without losing that sweetness and sincerity that makes him so attractive.

The second, of course, is Kate Hepburn. Susan is the smart and independent woman you'd expect from Hepburn, but she's also playful and funny and oddly vulnerable. I immediately believe that she could fall in love with David so quickly, and I believe that David never had a choice but to fall in love with her.

Third is the sharp dialogue. I've seen this movie described as "sparkling" and that's a perfect description. This whole movie does sparkle. There are many laugh-out-loud moments, and I can't help but smile through the whole thing.

This movie differs from other screwball comedies in that David and Susan were not previously married. But it follows other genre conventions almost exactly. A marriage is central to the plot, as David is engaged and ultimately misses his wedding. It revolves around wealthy, upper-class people. In fact, the plot wouldn't work for lower class people. There's not a broader plot conflict than the relationship, though the movie does turn into a sort of "chase" movie, when they seek the bone and Baby. I think this movie (and the next move I plan to discuss, Holiday) are wonderful examples of the actual variety present in "screwball comedies." I think they're good analogues for romance novels. There are some standard rules for the genre (or sub-genre) but ultimately, the pleasure is in how the creators can work within the confines of genre to make something new and engaging.

Favorite Quote: "You're so good looking without your glasses."

This movie is available on DVD and through Netflix--you can watch it streaming if you have an account there. If you haven't seen the film, I highly, highly recommend it. It's like sitting down with a warm, cuddly blanket and a bowl of ice cream. If you have seen it, I suggest another viewing. You might be surprised by how much fun it is.

Things are going to change around here....

We haven't updated the blog in two weeks. That's very bad. The first week, I had an excuse because I was finishing up school. This last week, though, I was just lazy. Vivien has been staying with me since Wednesday, and after much discussion, we realized we were getting a bit bored with this blog, and blogging in general. So I thought we could do what we always do when we get bored--try something new.

Mondays will remain new releases/news round-up days. Wednesdays will remain Inspirational day--or Really Hot Boys day, as I call it. But on Tuesdays we'll post about our current WIPs, editing, and projects we're about to begin. Thursdays will be Character Days. Friday will be Film Friday. Saturday will be miscellaneous. Sunday will be Interesting Links/Internet Round-Up Day.

I just hope that we've still got some readers checking in here after we maintained radio silence for two weeks.

Tomorrow I'll be posting about a novel called 10,000 Kisses an untitled western/menage/may-december story, and the novella we just finished Calendar Boys--July: Vintage.

Flashback Friday--The Streets of Florence

Given yesterday's post about Italy, I thought I would post today about The Streets of Florence. I'm really fond of this story for two reasons--first, because I wrote it while I was in Florence and tried to pack as much of the atmosphere and details as I could and second, because it was the beginning of a so far very happy and lucrative relationship with Amber Quill Press. It was the Heatwave Winner in 2006, and AQP is a by-invitation only publisher. Also, the cover incorporates a photo I took in Florence--the building, not the man.

Anthony has spent his entire adult life chasing Christine, but she never allows herself to be caught. Once he finally stops searching for her, he runs into her on a business trip to Florence. He knows it can only end as it always does, with her walking out and him heartbroken. Nevertheless, he follows her back to her hotel, where he learns a shocking secret that can turn their entire relationship upside down...

And an excerpt.

Christine stopped outside room 207 and unlocked the door. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and unusually naked—unusually vulnerable. Those eyes stung his heart. He’d been driven through the streets of Florence by lust and the memories of it. But now he saw the girl he’d fallen in love with twenty years ago on a bright Sunday morning, and she was all he could see.

Anthony took her hand, gently bringing it up to his mouth. He kissed the knuckle of each finger, barely touching his lips against her skin. Still holding her hand, he opened the door. He inhaled deeply as she brushed against him, intoxicated by the sweetly familiar scent of her hair.

They stood in the room silently, within touching distance, but not making any contact. A purple past swirled between them, almost thick enough to touch, almost thick enough to keep them from touching.

“I missed you,” she finally whispered.

The small concession was enough to make Anthony move. He folded his arms around her, holding her tightly against him, and kissed her deeply. It was like kissing a completely different woman. She didn’t resist him at all, didn’t fight him. She melted beneath him, wrapping her arms around him, responding to his mouth with passionate sincerity.

