First Concert

Yesterday would have been Joe Strummer's 60th birthday. As sad as it is that he has been gone 10 years, I can't help but smile because the first concert I ever saw was The Clash. 

I was 15 and my parents had to drive.  They dropped me and my friend off at the Fox Theatre, which was yet unrefurbished (possibly not a word, I don't care).  Though I have no pictures of the event, I would bet good money that I wore some over-sized top, a pair of jeans (with naturally formed holes), and my favorite grey boots with the black straps.  I am also willing to bet that my hair was over my face.

I was there with other kids I kind of knew, all of whom were a year older than me. There isn't much to tell, really. I didn't keep track of the set list.  I've moved a gazillion times, so I know I don't have the ticket stub.  I do remember that we were seated to the left of the stage, only three rows from the most enormous amps possible.  My ears rang for a week after the show (no exaggeration). I remember that we stood on the chairs for the whole show because there was no way I was getting down front near the real punks.  I was just an angsty teenage girl from wonder bread land. And, I loved the show and kept the t-shirt until it fell apart.

The funniest part of the night had to be the guys behind us - four guys in varsity jackets!  Jocks! Oh the horror! Well, before the show started, they were completely stoned. They sat with their heads in their hands, looking miserable.  We all had a good laugh at them.  I just couldn't imagine paying all that money and not remembering a thing. 

What's the story behind your first concert?

Do you still love me? You're fuck!

Somewhere along the line in second grade, a clearly troubled child taught his classmates the "f-word." I did not hear this word until fourth grade.  My parents swore liberally, but the "f-word" was verboten.

I, also, am capable of swearing like a drunk sailor.  But, I have worked very hard to not swear in front of my child.  At first this decision was based on the notion that he was 14 months behind in learning English, so it was best to use the very best word possibly. Since Andrew was diagnosed with autism, and subsequently with child maltreatment syndrome, I am more pleased with my choice as I just don't want to hear him repeat those words over and over.  Sadly, another child intervened and my hard work has been undone. Damn that little shit with the dirty mouth.

This summer has been daunting.  Andrew has no filter and swears at least once every 10 minutes - usually, the "f-word." That on top of his incessant pinching of my arms and thighs and my head has spun every day. This past weekend was the straw that broke this camel's back.

As a family, the three (yes, all three of us) decided to take a road trip to Cleveland.  Andrew complains vociferously about me traveling to shows or to London.  "It's not fair," he whines.  I have talked before about how my family really didn't travel and I don't want that to be the case with my child.  So, we thought a short trip, only three hours away, would be a good start.  We were wrong.

Our first stop was at the Great Lakes Science Center where he was completely over-stimulated. That led to a temper tantrum in the hotel.  He actually laid on the floor in front of the elevator and refused to get up.  That, however, was not the worst moment.  In the gift shop at the Aquarium, on Saturday morning, he wanted some junky toy and I kept reminding him to not paw everything in the store.  He told me to "fuck off." What am I supposed to do?  Yell? Whack him? Nope, none of the above.  I deaden my emotions and growl that it is now time to leave.  But, thanks to "child maltreatment syndrome, this reaction scares him senseless. He begs, "do you still love me" and then in the next breath, he tells me I'm a fuck mom. This went on for a couple of hours.  I was in tears, driving home. His father was exhausted and distraught. I looked at him said, "We don't have the answers, we need professional help." I made that call today, and I will keep making whatever calls need to be made.

I wanted so much to write about London, but I have spent two days crying sporadically.  I guess I needed to get it all off my chest.

London 2012 - Day 1(ish)

This summer, one of my favorite cities in the world hosted the summer Olympics.  I kind of enjoys big spectacles like the Olympics and love London, so why not combine those and have a visit. My friend Gill kindly agreed to tolerate my presence in her house for a week and even arranged for tickets to see men's beach volleyball.  I bought my plane ticket and left on August 1st.

Sadly, a few days before my trip, I came down with a cold that would dog me for the duration of my visit, keeping me coughing and tired most days.  Oh well.

