A LITTLE BIT of RAIN...

Steve's dad died Sunday.

We got the call from the UK at around 6pm (edst). It was sudden and unexpected.

We're feverishly packing and preparing for the transatlantic flight to take us home to Scotland this evening. This is when we feel so far away... Please keep us in your thoughts I always have a bit of fear when my entire family is on one flight and that is indeed what we are doing... I know it's silly, but it scares me. (Continental 36)

As for our return to New Jersey, I think we will be heading home on Saturday and Sunday. After much discussion and tearful decision making, we have come to the conclusion that the best thing to do is stagger the homecomings to suit everyone in the best possible way. Steve and the boys will be coming home on Saturday to attend Gabe's graduation from University and I will stay one more day and bring mother in law and the younger girls home with me on Sunday. Difficult decision for us to make, having me miss Gabe's graduation, but he was so generous about it, fully understanding that I need to be there for my mother in law... (Can I mix being so proud of my loving son and so hurt for Steve without some kind of mental crash?) Older sisters, Faith and Destiny, want to stay in Scotland for a week or so, but they all have to be back for Faith's graduation on June 9th.

Steve is not taking this well. He and his dad were very close - even talking on the phone Sunday afternoon while they were watching the games on opposite sides of the pond. Carrying on over West Ham's ostensibly illegal win... They always did that when there was a game. It ws only hours later, we got the call letting us know that Grandy went into renal failure and they had taken him to hospital via Emergency Services. "Stay by the phone," they said, "He's going to go..." We had gone out with some friends to console Steve over the corruption and demise of soccer but came racing home to sit and stare silently at the phone. Friends wanted to come with us to 'be there for' Steve, but he waved them off. (In all these years I don't think I have ever seen my darling truly terrified before.)

In another few hours, his father was gone. He'd been sick on and off since Christmas, but last week when Steve flew over to visit with him, he seemed so much better. Steve came home quite happy with his dad's progress, even talking about the likely possibility of flying his parents over for Faith's graduation.

Steve says he does not want to watch football (soccer) any more without his dad, but soccer and fishing are his sports passions so I have to believe that, in time, he will be all right watching it again... Today, he's been walking around aimlessly... Not speaking, not eating... It's heart wrenching to see him like this. I want to do something to make it all go away for him, but I know he has to go through it in his own way, his own time. Still...

Hard to say good bye to someone who was so good to me, who meant so much to my husband and our family. Harder still to see Steve in so much pain and be able to do nothing.

Remember me with smiles and laughter
For that is how I'll remember you all.
If you can only remember me with tears,
Then I'd rather you didn't remember me at all... --Michael Landon

All for now...
CM

MADDY...

This 3 year old was taken 11 days ago from her vacation apartment in Portugal. If you are traveling by plane, train, boat or car... or just walking aong, please, please keep your eyes and ears open for information and don't be afraid to get involved. This is a wee child! Please take a good solid look at the photograph, then think of your own children and get to your knees to pray for her safe return to her family.

Hold on to your children... Nothing matters more...

I have no other words today.

Carol

RANDOM THOUGHTS and TIME PASSAGES...

Been a while since I have written here.

This is actually good news.

The weather in NJ has been sensational. Lots of time outdoors, tending to the gardens, playing soccer or softball... a little B-ball and of course some hide and seek. It's good for the soul - and good for the muse! Our property, just now, is awash with color. All our trees blooming at peak. Magnolias offer the deep burgundies and pinks, Lilacs for lavenders and whites, and Dogwoods for the yellows and ivories I love so much. Ground covered with a rainbow of Pansies, Tulips and Daffodils heralding the soon to bloom Azaleas also in whites, raspberry reds and purples. Our Lilies have begun to make their presence known; the grasses are about nine to ten inches high already and the Hostas that offer white and lavender trumpet blooms have popped through the surface and sprouted almost overnight into puff-balls of giant green leaves! How I love this!

Gardening is a family event at our house. We have several acres, two of which are gardens. I full acre is designated Kitchen Garden and the rest is flora. Our flowers are mostly perennials. Steve and I design and plan the layout for the vegetable gardens every autumn for the following year. We weed through tons of seed catalogs and place our orders in late October for November arrival. We plant in January so they are mature enough to take outside by end of May. Steve and the boys (Michael, Gabriel, James, Danny and this year Liam, too) do the heavy work while the girls and I tend to the weeding and pruning. It's been that way since Michael was a baby. When Gabe arrived, first thing Michael taught him - once he learned to walk - was how to pull a weed. It just naturally evolved into a family activity. Now standing at 6'6" (in bare feet), they both tower over the rest of us, including their dad. He and I will be tilling the soil this weekend and they will be here on the weekend after the 15th to help transplant all the vegetables from the greenhouse. I am hoping, but don't fully trust that the last frost will have hit us by then...