“Say you missed me, too,” she said against her mouth.

“I missed you,” he breathed, pulling the coat from her shoulders. They let it fall to the floor without a second glance. His hands worked frantically, desperate to get beneath her clothes and touch her soft skin. He pulled her sweater over her head and unsnapped her bra. “I missed you, I missed you.”

They tumbled backward to the bed, Anthony still undressing her as they moved. Christine stretched out in front of him, as sleek and smooth as a cat in the filtered sunlight. He pulled her lacy thong down her thighs, following the path of his fingers with his lips.

“I missed you,” he murmured against her thighs like a prayer. “I missed you.” He licked the sensitive skin of her inner-thigh, tasting the salt-sweet spice of her skin. “I missed you.” What he meant was I love you, and they were the last words he could speak now.

Writer's Block: If you were independently wealthy...

If you were independently wealthy, where in the world would you live and how would you spend your time?

This is easy. I currently live in Utah for various reasons (education, work, family), though I don't necessarily love it here. I mean, I grew up here. I have roots here. A lot of who I am and what I believe stems from my years in Utah, but I don't really love it here. The winters are long and sucktastic. There are strange liquor laws. Once you venture out of Salt Lake City, you're entering a strange no-man's land, where everything closes at 8 on the weeknights, and nothing is open at all on Sunday. Of course, there are good things, too. But I usually joke that I hope my exile is temporary.

Due to that joke, most people probably think I would live in California if I could live anywhere. That makes sense. I love Los Angeles. Vivien lives in California. My husband is from California, and a good number of my family lives in California, too. I love the convenience, I love the variety, I love the sheer number of, well, everything and anything. Not that California is perfect. It's too hot half the year. The freeway system and traffic is really frightening. Oh, and it's expensive. Everything is expensive.

But I don't want to live in California.

I want to go back to Rome.



I spent three weeks there three years ago. For about six months after I returned, Rome was all I could talk about. I love every single thing about that place. Yeah, I nearly got mugged there. Yeah, sometimes I got lost and it was scary. But it was so beautiful. So perfect. And I felt like I really, really belonged. I periodically get "Rome sick." I want to go back there with my sister next year, and we've discussed the logistics of living there for a few months, because she feels the same way I do. Watching movies set in Rome is difficult--I had a hard time with Roman Holiday!




As for what I'd do there, I would write. I would visit churches. I would watch the sun set from the Spanish Steps. I would go to museums. I would sit in cafes and drink cappuccinos and smoke Camels. I would go to concerts at the Coliseum. I would go out and walk every morning at 6, so I could watch the city wake up. I would take the train to Florence and Napoli. I'd go to Venice and Tuscany. I'd drink wine with every meal. I would absorb the history of Rome through my skin and my tongue. I'd get by on a little bit of Spanish and learn Italian. I'd watch MTV Europe, and movies dubbed in Italian. I'd take trips to Spain, to France, maybe even Greece. I would eat McDonalds when I got homesick, and have pizza every day for lunch. I'd take a nap every afternoon during siesta. I'd go out on Saturday nights and risk the pickpockets to wander the streets with the rest of Rome. I'd go to soccer games. I'd buy cheap sunglasses and cheaper purses from street vendors.




Incidentally, I wrote The Streets of Florence while I was staying in Florence. I'm not good with photographs or journaling. It's the postcard I wrote to myself.

Flashback Fridays--The Zebra Wore...

After the success of The Zebra Wore Fishnets, I became interested in Aden and Kevin's back story. They were clearly very passionate about each other, and they had been together for a long time. Kevin even went to law school because of Aden! So I ended up writing two short stories, The Zebra Wore Black Leather and The Zebra Wore Blue Jeans, and published them with Whiskey Creek Press as a Torrid Teasers collection.

Kevin needs a nude, male model to finish an art project. Aden is the last person he expects to knock on his door. Handsome, charming, and a little dangerous, it's lust at first sight for Kevin. But this lust has the potential to grow into something much more powerful.

And now, a new excerpt.

Kevin studied the sketch in the early morning light, his body tingling at the memory of Aden naked just feet away from him. The image of Aden’s nude body was seared on his memory—all he had to do was close his eyes. He knew he wouldn’t be able to move onto a new project until he finished this portrait, and he suspected that Aden would somehow affect all his future work.

