Resurrection Blogfest II—Appreciating Life

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Mina Lobo is hosting the Resurrection Blogfest for the second year in a row. Participants are reposting something they wrote between now and the last Resurrection Blogfest. For full rules and prize information, just click on the badge above.

Since most of my posts remain very serious and intellectual, even if I’ve managed to get my average post down to under 1,000 words these days, I thought it would be fun to revisit one of my more lightweight posts. It originally went live on 10 August 2013, entitled Sweet Saturday Samples—Happy Duran Duran Appreciation Day! I briefly went back to a hiatused WIP just to write the chapter this scene comes from. (Note to regular readers: The woman who runs SSS has been taking a break to recharge her batteries. If and when she resumes the weekly hop, my pre-scheduled Saturday posts will return.)

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This week, for Sweet Saturday Samples, I’m returning to my hiatused WIP Justine Grown Up, set from 1979-84, in honor of today’s special holiday. If you had told me three years ago I’d soon know that 10 August is a real holiday, Duran Duran Appreciation Day, I probably would’ve laughed in your face. It just goes to show you never know what interests you’ll develop as you go through more of life.

Before my excerpt, I’d like to share a video that touches on the reason for this day. This particular date was chosen because on that day in 1985, Simon (the lead singer) almost died from drowning. You never know when you’re living your last moments. Always appreciate the gift of life, since you never know when it might be about to be taken away.

If you don’t want to watch the whole interview, the part about his near-death experience ends at 1:40. For some reason, the first half later repeats, but then continues to the rest of the video. I completely understand when he’s talking about how he thought those were his last moments, since I had a near-death experience too. Mine was on land, though, not at sea, and I was run over by a car and pinned underneath, 10 years ago this 19 August.

This is taken from Chapter 54, “Irene and Amelia Redecorate Their Room.” It’s early 1983 (probably about February-March), and Irene is 15 and Amelia is 13. They’re giving their 23-year-old aunt a tour of their room, along with a little lesson on their new favorite band.

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Irene indicates a somewhat androgynous-looking member of the quintet. “I chose Nick as my favorite.  God forgive me, but I wasn’t entirely sure what he was the first time I saw him.  Then I realized that’s a normal look for a New Romantic, and that I was being pretty ignorant by assuming a man in makeup with a pretty look has to be a cross-dresser.  I like how he’s not afraid to be himself, no matter what certain people might assume.  My parents always taught me how important it is to beat to your own drummer.  Different is good.”

Justine takes in Irene’s favorite. “I kind of agree with you, but I’m not sure I’d know what to think if David came home one day wearing eyemakeup, styled hair, and feminine shirts.”

“Oh, I like that look on the right man.  A man who’s not afraid to look pretty in public is really sure of his masculinity.  He doesn’t need silly things like leather jackets or a motorcycle to prove his manhood.”

“Yeah, but there’s a lot of ground between wearing mascara and being a Hell’s Angel!”

“I was never interested in the jocks anyway.  I always liked the artistic types, like the guys in art, film, dance, or music clubs.  I don’t know how girls in the old days could ever be attracted to things like crew cuts, letter jackets, and square jaws.”

Amelia points to one of the brunets. “My favorite is Roger, the drummer.  Most of the girls at school have other favorites, but I don’t care.  I guess I just like that he’s quiet, like I am.  My favorite guys at school are the quiet, shy ones.”

“You can never go wrong with a quiet one,” Justine agrees. “I think it’s safe to say that the average introvert isn’t using that as a façade for a jerkish personality.  What you see is what you get.”

“And it adds mystery.  Plus when a quiet person does speak, it’s usually pretty deep and profound.  Everyone always underestimates us, but you know what they say about the quiet ones.”

Justine smiles at her. “Yes, I sure do, even though I’ve never been guilty of being too quiet and shy.  Is he one of the brothers?”

Irene vigorously shakes her head. “None of them are related, though a lot of people assume that at first.  It’s just one of life’s funny coincidences that three out of five share the same last name.  I’m glad we’re Troys and don’t have that problem of an overly common name.  Well, you’re a Ryan now, but even Ryan isn’t overly popular.”

Amelia continues pointing. “Nessa chose Simon as her favorite.  She likes his poetic lyrics, and you know how much she loves books and poetry.  It’s kind of unusual that she likes him best, since normally she doesn’t like blondes all that much.  Did we tell you he’s part Huguenot just like us?”

“No, you didn’t,” Justine says, starting to feel like a fish out of water with her teenage nieces.  She’s not even a generation away from them, but suddenly they seem like they have less in common.  They have mainstream teen girls interests now, as opposed to how they often used to talk about deep things like indie films, current events, and classic literature.

“Little Simone likes John best,” Irene concludes. “She thinks he’s the best-looking.  No deeper reasons.  What else can you expect from a ten-year-old?  She’ll learn when she’s a little older.”

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From the Great Beyond Blog Hop and What’s Up Wednesday

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My Horny Hump Day post is here.

Great Beyond

Roland Yeomans, in conjunction with Tara Tyler, Angela Brown, and Gwen Gardner, is hosting the From the Great Beyond Blog Hop. Participants will share which famous writer or celebrity they’d like to contact in a séance, why they chose the person, and what they’d say. Winners will be announced on Halloween, my favouritest day of the year besides Yom Kippur. Prizes include the hosts’ books and some autographed posters from Roland.

