Tag Archives: Teaching Artist

S(uddenly Static): AtoZ Challenge


To read the whole story thus far…

Part 17: Suddenly Static

Moments in Time (1)

Elora was pissed. She did not like where any of this was going, as she did not for an instant think she and Daniel were going to survive this. “Him and his White Knight complex!” she thought about Daniel, as his over-protectiveness both irked her and pleased her, which, pleasing her in any way, made her more pissed off, now some of it at herself. He shared he had always had that guy dream, saving the damsel in distress, riding in on his white charger (“It’s not a car…it’s a horse” she told him. His answer? “Oh.”) , and the two of them falling in love and living happily blah blah blah.

Still, they had to figure out something, or this was going to end badly. Winston’s glare and smile AND gun was grating on her nerves. He said NOTHING since he told them his cockamamie story. Just…sat. Elora’s stomach did triple contortions. She grasped Daniel’s hand even tighter. Her back was killing her.

Moments in Time (2)

“OMANSHESREALLYINTOME” Daniel inwardly crowed, high fiving himself almost literally (he would have hit Elora if he continued his movements. He squeezed back, tightly but not too tightly. He let a small smile play along his mouth and started to breath a little bit harder. He noticed Elora wince at that (“Ow, damn, this is really hurting!” she thought) so he eased up. She still was wincing a bit, but it gave way to a kind of blankly worried look.

“She is sooooo beautiful,” and thinking this, and staring into her watering eyes, the pressed lips, her leaning forward, and he did not think at all about the guy holding the gun on them, that he hadn’t seem him blink or move at all, no saccadic eye movements at all, which he thought was weird, because he was always looking all around so not to miss anything…Daniel leaned in to kiss her…

Moments in Time (3)

Jennifer Rose wasn’t completely sure why she was listening to ZsaZsa (what a stupid name, unless you’re from Hungary, and even then..and to pronounce it the way she did…), but..she knew a lot about Winston, stuff she thought only she knew, having worked with him for the year and a half she did.

The part about coming back to life for revenge? That one still bugged her, and she didn’t really believe it. Jennifer Rose couldn’t let it go without a challenge. “Why you? Why did they let YOU come back instead of all the millions who die?” she asked.

ZsaZsa said, in a really teeny tiny small voice, more grating then her normal speak: “I made a promise,  when I was in the bed, under the sheet, with that thingy down my throat. I didn’t know I made that promise, until GTS (that’s George the..)…”

“I get it, I get it,” she cut her off. “What promise did you make? It had to be a doozy.”

“Um..well..I..promised..I promised to,” and here she lowered her teeny tiny small voice to the infinitesimal: “i would stop having fun monkey hot sex until i found my true love.” ZsaZsa blushed, for the very first time in her life. It burned her cheeks like what she thought a hot branding iron would feel like. She had no idea.

Jennifer Rose let out a huge honking blast of laugh at that one. “Oh, honey…sex is sex. Love has nothing to do with it.” That was that. True or not, she went along with ZsaZsa’s story. Taking The Snorers’ car (he was dead asleep), they boogied to catch up to Winston, if ZsaZsa was telling the truth.

Suddenly, a smell from the back broke into her remembering as she was driving. “What the..”

Moments in Time (4)

Both squirrels had chittered long enough. They had to go, so they went.

Moments in Time (5)

ZsaZsa stared down at her mangled hands. She tried to open them, but..nada. She tried again and again, and still nothing. She lost what little other thoughts she may have had to put so much into her hands.

One thought did come to her: “I already promised no sex. What do I have to promise for my hands?” She grunted a little at the unresponsiveness of the situation.


Moments in Time (6)

Winston was deep in his happy place. His Pranayama deep breathing allowed him the stillness he desired. His smile and grip on the gun were constant, and he was still aware of what was in front of him while existing in this elsewhere of his. Everything was clean, neatly ordered, and just so! He was aware of each and every second that passed, in it’s accuracy, how one logically followed another, and how time was on his side. Yes, it was.

His happy place already included the prize he sought. He already positively envisioned that it was his, and his alone, and he was happy. Truly, blissfully, happy.

Which was shattered when his outer sense noticed Daniel moving towards Elora…

Moment in Time (A)

Elora: “What are you…”

Winston: “Stop that n…

Daniel: puckered up, almost at Elora’s beautiful lips…

Jennifer Rose: “What the f…”

Zsa Zsa: “snort..true love..yeah, rig…”

Squirrels: “LOOK OUT!”

Limo: go boom, crash, tinkle, roll, roll, roll..stop.

Moment in Time (B)

The driver was drifting in and out of sleep. Holding two and a half jobs was killing him. Literally.

Creative Blog Award

Awarded by Ms. Deirdra Eden Coppel, A Story Book World

I’m very honored to receive such a wonderful commentary on this blog, which is still just so very new.  I’d like to thank Knightess Deirdra Eden Coppel for this.

I’d also like to thank all who have read and commented on this blog and BornStoryteller. I plan to keep things moving along for your reading pleasure.

Thank you.

From A to Z: another blog challenge: A


Yes, I am looking at from Zero to 57 spanning the month of April 2011. From hating the idea of blogs and such, to finding (1) it makes me write and (2) I find the use in restarting my freelance creative life a plus. I’ll also have two weeks of downtime later in the month (schools on Spring Break), so it’s good for mental health as well.