A sharp rap on the door pulled Kevin from his thoughts. “Yeah, coming.”

Aden was leaning against the wall, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Aden? I thought…I didn’t think you’d be here today.”

“We have a project to finish, right? Also, I still need that cash. Do you have a light?”

“Come in…I…no, I don’t. I don’t smoke,” Kevin said, shutting the door behind him. His heart was lodged in his throat, his breath caught in his lungs.

“Oh.” He tossed the cigarette away before pulling his shirt off. “Same position as before?”

“No…I mean, yes, but the lighting is different, see? We’ll have to wait until this afternoon. You can come back if you want…”

“Well, maybe we can find a way to kill a few hours,” Aden said, sitting on the couch. Grinning, he put his feet up on the table. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s best if you come back after lunch,” Kevin said, handing Aden his discarded shirt.

Aden took it from him, but he didn’t put it on. “Why don’t you like me, Kevin?”

Kevin blinked. “What? I…what? No, I like you. Why do you think I don’t?”

“Well, you beat a pretty hasty retreat last night, didn’t you? And you look less than thrilled now.” Aden stood up, still clutching his shirt. “I guess I read this wrong.”

Kevin’s tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth. He reached for Aden without
thinking, stopping him before he could turn to the door. “I left last night because I was a little surprised. I mean, I…” Kevin took a deep breath, deciding to tell the truth and damn the consequences. “Tamara is really amazing, and I feel like a fool for turning it all down, I do, but I…”

“What?”

Kevin looked up into Aden’s eyes, knowing that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to lie to him, or turn away. “I want you.”

Aden smiled, stepping closer until only an inch separated them. Kevin looked down at Aden’s bare skin, itching to touch him, kiss him, lick him. It was a physical need, like eating, and the need was accompanied with a physical pain. If Aden stayed, Kevin didn’t think he could control himself. He already felt a little drunk, a little dizzy, just from the close proximity.

“Why didn’t you just say so last night?” Aden asked, his breath warm against Kevin’s mouth.

Kevin’s self-control reached its breaking point and snapped. He grabbed Aden’s shoulder, his fingers digging into Aden’s skin as he crushed Aden’s mouth beneath his, kissing the blond with all the lust roaring through his body. He ran his other hand down Aden’s chest, finally touching the firm skin that had haunted his dreams the night before. Aden kissed him back with as much ferocity, not holding anything back, grabbing the back of Kevin’s head to hold him in place.

Go here for more information

Just a short update...

So here I am at Vivien's, and we're trying to finish up the sixth installment in the Calendar Boys series, a little novella called Commencement. Vivien's kids are playing video games with my sisters. And we're all completely stuffed with food. It's actually one of the best days I've had this entire year. It's just really freaking nice to relax, to enjoy the warm California weather, and to do the thing I love to do more than anything--write with Vivien.

Not that this is a good time for me to take a break from reality. I've got my MA exams in 12 days, and I've got to do a conference, and I've got to work on papers. I know that the timing could have been better. But sometimes, you've just go to take a break, you know? Recharge the batteries. In a lot of ways, Vivien's house is becoming the haven I run to when I'm beat from school and the rest of the world. So where do you go when it's time to recharge? It could be a real, physical place, like a house in CA, or just an imaginary space, like a good book, or an X-Box 360 game.

Writer's Block: What's the biggest leap of faith you've ever had to take?

I've been thinking about this question, and I've decided i can't narrow it down to just one answer. There were 3 huge leaps of faith I made, and to me, they're all equally big.

The first is graduate school. I still don't know how this will work out for me. I mean, it's not like getting an MA in British and American Literature is a guarantee for a future career. Not even an academic career, because you have to have a PhD to be a full time English professor. I worry about it, because I know what I'm learning in grad school is not just literature. I'm learning to analyze text. I'm learning to teach. I'm sharpening my skills as a writer. These are good skills to have, especially if I don't want to just work in academia. So hopefully, this leap of faith is a good one.