Currently, it's all about the flowers; my little ones are having a wonderful time surprising me with bouquets to place in my vases and set upon my desk. Today, for example, I have an antique glass vase filled with a magnificent array of colorful, fragrant roses that Steve brought me on Friday, two vases with pansies the kids brought me from the gardens, and a crystal vase of white Calla Lilies Steve brought me on Sunday. Callas were my mother's favorite. She passed away in 1996 and for some reason, I was missing her so terribly last week... On Sunday morning when Steve went out to get the papers and Sunday treats, he saw the flowers and brought them home to me. How thoughtful is he? I am one lucky woman and I know it! How could I help but love him so much!

Anyway, I was telling you about my office... My windowsills are adorned with vases of more white Calla Lilies from the kids who liked their dad's idea, and several planters of white daises which happen to be my favorite flower. My office now looks like a Garden of Eden... and smells so delightful it's difficult for me to leave it. Matter of fact, yesterday, I found Steve in here reading his Sports Pages and grinning ear to ear... This morning, Faith was in here studying for an exam she'll be taking later this afternoon - Physics, yeccch! (Better her than me!)

Note to self: Buy lock for Office.

The really wonderful thing about all this gardening business, besides the perk that we spend so much time together as a family, is that it serves us all season long and encourages Michael and Gabe (and their sensational girlfriends) to come home a lot for eats-outta-the-garden. Michael lives in Hoboken in an awesome loft overlooking the Hudson. (Steve and I would like to have it.) In five minutes he's in Manhattan to work. Gabe lives on Long Island where he is attending University, but has plans to move to Manhattan next year.

We planted a tree for each child as they arrived... They shade the gardens now...

Where did the years go?


- - - - - o0o - - - - - o0o - - - - -


Yesterday, I begged off the afternoon game of freeze tag in order to resume my position as responsible adult. While the kids were playing, I finally took the computer out to the deck and wrote for about two hours. Heaven on earth! I so enjoy being the house in the neighborhood where all the kids gather. Selfishly, uh, it makes me feel young to know they all like it here; protectively, it's comforting and calming to know where my kids are, what they are doing - and with whom; conclusively, it's all good! The neighborhood kids all know they can come to Steve or me if there should ever be any trouble. There is no messin' wit us!

Note to self: Forget about the lock.

Michael told us over the weekend that he's been offered a promotion already... Gabe graduates University in a few more days and has secured a wonderful position with Capitol Records who have just merged with ( i.e. taken over) his former employer, Virgin. Faith starts college in August and has, after a year of searching, investigating, and interviewing, chosen a University in Pennsylvania - just outside Philly. Only an hour away! Steve and I are ecstatic that she's decided not to accept the invitation from UCLA! -- Nothing against UCLA, mind you, except that it's, uh, so far away. In spite of our delight over the proximity, for some reason we are both taking this transition really hard.

I was sick when Michael left for college, better when Gabe left, though still dreadfully unhappy for more than just a few days, but with Faith going, I can't explain it; we're both messed up over it. Isn't that odd; I thought it would get easier, but it is clearly the opposite.

Next year we will bid Destiny a college adieu and no matter how difficult it may be, Steve and I are determined that it will be a time for celebration. Four years ago at this time, we thought we were going to lose her to leukemia. But a wonderful stranger came forth with a bone marrow donation that saved her life and there has been no sign of any cancer ever since. Thank God for that wonderful young man.

Until then, we get more primary school and high school fun! Let me count the ways... Liam will be four on August 4th - entering his second year of pre-school in September, Christina will be nine on July 22nd - entering fourth grade in September, Danny will be eleven on August 10th - entering sixth grade in September , Daisy will be twelve on January 8th - she'll be in seventh grade, James will be thirteen on November 6th - he'll be in eighth grade! So there will be carpooling, games, concerts, plays, recitals, homework... projects, and family dinners with ever more and more room appearing around the table... *sigh*

Where do the years go?!

As for Steve and me... we keep on keepin' on. Still diggin' each other - still playin', laughin', dancin', makin' music, and makin' love. My antique silver mirror that he gave me when we made our commitment to one another back in '78 still sits on the dresser... but, if I may steal a line from a movie, "the reflection's changed a bit".

We know how blessed we are, but still I wonder... Where do the years go?



Time goes, you say?
Alas, oh no.
Time stays;
We go...


Wonder if Austin Dobson was feeling as melancholy and random as I do today when he wrote that little verse...

I adore the adults my children are becoming but oh how I miss my babies...

CM

LAUGHS: Ian McKellen is a genius! INDEED!

Most of you know of my love for Ian McKellen... *Here is just a sampling of what makes him so special.
I saw this on **YouTube and laughed so hard, I simply had to pick it up for you all to see! (Is there anything Sir Ian McKellen cannot do?!) In my humble opinion, Sir Ian's self-effacing turn as a rather dense and incredibly self-absorbed version of himself is priceless, as is the look on Ricky Gervais's face as he describes how he acted like a wizard.

Enjoy! (Email me with or post your thoughts ...after you compose yourselves)



All right... I want to read your comments on this one!

Carol

*From: EXTRAS
**YOU TUBE Credit goes to: MissNophi2U - You can subscribe to her YouTube videos by visiting her site or clicking on the YouTube Logo at the bottom right of the screen.

IT'S TERRIBLE... and I'M CRANKY!

