Category Archives: playwright

HALCYON POINT OF APOAPIS: Liquid Time A to Z Blog Challenge 2021

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HALCYON POINT OF APOAPIS

Liquid Time

A to Z Blog Challenge 2021

“The moment is not properly an atom of time but an atom of eternity. It is the first reflection of eternity in time, its first attempt, as it were, at stopping time.” ~ ~Søren Kierkegaard

A total absence of light.

Whatever you have thought of as darkness is another lie. The bromides swirl with similes, throwing up black as night, a raven, a ministers cloak, the death card, a void, as pitch, black as the devil’s heart. You’ve lost paradise, unaware that the loss is profound.

Valentina Ceit Marin never gave any thought to the immensity of Eternity. She had been filled beyond any brim with awareness of the moment, framing the moments to come, shedding the moments of the past. Her no looking back attitude has brought her HERE.

Panic is begging to take control. The gut squeezes tight. Both temples are strafing her head, settling into the eyes, the base of the nasal passage. Valentina tried to raise her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. No hand came. Trying again, failure beat a drum. All jointed points of her skeleton were trigger locked. She took in that she could breath, that her eyes still rolled around, that the lids could go up or down.

It was then that she grew aware of what was not outside of her body. She wasn’t standing on any surface. No chains or puppet master strings held her up. She wasn’t floating, drifting around the void of space. Neither weightless nor sense of being. She was THERE.

Panic began to win. She had a mouth but it would not open to release the inside screams. Knowing this was not the her that she was and the her she cultivated, the shell, direct confrontation, the eagerness, the mean moments, the want of things, the dismissals. It was too much.

It was, too much.

It was…

A fracture of light.

Z was. Here. There.

A vast difference of space split them apart. The were opposites in depth.

Sweat filtered through Val’s skin. It beaded and dripped from her brow, coated her arms. Another aspect that was not Val.

She could not do anything.

“Hello, Valentina.”

Who Do You Write For? Some AtoZ biz

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Dream With Writing

WHO DO YOU WRITE FOR?

SOME A TO Z BIZ

LIQUID TIME

In case you did not notice, I am taking a huge leap/risk in style, content, and formatting with LIQUID TIME. So, who am I writing for? Just for myself? Just for the audience? 50/50?

Most times it is for myself, to see how far I can stretch, hone my skills. How, on later rereads, does it hold up way past the due date of the emotions that pummeled me while writing. I take risks. Not every one of them pans out. Some lead me to different approaches, different research, different observations of life.

On the readers hand(s), I do do my crafting for the reader(s) as well. I look for commentary, what pleases, what doesn’t, the whys behind either stance one takes. Suggestions are taken in the (hopefully) intention’s delivery, as a “have you thought about…?” or “Would you consider…”; a way that I construe as just that: a suggestion from another’s POV.

Suggestions, for me to think about, to possibly add to, delete, or turn things around. They are given to support, encourage, and give the author a different POV lens to consider.

I do not take demands into consideration. Nor the comments that essentially read “If I was the author…” or “You should not…” Well, you aren’t the author, that’s in my hands. As to the “should not…?” Really? Really?

“No” hasn’t a place here in Tale Spinning. My cranky two cents, plus inflation.

LINKS LINKS LINKS

Liquid Time Postings

2021 Theme Reveal

Liquid Time: A Portent

ABSOLUTE 31,536,000

BACKWARDS

CONTINUANCE

A to Z Main Link & Blogs to Follow

Blogging from A to Z April Challenge 2021

TOSSING IT OUT

THE MULTICOLORED DIARY

BLOG OF J LENNI DORNER

THE SOUND OF ONE HAND TYPING

THE GREAT RAVEN

SASCHA DARLINGTON’S MICROCOSM

ROSE THE STORYLADY

JO HAWK THE WRITER

FICTION CAN BE FUN

HD HISTORY

BREWING COFFEE, TWISTING WORDS & BREAKING PENCILS

ATHERTON’S MAGIC VAPOUR

THE CURRY APPLE ORCHARD

WEEKENDS IN MAINE

Iian KELLY-FICTION WRITING

KEITH’S RAMBLINGS

THE OLD SHELTER

I will post more blog links I follow later in the week. Please visit & leave them a comment

Thanks, All.