The second is marriage. I got married when I was eighteen, just ten days after I graduated high school. Everybody was against this union. Everybody. People thought I wouldn't go to college. People thought the marriage would fall apart in the first year. People thought I was too young/stupid to know what I was doing. I met my husband when I was fifteen, so I knew him for three years when we got married. But I never really had any doubts that it was the right thing to do. He has always been just what I needed and wanted in a life partner. He supports me in every way possible. He put me through school. He does what I can so I can focus on my writing. He agreed to disrupt our entire lives and move from CA to Utah so I could go to grad school. If I need something, he makes it happen. Yeah, marriage isn't easy. But we've known each other for ten years now, and he's never, ever made me regret my decision for a second.

The third leap of faith I took was when I began selling books with Vivien. Of course, we already knew we wrote well together. We were writing for months before we started submitting our books. But this is my career, you know? I had to have implicit trust in her--in her style, in the way she works, that she won't leave me high and dry when we have contracts to fulfill. In theory, it's a huge risk. But I never really felt like it was a huge risk. Like my wedding, I had faith that it was the right thing to do. And Vivien has never, ever made me regret that decision. In fact, every day I find new reasons to be thankful that we took this leap together. On every level. I never would have met my beloved characters without her--and honestly, a life without Nathan (from Chasing Silver) and Jesse (from The Master Chronicles) is not a life I want to know. We've had more success together than we have separately. And more fulfilling than that, I've found my best friend, the other half of my brain, and somebody who just makes my life better.

So, those were my leaps of faith. Sometimes, you just got to go for it. Though I know that all in all, I am very fortunate (and maybe even blessed) person.

What's the biggest leap of faith you ever took?

Flashback Fridays--Mad World

On July 5, 2003, I wrote a little short story about a fateful meeting between a cop and prostitute, and I shared it with some friends. On November 10, 2003, that short story was turned into the first chapter of Mad World. The title and the inspiration came from the song Mad World, originally by Tears for Fears, but the version I was listening to was the Gary Jules version at the end of Donnie Darko. I started with the line I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad, the dreams in which I'm dying, are the best I ever had.

I don't write with outlines. I rarely write with themes in mind. Jason and Daisy are hard, scary characters. And the more I explored of their world, the more I fell in love with them. This book is the least romantic thing I have ever written (and yet, I think it's a great love story, I really do), and when I reached the end of the first draft, I understood the theme, or the conflict. What happens when your soul mate is the person most likely to destroy you.

I can honestly say, without exaggeration, that there is more of myself in that book than any other I've written. It went through approximately six drafts and revisions. I worried about every single word, every single moment, every single kiss, every single fight. Not that the book isn't flawed. It is. But I still love it.

For all my hard work (and I never worked so hard in my life) nobody wanted to buy this book. Every publisher I submitted to rejected it because it wasn't romantic enough, because there's too much sex, because Jason is not a likable hero. He isn't. He's an asshole. And Daisy is damaged to the point that she can't be fixed. They fuck, and they fight, and they bleed each other literally and metaphorically, and they're cruel, and they fall in love out of spite.

Though it is now published with Whiskey Creek, it barely has any sales. And I think that's always going to hurt me. I have other books that didn't sell well and will never sell well, but I barely give those a second thought. I don't have any other book that feels so much like it is my baby.

Anyway, here's the blurb:

Mutilated corpses litter Pomona, California, and Detective Jason Squires is pressured to find a killer who leaves no evidence. His private life is a nightmare as well. Estranged from his wife after the death of their infant son, he finds himself in the grip of growing obsession with young prostitute Daisy Winters.

As Jason and the killer dance around each other, Jason is increasingly distracted and frustrated by Daisy, who never loses control in their mercurial, passionate, and violent relationship. When the killer closes in on Jason—first murdering his wife, then targeting Daisy—the detective discovers that his lover doesn't need his protection.

Daisy is willing to do whatever it takes to protect herself and her interests, and she will take down anyone who gets in her way...including Jason himself.

Mad World is the story of Jason and Daisy. Their lives are tied together forever by an agonizing love and intense passion, and neither will escape the situation unchanged.

Here's an excerpt:

One eye was swollen, as well as her lip. A bruise had blossomed across her cheek. Her other bruises had just started to fade, and now her face was fucked up again. As fresh rage washed through her, she grabbed her purse. Inside was Warren’s wallet.Just the sight of the faded and used leather made her feel better. She needed some new clothes, and furniture, and he had several credit cards. She’d max them out before he even knew they were gone. He also had several hundred dollars in cash, and that made
her smile, though it hurt her lip.