Okay, so it's not all that terrible. And I am not really all that cranky... but there are those days when nothing I do seems to come out quite the way I had envisioned it when I started...

The forgetfulness is a source of unrivaled embarrassment and that is terrible. I don't like being embarrassed, never have...

For years, I have been teasing and picking on my friend Barb who is notoriously late for anything and everything. Her typical arrival time is about 15 minutes late but she has been known to make me wait more than an hour. Now we have been friends for a long time and I am used to it. I am relatively easy going and never ever go anywhere without a good book so waiting is moot. Frankly, I usually relish the reading time.

But something unacceptable has begun to happen. I have begun to be late. Now this does not sit well with me. I am notoriously on time. It's who I am and how my friends count on me to be.

Lately, for some unknown reason, I have begun to have trouble organizing my time.

And by the way, where do all the words go? Since this whole menopause business started, I have lost my abliity to speak a full sentence without forgetting a key word. It's like my vocabulary chip is, uh... chipped.

I think I will section this blog into uh... sections (??? See what I mean?):



WONDERFUL DAY
GOOD DAY
BAD DAY
REALLY SHITTY Wondering-why-was-I-born DAY
TOTALLY ZONED DAY


Today is a good day and I would like to address some of the wonderful things about entering a certain age...

Like...

It's wonderful that I no longer feel I have something to prove.

It's wonderful that I no longer worry about how to please all of the people all of the time.

It's wonderful that I can write to my heart's content... or not.

It's wonderful that my clothes all fit.

It's wonderful that I have the most wonderful husband in the world.

It's wonderful that I am getting to see my children grow up and am experiencing great pride pride at having been a part of who they are. I like them. They are nice people. Good hearts - all different, all the same. I see their father in them... and me, yes... sometimes I see a bit of me.

*The cancer is making itself known today, but it's not bad. I can certainly handle it. The chemo - ugh. That's a different story. More on that another day. Not today. Today is good!


Except for the facial hair. THAT'S DEFINITELY GOTTA GO!

Wax on, Wax off!
CM

BROADWAY BOUNDS...

A few weeks ago, I had an urgent phone call from my friend, Barb, who was completely beside herself. I was able to decipher that what she was trying to convey was the
news that Christopher Plummer and Brian Dennehey were appearing at the Lyceum Theater in previews of INHERIT THE WIND. Without hesitating, I immediately began to stammer and stutter along with her. Somewhere in that unintelligible conversation we decided that we would not be able to go on living (not happily anyway) if we missed this.

Next day, I went online and made the purchase. In order to get the perfect seat for a show of this caliber, one must sometimes wait… I booked us second row, dead center… but we would have to wait eleven days. And I am not even going to write what I paid for those tickets. I’ll simply quote Bing Crosby from WHITE CHRISTMAS and say it was “somewhere between ouch and boing”!

Two days before the show, we spoke again deciding to make our way into the City on our own and meet at Penn Station outside of a certain shop.

One day before the show, I phoned Barb to let her know this was frightening to me. I don’t mind traveling into the City in daylight hours but the idea of traveling home in the dark, alone, after midnight was daunting. I feared it would have affected my psyche enough to interfere with my enjoyment of the show. Barb understood and we agreed that rather than walk two blocks from my house and catch the train, I would make the forty minute drive up to her office and make use of one of her computers to do some writing while she closed up for the day. Sounds easy enough, yes?

I left my home at three-thirty for what should have been, as I have said, about a forty minute drive to her office. Barb works for Pierre Deux, the decorating house, and her office is in Secaucus. About ten minutes by train from Manhattan. We’d leave my car at her office and take hers to the train station. Within minutes we’d be in the City and could take a nice leisurely walk to the Lyceum. (What’s that they say about the best laid plans?)

I phoned Barb at about four-thirty to say I was not even out of town yet. Traffic was at a complete standstill and no one seemed to know why or how long it would be this way. She wasted no time logging on to her computer to check it out. In a minute she let me know there was a several alarm fire in one of the towns I needed to pass through. Traffic there was being diverted and onlookers were also contributing to the tie-up. We had no way to know how long this would take but I felt that it would work out since I had left so early, uh, to avoid traffic.

By five-thirty, we’d moved two miles. Now the tickets were at the box office… in my name. Barb would not have been able to get them because she wouldn't have had the proper credentials. Telling her to go on ahead without me and I would catch up was not an option. I phoned her again just to fret. (Walking into a theater late is a horrible thing to do in any circumstance, but when your seat is down front, dead center, it’s simply unacceptable. Combine that with my concern over these two princes of the theater seeing two empty seats directly in front of them and you can sense my anxiety. What could I do? I put my convertible top down, cranked up the music and sang with Stevie Wonder… Baby everything’s all right. Up tight…Well, you get the picture.)

By six-thirty I’d established myself on a first name basis with my traffic clique. Yes, we’d begun to form cliques. I phoned to give Barb my hourly update and introduce her to my new friends… Just then, a man in a red car accidentally cut me off and as we waved our we’re-all-in-this-together understanding to one another, the traffic vanished. (I will never understand how it does that.)