X-Double-Minus: Nightmares from an Unbleached Soul, AtoZ Blog Challenge

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X2020

NIGHTMARES FROM AN UNBLEACHED SOUL

X-DOUBLE-MINUS

The dream was followed
Persistence paid at last
Invest yourself in the role 
Become another for the show

So many tried to shoot you down
No belief in you or 
Jealousy abounds
Silently waiting for the fail

Standing on a stage
Final words uttered
Nothing left to say
The spotlights are shut
The dark is silent too

Along the way are barricades
Struggles in a Catch-22 world
Duplicity overwhelming is around
And still the curtains drop

Standing on a stage 
Final words uttered
Nothing left to say 
The spotlights are shut
The dark is silent too

Dreams can be turbulent 
One day up, many down
Good and bad are interlaced
Don't know what to do

Life's a gamble at its best
Recognition an elusive beast
Fade away from one big slip
All alone, yeah, all alone

Standing on a stage 
Final words uttered
Nothing left to say 
Spotlight fades to black
The dark is silent too

**************************************************************

X, Y, Z are usually the tough ones on the AtoZ Blog Challenge. X especially. I’m glad I found X-Double-Minus = Extremely poorly done, bad, inferior (said mostly about theatrical or musical performances). I’m including life. Someone famous said, “All the world’s a stage.” I fully believe that.

My theme for this year’s AtoZ Blog Challenge is: Nightmares from an Unbleached Soul. 26 lyrical poems during the month of April (no Sundays). It started on April 1st and ends this Thursday on April 30th. After that, a week or two later you’ll be able to find Reflections on the experience. I hope you found new blogs to like and follow. If you still wish to, go to The Master List.

I’ve asked a few questions along the way: what genre of music you think suits the lyrics best? Who or what style of music was in my head when I wrote these? My last one for the week:

  1. Why Nightmares From An Unbleached Soul?  
  2. I’m curious.: How do you interpret it
    1. for yourself?
    2. why do you think I chose that as my theme title?

    MUSICIANS, or people who know musicians, hear my call I would love to find someone to collaborate with. Not every one of the 26 Lyrical Poems are winners, I know that. Many will need some tweaking if I take this further. I would just love to hear some, or all of these, put to music. Anyone knows, please email me.

Comments are always welcome.

April is Coming

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#AtoZChallenge 2020 badge

Yes, I have signed up for the A to Z Blog Challenge for this year. I started my blog in 2011 a few months before April sprang on me. I went for it, and it was one of the best things I had done. Happy to have joined.

Except for a couple of skip years, it’s been fun and agony to write (almost) daily through the month. 26 posts, Sundays off.

It’s a challenge (the title says so) but, in my opinion, well worth it. Fiction, Non-Fiction, Poetry, Essays, photos, recipes, critiques, How To…, etc. Whatever your blog is about, join in. Great way to discover other blogs, make friends (I have), and for others to find your blog. I’ve gained many followers through this.

Here’s the link: http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/

Not sure what I’ll write about yet. I’ll figure it out.

If you join, please leave me a comment below with your blog link attached. You might gain some followers before the whole thing starts.

Theme Reveal #AtoZChallenge 2020 badge

#AtoZChallenge 2020 badge

Rock Liebster, Mon Amour

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So, once again the fickle finger of fate favors flash fiction here on Tale Spinning. I want to thank Dear Kitty. Some Blog for thinking what I do here is special enough to be granted this nomination. This is the second time (see Tale Spinning April 15, 2018) I have been nominated for the Liebster in the past few months. I had received this nomination a couple of other times over the years, and it doesn’t get old. Harder to come up with questions and people to nominate, but…c’est la prix.