Daisy tried not to think about what Jason would do to her when he saw the evidence of what had happened. Draco would have devised clever schemes to punish her without adding more marks and bruises to her body. She didn’t want him to see how angry
and helpless she felt either. She didn’t want him to know that she was so weak…didn’t want him to think that she had any weaknesses.

Because he would be wrong.

Finally, over an hour after she stepped into the shower, she felt like she could face Jason. He’d take what he wanted from her, and hopefully that would be enough to make him leave. She’d just close her eyes and think about the fact that she was at least six hundred dollars richer. In a few days, she would have enough to get the fuck out of Dodge. A small part of her hoped that he would just want to take care of her, but she squashed that thought as soon as she had it. It would be stupid and ridiculous to think for even a second that Jason would have any sort of gentle or benevolent feelings for her.

She wasn’t in the least surprised to see Jason stretched out in her bed, like he owned it. His brow was creased, and he was tapping his fingers nervously. It looked as though he was deep in thought. Without speaking, Daisy laid out on the bed, still unable to really look at him.

He quietly hooked his finger around her chin and forced her to look up. Jason examined her face and then stood up. It wasn’t long before he returned with ice, wrapped in a towel. He sat down on the bed again, and gently placed the ice on her eye. Daisy waited for several minutes, but Jason didn’t make another move
towards her.

Daisy didn’t know how to react. Should she thank him?

Should she tell him it wasn’t necessary and to get the fuck out of her house? Should she give in to the rage that still threatened to overtake her and take it out on him? She could scream and punch and kick and claw and lose herself in his familiar, known violence. He could take it. But he wouldn’t.

Blackness welled up inside of her, and all she could see and feel was coated in it. The resolution that she had made in the bathroom to make Warren pay was lost. The joy over the money and credit cards slipped away. She closed her eyes and imagined putting an end to the constant pain with one final bang of fury and passion.
She could push Jason and push him and push him. Every button, every sore spot, everything he didn’t want her to touch. Then all her problems would be solved.

Daisy could see it clearly. It flashed in her mind like a bright Technicolor movie, everything sharply in focus. He’d pound into her and she’d sneer and laugh and mock him until his strong fingers wrapped around her neck and squeezed, until the world turned fuzzy, then gray, then black. Just like that.

“Jason?” Her voice was soft so she wouldn’t betray her emotions.

“Hmm?” Jason moved the bundle of ice to the other side of her face.

“I’m…tired.”

“Okay.”

“I mean…” Daisy paused and shook her head. “Look, if you want to fuck me, can we just get it out of the way? I want to go to sleep.”

Jason pulled the ice from her face, and set the towel on the floor. “It’s a chore, then?”

“It’s always a chore. Everything…” Daisy sighed and turned her head. “I just want to sleep.”

“Then go to sleep,” Jason replied indifferently.

“You don’t want to…”

“Go to sleep Daisy.”

“Are you staying here?”

“Do you want me to?”

The question seemed genuine and sincere. In her mind, she felt his hand on her throat. In reality, it fluttered above her face, the tips of his fingers barely touching her. Daisy didn’t speak immediately. Instead she turned on her side away from him and flipped off the light. When the darkness had safely fallen over them
and obscured her face, she answered softly, “If you want to.”

Jason did.

More information here.

Inspirations--Wilco

I'm still feeling under the weather. My fever broke, but my throat is sore, my sinuses are sore, my back is sore, and I'm exhausted. But, time stops for no man, and I have a lot of work to do! So I rejoined the land of the living, and I'm hoping to get through my classes without passing out. In the mean time, I thought I'd blog about a source of inspiration who is not exactly a pretty face---Jeff Tweedy, the singer-songwriter-frontman for the band Wilco. Hey, I'm sick. I can blog about what makes me happy.

I'm in love with Jeff Tweedy. My husband understands. I think he's in love with him, too.

Here's Jeff, looking thoughtful in his jean jacket.



Here's Jeff, looking thoughtful with his guitar.



This is Jeff, proving that not only is freaking brilliant, he's a fan of The Colbert Report, which automatically makes him about 100x cooler.



This is Jeff on one of his solo shows. I saw Jeff when he was doing his most recent solo tour. He played in San Diego in a really small venue. It was an amazing experience.