“The traffic’s gone.” I announced I’d be there in a few minutes and indeed, I was at her office in less than fifteen. She closed the place while I used the facilities. As we exited the building and were triumphantly approaching her car, one of her coworkers stopped us to say she’d heard that there was no parking at the train station. The lots were jam-packed. Secaucus is not a place to park your car just anywhere unless you want it to disappear – or parts of it to disapp… nevermind.

We decided to try it anyway. Coworker had been correct. There was no parking at all. What to do. Holland Tunnel was backed up for miles; it would have taken way past Curtain just to get through the tunnel let alone navigate the City and then park... It was already past seven. (Am I glad I left my house at three-thirty!) Barb suggested we head over to catch the Ferry. Sounded good to me. Parking was a dream. As we walked from the car to the terminal we could see that the Ferry was heading for New Jersey and there was no line. We looked at one another in disbelief. Could our luck be changing for the better? We stepped up to the counter, purchased our tickets, walked outside, stepped onto the boat, sailed across the Hudson, disembarked, caught a bus to the theater, walked in, picked up our tickets, sat down. CURTAIN. (Definitely worth a good solid HIGH FIVE and tension relieving giggle!! Talk about the nick of time!)


The Lyceum is a beautifully appointed, smallish theater with a cozy, intimate feel to it. One of those theaters where there are no bad seats, but, as in all theaters, there are wonderful seats. We had wonderful.

When Brian Dennehey walked onto the stage, not eight feet away from us, the audience burst forth with such a rousing applause, I wondered how he would manage to continue. He did stand still for just a moment while the mirth quieted. He then went on to give a performance that was so stellar, I say with all sincerity it was bested only by Christopher Plummer’s. I finally understood the coinage of the word "star" when referring to an actor of a certain quality and magnitude. These two great actors lifted each other up to such amazing theatrical heights that they took us right along with them as though we were in some gravitational pull. Willingly. The woman to my left said in astonishment as the curtain closed after the final bows, “I knew I was going to see Christopher Plummer tonight, but I did not know I was going to experience this.” All I could do was nod my agreement; I was completely speechless. I turned to Barb who, also speechless, merely raised her eyebrows and shrugged. We smiled at one another, shook our heads in disbelief and exited with the throng.

I could overhear remarks made by others as we walked along. They validated my heart song. “I don’t want it to be over.” “That was wonderful” “One of the best things I have ever seen” “Isn’t he wonderful” “I love him more than ever”

Everyone with whom we made eye contact as we all poured out into the busy theater district seemed to want to say something and all seemed to feel the same. There was no denying it. We had all shared in experiencing a true once-in-a-lifetime event, and we all knew it! For the first time in my life, I contemplated the pros and cons of waiting at the Stage Door to meet the actors. Thought better of it knowing I was incapable of saying anything worthwhile or sensible and moved on down the road. Remembering that we had not eaten before the play because time had not seemed to have been on our side, we decided to catch the Ferry and go back to “the Jersey side” for dinner.

The ride back across the Hudson was every bit as magical as the earlier ride to the City had been. Earlier, the City had been transformed into shades of pinks and golds as the windows on the magnificent skyscrapers reflected the sunset. Now it was bedecked and bedazzled with the flickering lights of man set against the velvety night sky. There is simply no other city like it. And indeed that view was the crown jewel topping off the evening.

By ten-thirty, we were seated in one of those wonderful diners for which New Jersey is famous enjoying being served by a waitress with a personality that was rivaled only by the rest of our evening! She added a whole new dimension to our experience earning her place as part of the memory. At some point, Barb and I found our tongues and our thoughts. I don’t know who started it but we sat there in that diner talking about the play. The perfect matching of costumes and set to the material. Plummer and Dennehey, the perfect matching of these two actors in the lead roles. And the cast, every bit up to the task of acting alongside and with these two astonishing men. We left the diner at after one in the morning. (Have I mentioned that it was perfect?)

I turned on the music as I headed south on the Parkway but turned it off again, wanting to relive the play. I remembered the endearing face of the woman who’d so sweetly said she hadn’t wanted it to be over yet… In the confines of my car, I finally answered her... Audibly. Me neither!


So, what does all this have to do with writing? Simply this: Performances like that, material like that, theaters, conversations, and audience reactions like that inspire me limitlessly. Someone wrote that wonderful, timeless play and these two brilliant men found it worthwhile enough to want to perform it. For a writer, there is no better validation.

Go see it!
Then email me…

Hurry!
CM

THE PERFECT MUSE (or... What to do with a Hill a' Beans!)

I'll share two more happenings that revolve (sort of) around British Actor Sean Bean's being an integral muse in my latest project. Two incidents that have indeed contributed to the huge amount of fun I am having with it, and then the topic of Bean really has to close. (He's taking over! Gotta nip that in the bud. I am a grown woman, not a silly schoolgirl. I will not obsess over some actor... even if he does have a voice that could melt the polar ice cap... I will not obsess. I will not. I will not. I will... not.)

Okay, I am teasing. I am not obsessing over an actor, although given some of the things I have read online lately, that does appear to make me somewhat of an oddball.