The first night, took us to The Pelton Arms, a pub in Greenwich.  Despite the fact no none of the my friends live in Greenwich, this spot has become the home base thanks to our favorite singer, Glenn Tilbrook. Simon, Nic, Cathy, Sue, Neal, and Roger all met me and Gill at the pub. We didn't stay too late as Gill, Cathy, and Sue want to get back to Gill's so we could watch a Steve Poltz Stageit show. A shocking side note to my trip is that I did NOT see Squeeze perform.  It feels weird, but I'll get over it.

Just because there was no official Squeeze action for me does not mean I did not get a little Squeeze fix.  I traveled about with Cathy and Sue to find important spots in early Squeeze history.  For example, we found the house where they wrote "Cool for Cats," and the shop where Chris placed a slightly deceptive ad for a guitarist which Glenn answered. It was great fun and Cathy should be proud of her abilities as a detective as she located all these spots through Google maps and the following video

After our Squeeze pilgrimage, we met up with Simon and Nic in Shoreditch.  I wasn't there long as I needed to meet Gill close to Hyde Park for a couple of free concerts.  Sadly, I suffered an Olympic career ending boo-boo on my knee as I slipped in line, but I'll survive.

Inside Hype Park, we met Roger and turned our thoughts to food, beverage, and music. The first show was a band called Dodgy.  I had never heard of them, but the show was enjoyable and free.

There was a little time before the next act, so food and a spot in front of one the many big screen television was our next goal.  The park had been turned into a big gathering spot for people who wanted a communal experience of the games, but couldn't afford tickets.  We watched Andy Murray beat Novak Djokovic.  Needless to say, the place exploded when  he match was over. Perfect timing, as it was now time for the next act.

Again, I had never heard of the band, Cast.  They obviously had a larger following as the crowd was considerably bigger than for the first gig.  I also enjoyed their music much more, though I can't really pinpoint why.

That's all for the first day.  More to come tomorrow.

Can music save your mortal soul?

Last night, I attended my fourth Squeeze concert of the year.  For this one, I drove, all by myself, to Milwaukee to attend the annual Summerfest.  Squeeze was scheduled to take the stage at 9:30 p.m.

I took advantage of the free admission before 3:00 policy and found the stage and wandered the grounds, which were about a mile from my hotel, for a little while.  I was tired and sweaty from my drive, so I went back to my hotel to freshen up and grab a bite to eat. As usual, I wasn't very hungry, so soup, salad, and a glass of Merlot filled my belly quite nicely.

The city runs a shuttle for Summerfest, so I hopped on and met two women from South Dakota,  They had driven all that way to see Hanson (not Simon).  They, Marilyn and Ashley, were a mother-daughter team and they were really sweet.  It turns out that the Hanson brothers were staying in my hotel ( as were the ladies) and Ashley had just met the guys and of course was floating on air.

The bus arrived and I walked around for a bit with Ashley and her mom, but we quickly parted company and I wanted to head the stage where Squeeze would be performing later.  I wanted to say hello, if possible and if not, I wanted to grab a spot up front.

That was to be, as I ran into Simon Hanson (not Mmm Bop) chatting with a couple.  He saw me, called me over and introduced me to Ken and Susan. They had been to the show on Saturday in Iowa.  Ken is a drummer, so he and Simon hit it off.  The four of us wandered the grounds and then Simon needed to go check in, so I stayed on with Susan and Ken.

I had badges, from a friend, to deliver to the guys in the band, Simon was the first to get his.  So occasionally, we would head back toward the stage to see if I could find anyone, to complete my mission.  As luck would have it, who wanders around the corner but Glenn Tilbrook.  We chatted for a bit (he was eating) and he said 'I'll see you after the show."

I'll skip everything else and jump right to the show.  I decided that on this night, I wanted to just be an fan.  I took very few pictures, danced like a mad woman, and did not write down the set list.  They played the usual set, along with two new songs: "The Honey Trap" and "Top of the Form" (my personal favorite).  The audience really seemed to enjoy both of those songs.  Glenn was chatty and happy from stage and during the encore, in honor of Neil Diamond playing a few stages over, played a little "Sweet Caroline."