This is Jeff when he was very young and played in the very influential band, Uncle Tupelo.



Jeff is also a very cool guy. He's the coolest guy I ever heard of. You can get a sense of just how cool he is by looking at his wardrobe.



Finally, here is a track from Wilco's latest album, Sky Blue Sky. It's my favorite track. It's also brilliant live. I got a chance to see Wilco for the fifth time in August, in Berkeley. But only because Vivien agreed to go with me and let me stay in her house. See how much she loves me? She even caters to my Wilco addiction. Anyway, here it is, Impossible Germany.

It's been a hard day's night....

Yesterday, the local art theater played A Hard Day's Night for the midnight show. I have seen A Hard Day's Night approximately one hundred times. Maybe even one hundred and fifty. We wore out two VHS tapes. We have it on DVD. Sometimes, it'll show up on Sundance or IFC or Retroplex, and if I see it's on, I'll watch it again. When I was about fourteen, I listened to the Beatles Anthology Vol 2 Disc 1, with my sister, and we both fell in love with this band that broke up twelve years before we were even born.

We developed an obsession. As far as obsessions go, it was a pretty strong one. It lasted for about four years, and then we moved on to other things and interests. We never got to see the Beatles live--though I've seen Paul McCartney in concert, and if Ringo goes on tour again, I'll see him if he comes my way. My parents were born in the early 60s, and so they barely remember Beatlemania. Just in hindsight. Hell, I was born two years after John Lennon died. And yet...

I can feel that magic. When we watch A Hard Day's Night, especially on the big screen, I can feel that magic. But, I don't necessarily want to talk about how awesome (and hot) the Fab Four are. I want to talk about how A Hard Day's Night is actually a really good movie in its own right. I'm not entirely sure why. It has no narrative plot--"A day in the life" isn't really a plot. It's conflict is introduced through the machination of Paul's grandfather, but overall, it's not a huge element. Though they do a really good job of setting it up, I think. Ringo has a inferiority complex, he's a bit sulky, he's feeling caged in, he can't get lucky with the ladies (though John and Paul don't seem to have this problem), and to add insult to injury, he's expected to babysit Paul's grandfather!

The script is also pretty good. Seriously, it cracks me up every time.

Also, the directing and editing is great. Dick Lester is credited, by some, with inventing the music video. There were a lot of movies that featured rock 'n roll acts prior to A Hard Day's Night, but none of them were about the bands or musicians.

Ok, I'm rambling a lot. I'll just wrap this up by saying it's an awesome movie and I'll love it even if I see it 10,000 times.

Happy Valentine's Day!--Favorite Poetry

In honor of the Day of Lovers, I want to post some of my favorite love poems. The first is Lord Byron's She Walks in Beauty.

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Keeping with the Romantics, I'm always moved by the simplicity and elegance of Samuel T. Coleridge's Presence of Love.

And in Life's noisiest hour,
There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee,
The heart's Self-solace and soliloquy.
______________________

You mould my Hopes, you fashion me within ;
And to the leading Love-throb in the Heart
Thro' all my Being, thro' my pulses beat ;
You lie in all my many Thoughts, like Light,
Like the fair light of Dawn, or summer Eve
On rippling Stream, or cloud-reflecting Lake.
And looking to the Heaven, that bends above you,
How oft ! I bless the Lot, that made me love you.

Of course, love isn't always sweet and roses, no matter what Hallmark will have you believe on February 14. That's why I also love Pablo Naruda, who can also capture the chaos and passion of love. Here's I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You

I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

Neruda's Sonnet XI is also another poem that really punches me in the gut.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Finally, I want to show you just how hot and intense poetry can be. This is a short clip from the BBC. Damian Lewis is reciting To His Coy Mistress. You better believe I drew on this clip for inspiration when we were writing A Hidden Beauty. It's so hot, I draw on this clip for inspiration for a lot of things.



And who can forget William the Bloody?
My heart expands
'tis grown a bulge in it
inspired by your beauty, effulgent.

Why I cheered for the Giants

I love football. It's my favorite thing. The off-season is long and bleak, and I'm already feeling bummed that there won't be anymore football until after Labor Day (the pro-bowl doesn't count). My favorite team is the Denver Broncos. I grew up with them. I love them. I love them when they win. I love them when they lose. They really hurt me this season, but I still love them.