The reason for 57 above? In the month of April, between this blog (for the writer/ storyteller part of me) and my more Teaching Artist/performance blog BornStoryteller, I will be writing a total of 57 blogs: 26 here (one for each letter of the alphabet) and 31 on BornStoryteller, one for each day of the month. Will I do it? Will I forget and drive myself crazy…well, crazier? May 1st will tell the tale.  Not even sure how I’ll use this yet: just stories; poetry/song lyrics; journaling; true stories; just not really sure what.

So…the letter A: Alexandra

Alexandra was one of those that got away, that I long for now, knowing if we really gave it a shot..I would still have no idea how it would have turned out. Got away, ran away, pushed away, never really was in the way? As above, not really sure, now. Infatuated? Definitely. Love, yes, but still never sure how much. Intrigued by and pulled towards and maddened by and longed for and lusted for…yes, yes, yes, yes..and, oh, yes.

One summer night…Alex was off to the wilds of New England to spend a good part of the summer at a camp. Musically gifted, this was her world she was entering, one specifically for those with real talent and passion, of which she had in full. Gone already for a week or two, this young lady I talked to often, saw not as often as liked, was MIA.

Around 11pm, just off an ice cream binge with my friend Sam (who, btw, introduced me to Alexandra..Alex..Ai) and I were leaving the Howard Johnson’s. Bored, awake, and both of us antsy, we decided then and there to get in the car, drive up to the New England camp and find her. Now, this was way before cell phones, GPS, or all that. We had a map, a name, and some money in our pockets. Off we went.

The drive up was uneventful. Sam & I did our usual talking, goofed around, sang badly to the songs on the radio, got lost a few times, but never once did we talk about what we would do when we got to the camp. That discussion came later.

Hours later, we drove into the town that grounded the area the camp was located.  Almost out of gas, we drove around a sleepy, roll-up-the-sidewalk-at-6pm little town, looking for an open gas station. Luck on our side, we found the ONLY place open at 2 something in the morning: a gas station. Filling up, and asking any final directions, we made our way to the camp.

It was an absolutely calm summer night, clear skies, moon shining bright, and not a car on the road except for us. We found the camp, pulled over on the opposite side of the road, got out.. and just stood there. Somewhere, inside one of the shadowed, darkened buildings, under a very starry starry night, was the object of my quest. My Pancho to my Don Quixote said: “So, now what?”

We wound up by the car for quite awhile, talking, looking in silence, and some deep heavy sighing (most, if not all,  from me, I’m pretty sure).  Whatever bravado or knuckleheadedness that drove us out there, it left as we just stood and stared at the camp. The chicken side of me took over completely. We got in the car and drove off south, back to New York.

There were some other adventures that night, but I’ll save them for another blog letter, maybe.

Alexandra came back to NYC, we saw each other here and there, talked a lot on the phone, and I felt drawn to her when we were together over the next few years, and distanced myself at times (there was an age difference that at times became my own built in barrier). I know we had some excellent times together, I know I let her down more than once, and most likely hurt her (for which I am always so sorry about), and I know we had a love/need/want for each other. Well, I know it from my end.

The letter A: Alexandra. Alex. Ai.

The Art of Storytelling Blog: World Storytelling Day Article


Sunday, March 20th, 2011, was our first event for World Storytelling Day. It was unequivocally a success. I owe a lot of that to Sr St John Delany, the five other tellers who joined me (Jonathan Kruk, Melissa Chernowetz, Katie Issel Pitre, Bernie Libster & Ron Sopyla), and our wonderful audience. This was a day of storytelling sharing at it’s finest.

On May 1st, you will be able to read all about how an event happened, from start to finish in 25 days, by visiting Eric Wolf’s The Art of Storytelling Blog. It was a great experience and one we are sure to revisit again.  Please keep an eye out for it, and follow Eric’s link and become a fan. There is a wealth of information on it for anyone who loves a good story.

Save The Dust Bunnies Benefit: September 4, 2011


I was doing my annual sweeping and mopping today, and I came across a thriving community of Dust Bunnies. Since the last time I cleaned, not only did they proliferate, but there was an entire infrastructure existing under the hard to reach places.

The Grand Pookah of the DBs (my short affectionate term for them), Mes Usup, cautiously approached me, rolling to a stop just before my WMD (the broom, or Big Betsy). “If it pleases ye, sirrah, we have grown accustomed to the wonders of the labyrinth that is this wonder land of joy and dropped food bits,” he stated in a wafty way. “Please, let my people exist here in exquisite communion. We, the Pulvis, will be eternally grateful…and will do our best to be out of the way when others of your kind come to enter this lofty realm.”

What could I say to that? I dropped my WMD back into it’s silo (the hall closet), got down on the floor, and had a lovely time meeting all the Pulvis population. You’ve never known cute until you held a baby DB in your hand, as it rolls here and there.

A call to arms is needed! Dust Bunnies have a right to colonize and live in peace! Join me on September 4th, 2001, in a benefit storytelling concert to Save The Dust Bunnies!

More news to come!

Hello world!


Well, this started off on my Teaching Artist blog. I got excited with the first few results, so..here we are. Creating something new from one sentence fits my improvisation background. Will any of this lead anywhere? Who knows.

Enjoy the ride.