a n g e l

l o v e

instigated by Fabulous a r n z e n

"Exploit universal fears." -Mike
Arnzen

My mentor asked me to study voice in characters that live long after the book is finished. She suggested that I read Sharon Creech's Walk Two Moons. I collect Newberry Medal books so I happened to have one on the shelf, although I had not yet read it. I took out a highlighter and started to mark things that I found interesting about Sal, the main character's, voice.

Certain words and phrases indicated to the reader which personality was talking. 'Huzza, huzza' let the reader know that Gram was talking. 'That's what I am trying to tell you' was one of Phoebe's favorite expressions. Ms. Partridge, the blind neighbor made up words. And Sal always prefaced sentences with 'peculiar'. Sal's voice was the most distinct.

Duh, character building 101, you might say. I did. Surely that was not the variable that would make a character's voice live on forever. I continued to search.

I read to the eleventh chapter, (Is that like the eleventh hour?) Flinching. A conversation takes place between Ben and Sal:

"Don't people touch each other at your house?" (Ben)
"What's that supposed to mean?" (Sal)
"I just wondered," he said. "You flinch every time someone touches you." (Ben)

In the middle of the chapter, on the middle of the page, I froze. I became incredibly sad. I haven't cried while reading a book since I read Bridge to Terabithia ten years ago. There I sat with tears filling my eyes.

When was the last time I had touched my own children? When was the last time someone had touched me? Those checked out okay. But when was the last time someone had touched my Aunt Marie in the nursing home? Or war vets in the VA hospital? It made me remember that one project of the infant monkey that died from lack of contact.

It was actually a universal fear displayed within a frame of twenty-five words. This would be the sole reason I would remember the resilient Sal and her peculiar voice forever.

Arnzen was right! He's kind of f a b u l o u s!

http://tinyurl.com/b4zkr5m Be an instigator, support the Fridge of the Damned poetry magnet kickstarter.

EPCC & MaKe My DaY!

s p a c e

Satiate. Scrumptious. Succulent. Silly! Ah the savory word. Our books are best, we believe, when devoured. Not just read aloud. Spoken. Saved. Swallowed. And not just in the moment of reading the book. Lived. We are moved beyond measure by the thought of these words finding a way into our readers lives. S is for Space. Own your space. (from A is for Angel, our talisman.)

b e l i e v e

c h o o s e

w i l d w i l d w e s t

Blerdesses love W e s t e r n s! I can't point my finger, yet, as to why. Oh, a [b l e r d e s s] is a female version of a b l e r d.

Westerns are not the most politically correct genre, nor, arguably, the most heady. Why DO we like?

Blerd girls play in alternate realities which makes tons of sense.

Star Wars ultimately models as a Western - which makes even more sense. Ask f a b u l o u s blerdess, Mellody Hobson?

Hot guy, Common, had a recent role in the TV Western, Hell on Wheels- which makes THE most sense.

Da haahh, da haahh
da ha-hahh- ha-hahh haahh!

I can't blerd chic my way to a logical conclusion of why blerd girls f a n c y Westerns. 

Aside from the o b v i o u s genetic component... our daddys' loved Westerns. Now we do. Background music to our lazy Saturday afternoon memories stream intro TV s p a g h e t t i Western theme songs.

Sasha and I texted on this topic during my recent holiday travels. There were too many components of Western life that we agreed that blerds adored. We realized that an entire month could be dedicated to blogging this intriguing pairing.

That was when I confessed that my favorite holiday d e s t i n a t i o n was not:

the Stratton Salon s p a trip,

or the m a g n i f i c e n t Tea Room,

or the s t e a m y hot springs at Trimble,

or even the m a g i c a l Silverton Cascade Canyon trip.

En route to Colorado...

I was extra excited to meet-up with the amazing a n g e l Adrea during the second leg of the Westward Ho annual Texas / Colorado road trip and a teeny bit excited about devouring precious p a r a n o r m a l pancakes- blue corn pinion bubbling with pine nuts at Santa Fe Baking Company and Cafe. 

Then a magnificent diversion occurred in New Mexico. 

The sign read: 

Billy the Kid's REAL resting place. 

d i v e r s i o n!!! 


Regulators, Let's Ride! 

I t r e a s u r e my own favorite Western, Young Guns featuring my own favorite cowboy, William H. Bonney.  

Back and forth through the town we searched for the REAL resting place of The Kid taking clues from confusing colorfully numbered town maps and official highway markers. 

Torn, I lamented aloud, "We don't have to go. If we can't find it this time, we should at least make it to the Baking Company," followed by tumbling exasperated sighs. 

Farmer Guy kept looking. Highly unusual for the 'let's get to where we are going- minimal meandering Farmer Guy. 

Ultimately he admitted, that in no way would he want to hear that dramatic monologue for the rest of his life, ”We were so close to Billy the Kid..." Followed by years of tumbling exasperated s i g h s.


Lo and behold! He found it! 

I was tickled to giddy. I read William's letters. I photographed everything. 

I saw the PALS tombstone. Shut - up! 

Farmer Guy thought there may have been some past life r o m a n t i c horseplay between me and the Kid. Impossible, because he's still, what, alive. 

Blerds also love people who are not really dead, but naysayers believe otherwise, but that's a whole ‘nother month of posts.

Tonto, jump on it, jump on it, jump on it...Kemosabi, jump on it, jump on it, jump on it... Custer, jump on it, jump on it, jump on it...Apache, jump on it, jump on it, jump on it...wowowowowowowowowowowowowoA- hunga-hunga-hunga-hunga!!!

love

Kool Moe Dee - Wild Wild West