The rules of the Liebster Award, as per Dear Kitty and the person who nominated her are:

1. Acknowledge the blog which nominated you.
2. Answer the 11 questions your nominator asked.
3. Nominate 11 other bloggers.
4. Ask them 11 questions.
5. Let them know you have nominated them.

Slightly different than the rules I received for my April 15th posting, but carry on I shall.
#1: thanks again, Dear Kitty.
#2 Her Questions; My answers:

1. What was your first job? Working in a Chinese Restaurant, filling up the Smorgasbord Table, doing To Go orders. Yes, many customers asked me if I was Chinese.

2. What’s the best advice you’ve ever gotten? Don’t become an Elf.

3. Favourite season and why? Vindaloo, cause I like it spicy. Oh, season, not seasoning.  L’automne.

4. Favourite TV show? Right now, iZombie. Way too many others. I’m a TV junkie.

5. When did you first travel alone and where did you go? Shortly after my divorce; San Fransisco.

6. Why did you start a blog? Bordom, and the need for a challenge.

7. What did you want to be when you were a kid? Not lonely, and at the same time being left alone. Complicated even as a kid.

8. Would you rather travel into the future or the past? Neither. Alternate Universe.

9. Do you have any siblings? Nope. I’m an only, for good or bad (see #7)

10. Can you cook well? Yes. Medium and Medium Rare too. Not a big fan of Rare, or Raw.

11.  What is the next thing you plan to learn? Whatever comes my way that I know little or next to little about.

As to #3, nominating 11 other bloggers: nah. Last time I did, only two out of seven followed through. If you, dear reader, want to take this on, please be my guest. Yeah, it’s cheating/lazy, but I have been writing my tuchas off the past few weeks and I be bushed.

Being even lazier, I’m reposting the questions (#4) I came up with on my previous Liebster post. I thought they were pretty good; hopefully, we’ll get more than two answers this time around:

Please be aware that “…and Why?” is invisibly attached at the end of the majority of the questions.  Lazy, remember?

  • If you could write in any writers voice besides your own, whose would it be?
  • What literary genre holds NO interest for you?
  • What song with a strong narrative still touches you?
  • What fictional character do you wish you were?
  • Savory or Sweet?
  • What does “The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of” mean to you?”
  • You stumble upon a magic rock. Picking it up, you discover something underneath. What is it?
  • Have you had an inexplicable experience? What was it?
  • What fiction book would you recommend to me?
  • What movie or TV show do you love but hate to admit it?
  • What does writing mean to you?

If you pick up this challenge from me, please just let me know, alongside the accolades you wish to bestow upon me. Money is good too. BTW: this takes care of #5.

I’d love to read your answers. OH, and please don’t cop out with the “I would never” or “I’m fine with” answers. Instead of saying “No” to the question(s), try a big resounding “Yes” and stretch that creative muscle!

P.S. Please copy, paste, and follow the rules on your own blog. Doesn’t really work if you answer the questions in my comment section. Kind of defeats the purpose. Deal?

PPS: I really want either a Katz’s Pastrami sandwich right now, or a real Chocolate Egg Cream. They don’t go together; it’s one or the other. Or bed. Bed sounds good too.

Ta.

Real Neat Blog Award: Peachy Keeno

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So, second time in two weeks, I have a blogging award. Never heard of this one before, but it was created by Dear Kitty: Some Blog in 2014.

I was nominated by someone new (to me) who I discovered, again, through the 2018 AtoZ Blog Challenge. The blogger behind A Creative PTSD Gal is busy busy busy. She writes from the heart, and it has been a pleasure to discover her. Two blogs, a whole big family, life…and she does it. Not everyone can. Since she writes a bit more personal items, I don’t think it’s in my wheelhouse to go deeper into her reasons. Check out the above link and I think you’ll be pleased you did. Thank you for the nomination. I hope I can remain neato keeno.