Anyway, my first tale is of something that happened between Steve and I. As you know, I'd downloaded some photos of Bean, three to be exact, to place on my storyboard and because I had decided to write longhand for a while, I decided to put one of them on the computer as my desktop wallpaper so it would be, uh, well, in my face. The shot was a very tight close up in which he is masterfully exhibiting a thoughtful sadness, a loneliness. His expression is perfectly in tune with the passage with which I am currently struggling. I am at a point where I must write a particularly heart-wrenching experience for Logan and I tend to rely upon outside stimuli for that type of thing rather than force myself to use my own life experiences to draw on emotionally. I still cry when I am writing it, but my tears are for the character, as I am avoiding the need to call upon painful memories of my own. This photograph was the last one I found. The one that brought about the EUREKA! reaction I wrote of in DISMUSED. (See: 3/07 entry, DISMUSED)

Now, my eight year old wandered in to my office looking for a book to read and to hang with mom. (I love when they do that...) As she curled up on the sofa and pulled the throw over herself, she glanced over to my computer, noticed the photo of Bean, and with an impish grin announced she was going to tell her father.

She didn't come back in, but Steve did.

Now, this is as good a time as any to point out that my Steve is the ultimate muse. He is and always has been my own personal Mac Dreamy. Standing at six foot, two with broad, muscular shoulders and a thirty-three inch waist, he is the epitome of "handsome and rugged". With piercing green eyes that can be so dark they sometimes look black, unusually smooth olive complected skin, thick wavy black hair with a touch of salt and pepper at the temples, and a deep raspy voice, Steve is truly the kind of man people write about.

And there is a lot to write.

Once you get past the titillating exterior there is so much more. Well-read, talented, artistic and creative, he is also a man of great integrity and character. His devotion to this family knows no bounds. First of all, he puts up with me and... that makes him admirable on so many levels! A world-class husband and dad, he is generous, affectionate, loving and ever available to the kids and me; a good example twenty-four, seven.

If you'll kindly excuse the expression, "a good citizen of the world", I'll throw that in the mix, too. I know it sounds cliché, but he really is. He cares, with all his heart, that what we leave for our children, by way of environment, politics, and religion is all that it can be and he unwaveringly leads our family in that pursuit. In addition to that, he is the kind of man to whom people naturally gravitate; everyone likes to be around him. He's extremely warm and approachable, lighthearted and easygoing. A quick wit, he's always at the ready with a handy quip or a full-fledged anecdote that could rival any stand-up comic out there. And while his humor and practical jokes are legendary amongst our family and friends, he can turn on a dime when someone needs help. Whenever there is trouble or need, Steve is always the first one on the scene and the last one to leave, selflessly lifting spirits, moving mountains, and offering support.

He consistently raises the bar for me and our kids in every arena, be it work, school, music, sports, volunteering... From simple every-day tasks like picking up after himself or partnering with me in tending to our gardens - to contributing to a positive outcome in the grand scheme of things by volunteering our family for Habitat of Humanity or stopping everything and packing us all up to help clean up New Orleans, he puts forth his best effort, and readily exposes his deepest feelings. The rest of us just naturally follow suit. I admire him, I look up to him, and I aspire to be like him -- even after all these years... And I know our kids feel the same way.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Now, as I said, our eight year old had gone to tattle that mommy had a picture of a man on her computer and it wasn't daddy.

The idea that Steve could have more than a little fun with this was not lost on him, not for a second. So in he comes all cute and nosy, looking to see who, what, where and why. He sashayed over to me at the desk and leaned in to share a sweet kiss while glancing sideways at the computer. "What goes on here?" he asked, hovering over me authoritatively.

Embarrassed, I leaned forward, crossed my arms over the screen to shield it from his glare, and feigned innocence, "Uh, Nothing... Nothing. It's nothing, just a picture of that actor... uh, what's-his-name."

"Whatshisname." Steve echoed sternly.

"Yeah, you know, that one I am using for my muse. Whatshisname. The British actor." My attempt at nonchalance was a miserable failure.

"Sean Bean." His tone was unreadable.

"Yes, yes; that's it. Bean." I didn't look at him because I knew he wasn't buying this act for a second.

He went on to say he did not know if he liked this Bean business, and it became apparent as he glanced around my office noting the three photos of the dashing actor on my story board, that my Stevie suddenly felt he had something to, uh, prove. ...So, he locked the door and we had ourselves a TIME. (Not that we aren't always having ourselves a Time, but this one was unexpected and particularly Fun.)

It's official: I must send our Mr. Bean a Thank you! Maybe I'll send one to his parents too...

- - - - - - - - - - - -

When Steve and I were fin... uh, afterward, I cooed something about removing the photo of Bean from my desktop and replacing it with the one of the two of us that had been there before. He stretched, wrapped his arms around me and laughed, saying there was no need; he knew Bean was no threat to him. I liked that.

He was right...

___________________

The Second Story is much shorter. Although it is no less fun for the eleven of us, here in the land of Awwwwwwww's.

My online searches for photographs of Bean had led me to several sites built in his honor. And I have indeed communicated with some of the frequent visitors there who have been more than gracious in offering information that assisted me in ultimately locating the shots I chose.