This season, in general, was hard on me. The New England Patriots was going to win it all. Everybody knew that from the second week. That was the season's narrative. The plan. The Way It Was. Knowing how the season is going to end in the middle of September really takes all the fun out of it. I couldn't muster much enthusiasm for the post-season until after the final game of the season, when the Patriots defeated the Giants by the field goal.

The Pats had a weakness. And the Giants just needed a second chance to exploit it.

I'm not a bitter person who hates the Pats just because they're "perfect." Nothing they did this season had any bearing on the Broncos. And I am entirely indifferent to the Giants. So regardless of the outcome tonight, it wouldn't make a huge difference to me.

But...I'm a sucker for the underdog. I have always been a sucker for the underdog. Hey, I'm a Broncos fan (and a Utah Jazz fan in the basketball realm). Cheering for the underdog is often a requirement. Tom Brady is the undisputed alpha-male of the NFL. Eli Manning is the little punk kid. Most of his fans hate him. most everybody hates him because he isn't his brother, Peyton. He's made mistakes. He's been known to choke. He's not battle-scarred. In fact, in many ways, he reminds me of an eager puppy.

Eli Manning challenged his alpha-male tonight. He met him, head-to-head. Fearlessly. Even calmly. And he won.

that's why I cheered for the Giants. Because nobody thought they should be there. Nobody thought they could win. The entire fucking NFL forgot that everything can change on any given Sunday. I cheered for the Giants because for 60 minutes, they embodied what the National Football League should be about. Triumph. Excitement. Power. Dominance. As Tom Petty sang tonight during the half-time show, Eli stood his ground.

Congratulations to him.

And to the Patriots--there's always next year.

Six unique things about Pepper....

I put off writing this all day because I'm lazy. Also because I'm not sure what unique things I should write about. So here's a hodgepodge of personal information about me.

1. I know how to kill, gut, pluck (or skin), clean, wrap, freeze and cook a chicken. I figure this is a skill a lot of people had once upon a time, but it's not so common these days. So if the Zombie Apocalypse happens and I need to feed my family on wild chickens, I'll be able to do it.

2. I'm an excellent shot. Especially with a .22.

3. I sold my first novel 3 years ago this month, when I was 22.

4. I once waited on Joe Mantegna. He bought two slices of cheese pizza when I worked at The Red Banjo in Park City. It was during Sundance. He was the only celebrity I met that year.

5. I was a voracious reader and tackled Gone With the Wind when I was 8 years old. I've read it about every 2-3 years since then, and it's still my favorite book of all time.

6. Some of the best things that have ever happened to me have been a result of my obsessions. For example, I met my husband because of my Beatles obsession. I met Vivien because of my Buffy the Vampire Slayer obsession.

Comanche Moon Mini-Series Review

Earlier this week, Vivien said, "Sometimes I think you want to be Larry McMurtry when you grow up." And she's right. I absolutely want to be Larry McMurtry with all my heart. My mom recorded Lonesome Dove off the television, and my sister and I watched it over and over and over again. When I got a bit older, I read Lonesome Dove, Comanche Moon, and Dead Man's Walk. I own Streets of Laredo, but I haven't read it yet, because my favorite character dies in Lonesome Dove and I knew I'd miss him too much.

Anyway, knowing my great love for Larry McMurtry, my husband informed me several months ago that there would be a mini-series on CBS of Comanche Moon. I was shaking with excitement by last Sunday. Freaking Val Kilmer was playing Innish Scull! I didn't have any strong feelings about Karl Urban or Steve Zahn, but I lurve them now. I think they did a fantastic job, and I was thrilled to death with how they portrayed my two favorite literary characters, Woodrow F Call and Augustus McCray.

But the mini-series was panned by reviewers. I was confused and disappointed by this. I thought the first night was pretty great. I thought the second night was pretty good. Then I hit night 3. And I realized that no matter what, Comanche Moon had two things working against it. First it's a prequel. Prequels are freaking hard. For example, you know that the villain, Blue Duck, is not going to die. The other main villain, Ahumado was not killed by the Rangers. It's hard to be invested in the main relationships (Call/Maggie, Gus/Clara), when you know exactly how it's going to end. And that is "Not well."