Here come the rules:

The Rules:

  1. Display the award logo: DONE
  2. Thank the blogger who nominated you and post a link to their blog: DONE
  3. Answer the questions of the one who nominated you: See Below
  4. Nominate 5-10 bloggers: See Below Below
  5. Ask them 7 questions: See Below Below Below

PTSD Gal’s Questions for MOI:

  1. What is the most difficult part of your artistic practice? I try not to write during the day because of interruptions (phone calls, mail, meals, life). I usually like starting about 11:00 pm EST.
  2. What has been the most difficult thing to date that you have written about? My one man play based on my father. He was a survivor of Auschwitz.
  3. Do you limit yourself to edits? Not sure how to answer this one. I hate editing, but I know it has to be done. I’ve gotten better as I’ve aged, like a fine cheese.
  4. Snack or no snack when writing? Beverages always; snacks only when my taste buds cry.
  5. What or who encourages you to keep posting to your blog? Right now, I push myself. It keeps me from negative things.
  6. What did you want to grow up to be when you were little? A scientist &/or a comic book writer.
  7. Do you have a writing buddy? (Dog, cat, fish, snake etc…) Nope. I’ve got dust. Does dust count?

Bloggers I nominate are:

Seven Real Neat Questions:

  1. What car would you own if money is no question?
  2. What author would you like to sit down with and pick their brains?
  3. What is your favorite story about Winter?
  4. If you had to “Kill Your Baby” (talk to Stephan King) in a book/story you’ve written, who are you most sorry you had to do in? If you haven’t, who should get the axe?
  5. What book have you read more than once?
  6. One of these is real: Magic (Paranormal) or UFO’s. Which one, and why?
  7. What is YOUR favoriteist blog posting from your blog(s)? Please copy and paste your link here

Overture! Curtain! Lights!: The Abysmal Dollhouse (AtoZ Blog Challenge)

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** New Readers to this challenge: This is a serialized, continuous work. Please start with the first piece, Abysmally Yours. The AtoZ Blog Challenge began April 1st; ends April 30th. Thank you.

abandoned_theaters_1

Overture! Curtain! Lights!

The Abysmal Dollhouse

“You killed tonight! You killed!”

The stage manager had swept her into a hug. The last curtain call was now a memory. Everyone had congratulated her as she made her way to her dressing room. The applause was still reverberating through her body, flushed, exhausted, elated.  The stage manager had notes, as she always did, but they were already handed off to the director.  Right now, the notes were not important. Right now, they were alone in the dressing room.

“You killed,” she repeated, sotto voce. “I killed,” the actress agreed, as the hugging turned to more. The greasepaint was removed, the costume stripped off. The sound of kliegs and stage lights being shut off came to them, the closing of doors, the stamping down stairways, the stage door opening and closing. The house shut down, bit by bit.

Opening night and its memory were now three months in the past.  One scathing review, virulent in its attack, quickly trickled down to the box office. The critic’s disdain for the show, for its star, poisoned the good reviews, seeping into future audiences perceptions. The internet picked up on the critic’s vileness and hammered death nails into the production. There was glee from the bloggers whose words were taken up as gospel as their sites hits grew. The vloggers’ views gained followers. It was a numbers game for them.

The show did not go on.

The stage manager eventually booked a gig, a national tour, and was gone. Regional auditions came and went, restaurant service turned over, catering jobs few and far between. The star struggled to keep a smile on, but it faded day by day, replaced by an inner numbness. What was supposed to be her IT, her night of nights, was finis. The emptiness inside of her led to her wandering, from point to point. One night, finding herself walking along the east river, she was tempted to take on Ophelia’s end unto herself. The foot traffic around her was constant and stirred her away from this path.

She was on the way to an audition, having left another, earlier, where things were just “not the right fit.” The sunlight was in full force, no cloud in the sky, and it hit the store window, reflecting off of it, and enveloped her, and only her. A quirk of a smile matched a glint in her eye. She made a quick bow to the window, followed by a light made laugh.

A sigh escaped her as she stood. Tilting her head, she took in the store and moved closer to the window. She laughed again as she was able to make out what was in the window.