The wonderful show ended, the crowd went home and I went back to say hello.  Stephen, John, and Simon all stopped to talk about how the tour was going and how brutal the weather had been. Then Glenn came out, signed a few autograph, and got caught by plastic people, including one Barbie and her husband Ken.

By this time, the only people left were me (by myself), Glenn, and the plastic people.  I at least wanted to say bye to GT, so I lingered around while Barbie and her husband talked.  Barbie saw me and made a very snarky comment to me.  I will not dignify her comment by repeating it, but clearly it was meant to size me up and determine whether she should be polite to me or not.  My response led her to dismiss me, which backfired on her as GT turned down her and her husband's invitation to walk around the festival grounds with the response, "No, I really want to get back to my book."  That made me smile. So they left and I asked Glenn what he was reading.  Hitch 22, by Christopher Hitchens is his current read.  This led us to a whole conversation about writing and editing. I mentioned that I had written a novel, which elicited the most delightful expression from GT, I can't quite describe it.

He asked me genuine questions about the book.  I told him it was about a high school English teacher.  He chuckled and said, "Really , where'd that idea come from?" Smart ass.  Then we had this great conversation about editing, including how it feels when someone else goes through your work.  He shared his experience about columns he had written for a paper in the UK.  He asked what my editor had done, if she had made story suggestions and I revealed a big plot point in my story that my editor thought needed punching up.

We were interrupted by Barbie, who wanted to tell him how much the songs and words meant to her when she was a teenager and finally by someone else who wanted a picture. I had no idea what time it was.  I just knew that I didn't want to miss the shuttle and end up walking alone through an unfamiliar city.  I didn't want to go.  I never get to talk to anyone about writing. Frankly, I think he was enjoying the conversation, too. He said he'll see me Saturday and I caught the shuttle back to my hotel.

I can't wait until Saturday.  I just want to talk about writing.

Sex

Yup!  It has come to this.  Sex is the topic for tonight. Not sweaty, moaning, body aching sex that is had with another person.  I don't even remember that kind.  Nope, I am committing the ultimate switch-and-bait as I want to discuss sex in literature/fiction.

The other day on my FB profile, I took an informal survey about 50 Shades of Grey. I have just finished The Hunger Games trilogy and I thought that maybe something a little saucy would be fun. I have heard that it's pretty kinky, so vicarious living might be a good thing. 

I was surprised at how many friends gave the book a big thumbs down. Poor writing, one complained. Story drags a bit, said another. Hype and not really sexy proclaimed another.  Overall, more shoulder shrugs than I was expecting. That got me to thinking about what we as readers expect when it comes to sex scenes in a book or short piece of fiction.

I have two sex scenes in my novel.  Neither are particularly explicit, though the first one is a little more detailed.  I pull out of both scenes before I have to say anything like "he plunged into her waiting and wet womanhood with a lifetime of pent-up passion coursing through his veins" (I don't even know how to write like that. To be honest, I don't know if people actually write like that.  Probably, just better than what I could muster). I leave the juicy tidbits up to the reader's imagination.  It's fairly obvious what is about to happen in both scenes and I just don't think the reader needs or even wants me to connect the dots. Besides, by the time I got to the second scene, I was giggling uncontrollably.  Not the case with the first one.

Is less better? Does it depend on how artfully the scene is written?  Anais Nin has some very graphic descriptions in her stories and I don't object.  Yet, she might be the only author I have read who aims to be sexually graphic (other than Ginsburg).

I've decided against 50 Shades of Grey.  I don't mind sex (are the gods listening out there), but I'm not sure that I'm interested in a book where that has been the big selling point.  I mean, I've seen porn and it's pretty stupid.  I prefer to use my brain a little more productively.

Actions > Words

I know, I know.  I should have started this process a long time ago.  I cannot even begin to formulate what an awful school year I had and how I allowed that to interfere.  But, I am now ready, even if I am scared to death.  It is a frightening prospect to make oneself vulnerable. I think that is why I love museums and music and other forms of art so much.  The artist cuts open his/her veins for us and shows us what's inside.  I guess I am about to really take that leap.  I've been talking about my book.  But it has been sitting on my flash drive, unloved for a while.  This summer must be the summer.  Walking instead of just talking.  Now, I need a little feedback.  Below, I have included a copy of a query letter I am set to send to agents this week.  Tell me honestly, does the story synopsis I have written have a good enough hook?  Is there something there you would want to know more about?  Just tell me - I'm opening my veins for all to see.