Last week I received an email from one of these women asking me if I owned any of Bean's movies and if I would like the ones I did not already have. I responded that I did not have any at all, adding that I might be interested in borrowing a SHARPE or two - given that I had, once upon a time, enjoyed the books. Wasn't that nice of her...

Saturday, my UPS guy delivered a huge box.

With the exception of SHARPE'S CHALLENGE, which has apparently been released on DVD ONLY, I think this young woman has sent me everything he has ever done. From the entire SHARPE series to SILENT HILL, including TV appearances, interview/talk shows, guest shots and commercials - even commercials where he does a voice-over, there must be forty tapes... It seems she has recently, making partial use of a hefty tax refund, replaced all her VHS Bean with DVD Bean and I am the beneficiary of her efforts. How cool is THAT!

I asked Steve to build me a new shelf unit for my newly acquired Hill 'a Beans, but he hasn't answered me yet...

If I play my cards right, shelves or no, maybe he'll feel he has something to prove.

God bless you, Sean Bean, wherever you are!!

CM

Read some excerpts from BEHIND THE WALL

THE MUSE IS BACK!

COLOR ME HAPPY!

My muse is back and I have not had a breakdown of some kind in the meanwhile... Okay, well, that's debatable, but I am feeling fine now!

I had resolved, just yesterday, to stop struggling to find another muse and, instead, bite the proverbial bullet, give in, and re-write Logan to accommodate my, uh, issues with Bean. Sounds silly, I know, but cut me some slack. Every writer knows that the muse holds the power. He dictates. I merely transcribe. Re-writing the story would have been infinitely easier than finding a replacement muse to drive a story that has been inspired by another...

It never ceases to amaze me that as soon as I acknowledge that I am indeed not the one in control, I am given that very thing which I so desperately desired. In this case, I had been dreaming of finding my muse again, steadfastly intact.

Today, my wish is granted. (Oh, how dramatic, but, truth be told, I feel dramatic about it...) Still unable to write and cruelly left alone with my thoughts because plans for the day had been thwarted by inclement weather, I chose to lock myself in my office in an attempt to force myself to, at some point, at least touch the keyboard. But, alas, it was not to be so; I rebelliously avoided it like the plague. Even my bookshelves seemed to hold no interesting respite; no beckoning there, which is what leads me to admit that my statement about not having had a breakdown is somewhat debatable. Books have always been my hiding place and for me to look at them and feel nothing is, quite frankly, cause for alarm.

Frustrated and desperate for an escape, I actually turned on the TV. Now, anyone reading this who knows me personally just gasped in disbelief, but I assure you, it is true...

What transpired then was nothing short of stunning. You may remember that in my lamentation, DISMUSED, I mentioned that Sean Bean had a movie in current release in the UK. I am now convinced that he must have something going on over here in the States as well because that man is all over the small screen! I could not change the channel without bumping into him. Everywhere I went, there he was. (Is he stalking me? Hmmm? Why, yes, I have been called a dreamer; why do you ask?) Anyway, I saw SHARPE; some mad scientist on an ISLAND cloning mankind for fun and profit; greedy Ian scurrying to locate our NATIONAL TREASURE by stealing the Declaration of Independence; a man desperate to find his wife and daughter who'd gone missing in some weird, dark nightmarish sci-fi thing on SILENT HILL; and the handsome Airline Pilot who disrupted my FLIGHTPLAN and started all this by making me notice Sean Bean in the first place. Why, if I didn't know better, I'd swear he was stalk... uh, well, never mind.

At any rate, his brilliant personifications one after the other, or remoting back and forth as the case may be, enthralled and entertained. Afterwards it hit me just how clever this actor is. Consider this: It's one thing to carry a film on your back when you are the lead; quite another, I would imagine, when you are not. Strategically placing himself in so many secondary roles when he is the epitome of a leading man is nothing short of brilliant. Bean gets A's in my book. Only other actor I have ever admired for such selfless, brainy moves is Dustin Hoffman. If Bean loves his craft the way Dustin does, we'll all grow old together; that's a given!

I find his wisdom and humility very appealing indeed!


All is well. The muse is back!


I really ought to send him a Thank You...

CM
--
Newprose.org

"Life is no brief candle. It's a sort of splendid torch, so make it
burn as bright as possible." --George Bernard Shaw

It's a mystery...

I wrote nearly a hundred pages last night. Carefully side-stepping poor Logan. Fearful that I may need to completely re-design and re-write him, I have begun to avoid him at all costs and focus on Cassie. Which sucks because, while I know - and love - Cassie, Logan is the main character; the backbone of my story.

Just for fun - and to distract me from feeling sorry for myself, I was trying to analyze why I do my best writing in the middle of the night...

Maybe it's the illusion of solitude...

It must be the quiet... or the dark... or that dreamy place between asleep and awake... Or the knowing that my family is all tucked safely in their beds. Maybe it's the sound of Steve breathing. (Such a wonderful sound. I love him sleeping next to me while I am writing... probably because even when my thoughts take me someplace dangerous or heartbreaking, his presence assures my safety... and my sanity.)