“A doll’s house. Perfect.”  She checked her watch and saw she did have time to kill. She made her way inside.

The Shopkeeper greeted her, polite and all smiles, only faltering a moment with a look to the corner. The actress missed this as she marveled at the array surrounding her. She was entranced by the variety of dollhouses, their displays, the colors, the sizes, the architectural styles. To her, they all were mini playhouses. She imagined the roles that could be enacted with each one. The Shopkeeper spoke to her only when a question was asked. She had an odd way about her, with murmurings of the occasional “shhh” or what sounded like “hush,” but since none of it seemed to be directed towards the actress she gave it no weight.

“Look!” the actress squeed. In a flash, she was standing in front of a scaled down version of The Provincetown Theater. “I performed here when I went to NYU.” Her cheeks turned rosy, eyes glistening, as she took in the details.

The structure was narrow and only two stories high. The Shopkeeper released the front and it swung open. The actress squeed again, taking in the sparse seating, the small stage, almost black box in its function. She knew the stairway in the back would take her to the green room, such as it was. It brought back memories that made all the recent unpleasantness disappear from her conscious mind.

A poster announced a production of  The Emperor Jones. She loved O’Neill. She turned to ask the Shopkeeper a question, but when she turned around she was in the lobby, program and ticket in hand.

The inner doors to the theater opened and she walked down the aisle steps to take her seat. Sitting through the performance, applauding wildly at the curtain, she found herself closer to the stage, a new play just ready to begin. The program in her hand showed a different play. This was a treat, a release, and she simply accepted it all without question.

From viewing a series of plays, she found herself working backstage, then eventually performing on stage. First as an understudy, followed by the chorus, supporting actress, and what seemed like forever, leading lady. The lights would dim, no more rehearsing: she knew every part by heart. The applause fed her soul.

The sodden mess that was her heart when not on stage slowly healed. Eventually, it made room to accept the attention of this stage manager, who had been working every show. They fell into each other after one production that took a lot out of everyone working it. They were never without a show to put on, busy on and off stage.

The actress felt like her old self again. It was opening night of a brand new play, and as had become the norm she was the lead once again. The audience was thunderous in its approval, standing ovations and five curtain calls.

The actress flew into the stage managers waiting arms backstage.

“You killed tonight. You killed.”

The actress kissed her long and hard. Take a breath, she looked at her lover and said: “Yes, I did kill!”

Off in the last row, in the darkened corner, the Unfolding Doll sat, knife in hand.

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The AtoZ Blog Challenge

During the month of April, 2018, the challenge requires that we write 26 posts, starting with the letter A on April 1st (yes, it’s not an April Fool’s Day joke) and ending with Z on Monday, April 30th. A week or so later, there will be a reflection post that will wrap up this experience, for me as well as my readers.

*I’ve decided to reblog past Abysmal Dollhouse stories on Sundays since we’re not required to write those days. The reblog will not correspond to any specific letter. Just thought you might enjoy some of the previous entries that I’m fond of.

 

** Apologies to one and all. This was a very stressful day. Normally I am much earlier with my posting, but at least I made it before it became the 18th and P. Phew.

2011 in review

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The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Syndey Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 18,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 7 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

The Naming

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Look
See what I hold in my hands
Not a full something, yet
Until I name it. 
Until it is named.
What I call is will make it real
Balancing the name,
Carrying the name,
Wearing the name,
Becoming or disavowing the name,
Until, eventually, forgotten,
It falls apart from memory.

Look
What I name it has it's own power
Be it meek and mild
or strong and fierce 
The naming carries weight
And what I give it now
Will last a lifetime
And maybe more
It will be up to the named.

Look
Be witty or obtuse
Symbolical or Syllable driven
Contrived or Biblical
New Aged or Traditionalist
What is named becomes real
The reality is complete
The character is yet to be set
Where do we go from here?

The Sanguine Milk of Human Kindness

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“He is so thoroughly mean and evil,” she said.