The second problem is that it's an adaptation. In the book, it makes perfect sense that Ahumado is killed by a scorpion and a parrot. Unfortunately, that's not very exciting for viewers. "So, like, it doesn't even matter if the Rangers show up? What the hell is the point of this?!" Things that work in a book don't necessarily work on the screen. That's just one of many things that just can't be conveyed properly.

Oddly enough, despite the futility of it, the mini-series really did emphasize the relationships between Call and Maggie and Gus and Clara. This movie (and Lonesome Dove) was, at its heart, a love story. Not a romance. And it's more than a little tragic.

Ultimately, I love this movie, and i do plan on buying the DVD when its released. But I think it needs to be watched with a bit of generosity and a bit of forgiveness. The characters are complicated, flawed, and satisfying. The story, unfortunately, just sets up Lonesome Dove.

Movies--Battleship Potemkin

I'm taking a Film Theory class this semester, so I've got a whole list of movies to watch--13 in total. Only two of which I've seen. We're not focusing on any particular period or type, near as I can tell, so there is a really good variety of movies currently on my Netflix queue. I thought since I had to watch one per week anyway, I'd blog about it here. Just to shake things up a little bit.

The first film on my list is Battleship Potemkin. I was a little bit wary of this one, because in some ways, I'm very uncultured, and I didn't know if I wanted to watch a silent, Russian film with sub-titles. But man, was I wrong. Battleship Potemkin is one of the most intense films I have ever seen.

The description I read of Battleship Potemkin called it a propaganda film, and of course, it is. The propaganda elements can't be ignored. But that's not why the film works. If it was just propaganda, I don't think anybody would really be interested in 83 years after it was made. It's actually got some serious moments of ambiguity that makes you think about and question what you are watching, especially at the end of part 2, when the leader of the revolt (or mutiny!) on the ship is murdered, and in part 3, when everybody rallies around his death and turns him into a serious martyr.

There are some really effective shots, as well. Obviously, since it's a silent, the "dialogue" is sparse. Of course, that means none of the words are wasted. Everything is pointed, and it carries even more of an emotional punch. The music is also extremely dramatic. It made me think of a ballet--which I suppose is pretty obvious, but I don't think I've ever watched a full-length silent before.

It's actually making me think a lot about the way I tell stories. Obviously, I don't have a very strong, dramatic musical score to rely on to raise the tension--and in the version of Battleship Potemkin I saw, the soundtrack is very intense. But the filmmaker, Sergi Eisenstein, frames some very effective images that said more than any words ever could. There was on scene when the army began shooting indiscriminately into the gathering, agitated crowd. They hit a boy. But that wasn't the end. The boy fell and was trampled. His distraught mother finally found him, picked him up, and carried him to the advancing soldiers. She begged for help. They shot her. Again, the film is propaganda, so of course, there was no other way that particular scene could end. But even though I knew it was coming, and knew I was being manipulated, the way the scene was shot and presented still hit me right in the gut.

I'm going to watch it again before we discuss it in class on Wednesday. But my initial, gut reaction was just "wow." It also made me feel personally very agitated, tense, frustrated, and scared. I guess that's why it's called propaganda--I was ready to go fight the Tsar, too.

"Wouldn't it be nice if..."

This was supposed to be the day reserved for my thoughts. This presupposes I have thoughts to share. I actually don't, right now. It's late on a Saturday night--though through the magic of the Interwebs you'll be seeing this on Sunday--and I'm watching M*A*S*H, reflecting on my lack of diet Coke, and trying to write the beginning of chapter 8 of our current novella.

I would post about my New Year's Resolutions, but I always fail, and then feel like a failure for the rest of the year, so why put myself through that? I have a series of "Wouldn't it be nice...?" statements, though.

Wouldn't it be nice if I graduate?
Wouldn't it be nice if I started eating healthy meals?
Wouldn't it be nice if this whole writing thing becomes more like a career?

There's less pressure that way. I also have less weighty considerations.

Wouldn't it be nice if I found an awesome new author this year?
Wouldn't it be nice if the new Star Trek movie rocks my socks?
Wouldn't it be nice if Wilco announces a concert in Salt Lake City?

Ok, so, those three things are a little out of my hands, but still, they would be nice, wouldn't they?

So, forget about NYR's. What are your "Wouldn't it be nice..." statements?