Dear Potential Agent (who will love me and my work),

I’d like to present to you a synopsis of my first novel, High Reality. It is the story of a mid-career English teacher working at low performing inner city school.

High Reality is a 40,000 word story set at Michael Collins High School located in a current day immigrant-filled Detroit area neighborhood.  The main characters in the story are Zoe Greene, a married English teacher, and David Tilford, a divorced Art teacher.  Aside from teaching English, Zoe is also the Student Council adviser and the teachers’ union vice-president. The two have successfully kept a two-year extra-marital affair secret, though their secret is under threat due to external circumstances beyond their control – reality television.

The school has been chosen to be the filming location for a reality show that is supposed to highlight the challenges in teaching in a high poverty, low-English proficiency neighborhood.  Of course, the reality of the reality show is that it will be edited to heighten any drama to boil quickly and manipulated from behind the scenes to urge people to behave their worst.  This manipulation mixes with the real life racial and ethnic tensions that have besieged the school for years, ultimately resulting in a drive-by tragedy.

I am a veteran teacher (16 years) who has spent her entire career teaching American Literature in a school similar to the one in my novel.  Because of my experience, I believe that my story attains an authenticity without being bogged down in overly technical educational terms.  This is a story that will appeal to both teachers and non-teachers.

I am also a mother to a wonderful and bright seven year old son, who is high functioning autistic.  His father and I adopted him from China in 2005.  My inability to get pregnant is a trait my main character Zoe and I share.

The manuscript has been edited by a Long Island freelance editor who spent nearly 30 years in the publishing industry.

In the fall of 2011, I was published for the first time.  In October, RED OCHRE LiT (http://www.redochrelit.com/index.html) published my first short story, “Tea With a Friend,” a fictional account of my meeting with my son’s birth mother.

Stranger Danger

The statistics seem pretty clear, a child is more likely to be kidnapped by a family member than by a total stranger. That doesn't mean that we parents don't worry about strangers. We worry so much that schools and safety agencies teach about "stranger danger." To be honest, most children are wary of strangers anyway and cling to parents in new situations. Not my child.

Nope, my boy is the ambassador to the world. We take a walk, he absolutely says hello to everyone who passes. That, in my mind, in a good thing. His cheery greeting brings smiles to the world. Every parent (and I mean every parent) who walks his/her child to my son's school knows my son. Both his dad and I have had the experience of being some place only to have a complete stranger say "hello" to Andrew, by name. This is because, due to the autism, he is great with adults. Not so great with same age peers, but adults just eat him up. Thus, our problem.

Due to the likelihood that he suffers from Child Maltreatment Syndrome, with a dash of Disorganized Attachment thrown in, he has very little stranger danger. He talks to everyone, thus no one is a stranger. He does ask me for permission to talk to new people, which is a good thing.

Today, his school caused me a bit of a scare. I had to run errands, so I sent a note to school explaining that the sitter would pick him up, as she does when I am working. No problem, except at the end of the day, he did not make it to her car. She went into the office and was told that he left with his mother. Not true. Meanwhile, someone else called his dad, who dashed out of school to go get him. I called his dad to confirm that he was going to retrieve the boy from the sitter, only to be mildly chewed out. No one called me. That stirs up an issue that is not entirely related here. I suppose that the school thought I was still working.

I dashed to the school, grumpily demanded to know why I hadn't been called. No good reply. My biggest concern is that someone thought he had left with me. What if that "mom" had been some random lady looking for a child. I know that's unreasonable and that because so many people know my son, that would not have happened. But, autism is a communication disability. It took a couple of hours for him to actually tell us how the end of the day happened. If a stranger had tried to take him, he might not have been able to communicate that something was horribly wrong.

Now, I feel like I need to have on file pictures of people who are allowed to take my boy home and that everyone needs to have that file. I know that I have to have a meeting with the school to insure this never happens again.