Ultimately, though, it's a mystery.

CM

Newprose.org

DISMUSED!

TODAY I am faced with something interesting. My lustfully muse-filled emotions - that feeling of bliss when one is in love – are settling down.

Last evening I had a perplexing sort of "turn-off" experience that one would think would have been, I dare say should have been, the polar-opposite. It all started innocently enough when I checked my email. I was suddenly and delightfully besieged with a lengthy list of interesting tidbits on my Logan-muse, talented British actor Sean Bean. Nothing out of the ordinary here. Presently, there is a lot on him owing to the UK release of his latest movie, OUTLAW.

This is as good a place as any to interject that I had discovered him several months ago and become ensorcelled and bean-mused without even realizing it. (Cheap play on words, I know, but cut me some slack; it was right there. I had to do it.) The main character for my story, BEHIND THE WALL, finally came to life and spilled out of my imagination and onto the keyboard within days, requiring very little applied effort on my part. He suddenly had a soul and I would never, for one minute, deny that Bean gets full credit for that inspiration. He has indeed been a wonderful muse. No let downs there I can assure you. Handsome and rugged with a voice that is soft and smoky and warm all the way down, he lingers just on the steamy side of delicious! From that first moment when I sat bolt upright in my bed and raced to the keyboard in the depths of night to introduce Logan to the rest of the personae, this man has been on my mind. Rest assured this does not mean more than that. I am not the celebrity-crushing, forum-joining, blogging type. He simply made his way into my head and inspired a book. (Nice little feather for his thespian cap, eh?) Having no real clue about this man of whom I'd never heard and have now learned, to my utter surprise, has been around for the last twenty-something years, (I need to get out more...) I wanted to see more of him. But what to do! I set myself up at IMDb and have been no less than stunned at his lengthy resume! While there I was offered an option to "Google” him. I did. (Sounds playfully naughty, doesn't it?)

It seems Google will email you new information as it hits the Internet on any subject in which you may have an interest. If you click on this option, you need do nothing more. Now I, being a sap for the easy way to do anything, opted in to the Sean Bean Google Alert in hopes of locating and possibly downloading the perfect musable photos of him. To that end, I have successfully printed out two outstanding shots of him. They are strategically perched on my storyboard even as I write this.

Additionally, I have learned that he had appeared in LORD OF THE RINGS - as Boromir, no less – (Stop rolling your eyes; it’s not attractive.) I freely admit to knowing that I may well be the one person who had not seen it. But hear me out; I’d completely resisted viewing it because I have so deeply loved and cherished my own heady creative interpretations inspired by Tolkien's masterpiece books. I was more than a little put off by the idea of anyone's unwelcome, special effects laden, hollywoodesque interpretations interfering with my wonderful childhood hiding place. Suffice it to say that I can now add crossing that bridge and having a wonderful experience doing so to the list of things for which Mr. Bean's sudden appearance in my life gets all the credit. (Should I write him a Thank You?) Now that I have seen it, I cannot believe that I refused so adamantly to view it, in spite of its intermittent varying, which I have now come to embrace. (**Such a stubborn refusal on my part is sacrilegious, especially given that LOTR also boasts among its cast members my most highly favored, revered actor, Ian McKellen, as Gandalf. But I digress.)

The point I am attempting to make is that I was happily moving forward, writing my little heart out, ecstatically becoming hopelessly engrossed in what I believe to be the finest thing I have ever written. Last evening, suddenly and without warning, it came to a screeching halt for reasons that astound and bewilder me.

I'd opened my email to find a lengthy list of Google alerts for my muse. Rubbed my hands together in anticipation of finding that one elusive, perfect photo for which I'd been longing and clicked to open. Eureka! There amongst the proverbial ashes I did indeed find it. Perfect. Exactly what I am looking for. Time to close and disable the alerts. But there was so much more listed and I am compelled to admit, I mean, uh, confess that morbid curiosity, well, to be brutally honest it was an embarrassing sort of slimy internet voyeurism that beckoned me to continue. (What is it they say about curiosity and a certain cat?)

Nothing dangerous to start... some news items about the release of OUTLAW; too many links to interviews and reviews, both written and video. Don't need to spend time on those. (I tend to go out of my way to avoid interviews by actors, preferring to simply enjoy the magic…) There were old items about other features; bloggers' wisdom on same; male and female opinions and adolescent rantings over all his, let us politely say: attributes... It does boggle the mind what some people will write for all the world to see. (Would we call that a bloggin' boggle?) I continued along, occasionally shaking my head, occasionally giggling as I unceremoniously nodded along in solidarity, acknowledging shared fantasies with his many fans, some of which were tantalizingly explicit, some grotesquely so. What the hell, I reasoned with myself, This is entertainment at its finest; real stuff by real folks. Who has not ever had such thoughts about an actor or actress with whose character one had fallen madly in love, or lust as the case may be? Nothing wrong with that; it's perfectly normal, healthy even. I encouraged myself to continue...

"SLASH... WARNING: EXPLICIT. Bean/..." was how it read. My first instinct was to shut the email down; delete it.