“Yes, he is.” After some more observing, he smiled, and added: “I like him.’

“So do I.”

They were enjoying the musical very, very much, and the male lead had the audience in his hands. William was dancing while dangling from the the main support beam; Hannah maintained her form, as she was in her best gown for opening night, and stood swaying from the flies. In shadow, they stayed out of the way of the stage crew, as they had done ever since they found the playhouse, soon after it was built in 1931.

Feeding gently on the various thespians and crew over the years kept them both sated and happy; never a death, never anything more than a slight “case of the vapors” (so long ago), or a need, now,  for extra vitamins and “recreational” medicines. This was bliss for the two, and they knew how to show their appreciation.

They had experienced many plays over the past eighty years, from joyous to downright dreadful. The really good ones sent them into flights of fancy; the horrible ones they hid from, cringing in the wings on opening nights, hoping against all hope that something would pull together. Those nights, they slunk off and drank their sorrows away, elsewhere.

Tonight was not one of those nights. This musical was magic, the leads were solid, and the cast’s enjoyment in their craft was infectious. Hannah did not have to convince William in the least. This was a night for celebrations.

“Time?” he asked, raising his eyes to meet hers. She was already changing shape, losing mass in the way their kind just did, and her dress transformed with her into bat like form. William always thought this revamp suited her well, but he was funny that way.

“Time,” Hannah answered, and off she flew, with William close behind her.

They both flew over the audience, causing quite the sensation. The audience “Ooooed” and “Ahhhhed”,  a mixture of pleasure  at the song being sung and also noticing the two Civic Center Bats (capitalized, as they were part of the mythos) flying overhead.

It was said when the Bats flew out, the play was a hit. When William and Hannah did not take to wing, the play was a flop, and everyone knew it. The actresses and actors, and finger crossed directors, collectively held their breaths, so to speak, trusting the bats on a wing and a prayer.

Well, two sets of wings, and a lot of prayer.

William stayed up high, as was his want. Hannah dove over the stage, circled once over the male lead, showing her approval, and then flew back to the flies high above the stage. William was already there as she misted back to humanoid form. He walked over, adjusted her dress just so, and gave her a kiss. Hannah returned the kiss, deeply, and the two of them watched the rest of the performance from way above the stage.

He had his arm around her shoulders and she had her arm around his waist.

When the show was over, they roundly joined  in the applause, shouting “Bravo!” and “Encore!” with the rest of the assemblage. Except for their extended canines and the fact they were hanging upside down from a catwalk, they were like the rest of the crowd: appreciative for a show well done.

The cast came out for it’s encore, and the theater quieted down. William and Hannah, who had been privy to all the rehearsals, knew the encore song quite well. They held hands while they sang along…

“The milk of human kindness is the loveliest drink in the world, the loveliest drink in the world, that’s what people think in the world…”

Soon, show over, crowds gone, the cast and stage crew packing up for the night… feeding time…

It was the loveliest drink in the world

*************************************************************************

Author’s Note

I was told a tale by the male lead of the musical “Scrooge”, now playing at the Muncie Civic Theatre in Indiana. I met Todd Terrell many years ago at the Indiana Thespian Festival, where I was a Guest Artist, running theater  workshops for truly amazing High School students. Todd was in charge of it all at that time, a well respected theater teacher.

I am equally sure he is an excellent actor. If you live in the Muncie, Indiana area, RUN to get tickets. The show only runs in December.

Todd briefly mentioned the Civic Theater bats to me, how they flew out on his opening night, how he got a standing ovation on said night, and how when the bats (who lived somewhere in the theater) flew, that show was always a hit. The ones where the bats did not fly, well…there was guano on the stage, and the audiences knew it .

So…hearing the story and the theatrical superstition around it, I just took it that one (or two) steps beyond. Hope you like it.

The song lyrics of “The Milk of Human Kindness” are (c) by Leslie Bricusse and I only used what was freely offered on line. If you want the whole song, there is a thing called royalties. Pay them…it’s good karma.