While I freely admit to having had such thoughts about Bean, even put them into print between my lead characters, Logan and Cassie, within the realms of their own bedroom role-play/fantasy exploits, I have never taken the plunge into the boldly explicit. What will it be like, I wondered, how far will it go? Clearly, what was offered here would be a fictionalized account (as opposed to that which I had already been reading: mere admissions of having had subjective sensual fantasies about Monsieur Bean.) THIS, on the other hand, would be blatant, wanton sex; the actual revealing of the fantasy itself sprawled across my screen. The resulting assailing thoughts coupled with my own now rampant fantasies were beyond seductive. I did not delete the email.

I paused, stood, walked away, meandered into the laundry room, fussed about for a bit...

Slowly, cautiously, I made my way back to the computer and opened up the link. (I often wonder if men realize the unparalleled sexual excitement a woman relishes from the occasional male/male fantasy. Can they have even the remotest clue? I suspicion they think this idea of same sex fantasy, albeit female/female, is exclusively theirs, but I shall examine that likelihood another time, possibly in essay form.) I jumped in with right hand planted steadfastly in a death grip upon my mouse at the ready to close it down in an instant should I find it all too much for my now overly stimulated, out of control sensual psyche. (I thought it a necessarily safe place for my right hand to be.) Did I really need to see this man in this light? (Steve has already been blessed, or sexually harassed and abused as the case may be, with the ramifications of muse-lust after I have written a particularly steamy and/or romantic scene involving Logan and Cassie. He has stated emphatically on more than one occasion that if he ever meets Sean Bean he does indeed have two words for him: THANK YOU! Steve is so together, isn't he? What a guy, huh? But, what of this? Dare I get into this? Could I stand it; could Steve handle me if I did? Have mercy! I had worked myself up to the point of no return just thinking about the likely resulting aftermath before I'd even begun to read.)

- - - - - - - - - - -

Oh my darlings, I have flown too close to the sun and lost my muse.

I did not listen to my gut instinct, choosing instead to play with fire and I foolishly allowed myself to be ushered where I should never have gone. "Explicit" does not cover what I read. It was extreme; too extreme for me. I do not know how to describe what happened to me as I read along. It was literally a one-moment-excited-utterly-turned-on / next-moment-gone-too-far kind of thing. Snap! My muse was gone. (And I have the unmitigated gall, the extreme audacity to feel somehow violated.)

I had thought to enhance my own male/male fantasy involving someone whom I perceived to be an alpha-male and was instead introduced to the alternate point of view: that the idea of him as alpha-male is the fantasy, indeed the grand deception. It all rang too loud. Too loud... No beating me up, here. Please understand, I have no turn-off issues with homosexuality. On the contrary, as I have already explained, it is at times quite the opposite. (Now for the obligatory apologetic letmeexplain: I am a relatively non-imposing, non-judgmental woman who sees everyone as a loving morsel of God Itself, to be cherished. Wasn't that pretty?) Additionally, this is not in any way a reflection on Sean Bean. I don't know his personal business and I don't care to know, sexual or otherwise. He is an accomplished, outstanding actor and I ask nothing more from him than more (much more) in that arena. Please, God! The only bearing all this has here is in its significance to how it relates to muse: If Logan is not who I think he is, my story takes another road, a whole new road, with twists and bumps I had not anticipated.

Dammit! It's all taken up residence in my head now...

Whether or not I am going to be able to manage this does not look promising; when I'd read all that I could stand, instead of seeking out my own resident alpha-male for some hot'n steamy, I nestled into bed next to him and… went to sleep. Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all... (The logical question here in its simplest form is: Why didn't I stop reading it? I have no answer for that... well, except to say that perhaps I was hoping that the sensual attraction that had been so strong would re-awaken before the conclusion, but the bare bones truth of it is I cannot know for sure. What I do know is that the analytical side of me will be beating this to death in the weeks to come. Have I expressed myself in expletives yet?)

How I will continue to write Logan without his soul or, I should say, the soul I had imagined for him, I do not know. I have never been so challenged and I am desperately afraid of where this will go. I do not know if I can write it at all. I approached my office this morning with the trepidation and disdain of a child taking a slow walk to the principal's office.

I have no interest to write it at all.

There is nothing.

Nothing...

Oh, lamentable day! Has all of what I have already written been for naught? Are Logan and Cassie to disappear forever, unfinished?

I have experienced writer's block before, but this... this is something else.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In BEHIND THE WALL, Cassie, who like most women is prone to the occasional premonition, laments to Logan that she has had a dream in which Jamie is standing right in front of her but she cannot sense his physicality, nor can she get to him, touch him. It’s as though there is a barrier between them. In desperation, emboldened by her love for him, she forces herself through the barrier which then smashes like glass into a million glittering pieces. What should have become a misty romantic interlude instead turns to horrific nightmare when Jamie himself also shatters and disappears. In his stead, just beyond where he had been standing, she sees the shadowy figure of a faceless man, devoid of voice, scent, body language or luster.

Seems I have, in writing this passage, had a premonition of my own...


Regretfully dis-mused in New Jersey,
Carol Marsella

Library/Excerpts: BEHIND THE WALL