Since I live and breathe historical, and have really dinosaur tastes in entertainment, almost all of the people I love and admire are deceased. There are so many great people to choose from on my favourites list, but these are the toppermost of my poppermost.

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My darling Stan and Ollie, whom I’ve loved for 17 years this July. I never could’ve gotten through my junior year of high school without their sweet faces and lovable antics to look forward to at 11:30 AM on Saturdays on AMC (before AMC totally jumped the shark), and sometimes a few other times during the week. These dear clown prince angels put their loving arms around my weeping heart. The love I have for them was forged in fire, and even after that year is far in the past, my love is still strong. I still remember how sad I was when I found out they’d both died some time ago and how old they’d really been in these shorts I loved so much.

It wasn’t a big surprise to learn they were just as kind, sweet, and generous off-camera, and that they were closer than brothers. They were also very good to their fans, and Stan, who outlived Ollie (whose real-life nickname was Babe), granted tours of his house, kept his number in the phonebook, and wrote back to everyone who wrote a fan letter till his final illness. Such a sweet, sweet person. If I met them, I would say simply, “Thank you. I love you. I’ll love you until there’s no more breath in my body. You’ve never really died, since you’re still making people laugh.”

WUW

What I’m Writing

Now past the 520,000-word mark in my WIP, Journey Through a Dark Forest: Lyuba and Ivan in the Age of Anxiety, Chapter 66, “Answering the Call.” This’ll cover January-June 1942, as six of my characters go into the service, and a seventh (a minor character based on my dysfunctional, emotionally crippled ex) is forced to go. His Harpy mommy can spend some time what-whating it up from prison for treason when she tries to protest his being drafted!

Still hoping to finish up within 600,000 words. If the final length exceeds that, I’ll consider putting it out as either four or two volumes, making clear they’re merely installments of the same book.

What I’m Reading

My primary focus is on class readings.

What Inspires Me

The ending of one of the most haunting, unforgettable books I’ve ever read (which shall go unnamed to avoid spoiling it for anyone). I read this book over a decade ago, and I still remember so much of it in brutal, painful detail. When my ex-roommate freaked out at me yet again the day before Yom Kippur, it triggered something in me and I became terrified of being around her again, esp. alone. And the next time she came over a few days later and I had my panic attack, I had a full-on body memory and felt like I were back at Hackett, this scared 14-year-old being bullied and dominated. I never want to lose my voice like that again.

….The voice lost in a faraway village church had found me again and filled the whole room. I spoke loudly and incessantly like the peasants and then like the city folk, as fast as I could, enraptured by the sounds that were heavy with meaning, as wet snow is heavy with water, convincing myself again and again and again that speech was now mine and that it did not intend to escape through the door which opened onto the balcony.

What Else I’m Up To

Enjoying the last week of my blessèd aloneness, before my new roommate moves in. I’m having a great time cooking and preparing my own meals, buying my own food, decorating, everything. I can’t wait to buy a microwave and another bookshelf, and something for my records.

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I had to get these beautiful red radishes when I saw them at Hannaford. I’ve always loved radishes. When I made pirogi on Tuesday, I had a salad with my radishes, spinach, and Romaine lettuce.

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I just had to get this cute little guy when I saw him in the Halloween aisle at the nearest Price Chopper before Shabbos. I love Halloween, bats, and stuffed animals. He also reminds me very much of a Popple. As an Eighties kid, I had a number of Popples! His name is Batty, and he’s so soft and cuddly.

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I finally sewed up the rip in Simon’s side seam, coincidentally on his namesake’s birthday. It only took maybe 20 minutes, and he was across my lap the entire time. I’ll probably never be a vet as I used to dream of, but performing stuffed animal surgery is good enough. He was an early Chanukah present in 2011, and love at first sight (though I didn’t name him for probably at least 6 months). If only I could repair beaten-up Davy so quickly and easily, after 25 years of love.

Spooktoberfest 2013—Varya in the Woods

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Spooktoberfest

Dani Bertrand of Entertaining Interests and Jackie Felger of Bouquet of Books are hosting their second annual Spooktoberfest. Participants have four pictures to pick from, and must use three of the six words in a list. All flash fiction must be between 300-500 words.

I started writing something set in the darkened cellar, with my character Kit in a gorilla costume to spook her annoying youngest brother Sammy, but I didn’t really feel inspired by it. I switched to a piece set in the eerie forest, set in 1929 and featuring two of the main characters from my long-hiatused alternative history. It’s based on the premise of the Whites winning the Russian Civil War and young Aleksey later coming to power as the Tsar at age 25, in 1929.

Forest

Várya slipped out the back door of the palace and ran down the darkened streets of St. Petersburg, the wretched chilly winds biting at her bare hands and legs.  She hadn’t been out of the palace since her unwanted arrival, and wasn’t at all familiar with this large regal city, but any direction she took would guarantee her of getting as far away from her prison and farce of a marriage as possible.

After running for what felt like hours, she reached a forest aglow with an eerie greenish-blue light, the trees looming, sinister black shadows.  Every step of the way, desiccated red and orange leaves crunched underfoot.  Then, just as it seemed things couldn’t get any more foreboding, she tripped on a tree root and came face-to-face with a pile of skeletons.  Várya screamed one long, loud, blood-curdling scream, her whole body violently shaking.  She covered her face for a minute, and when she saw the skeletons were all still there, she screamed even louder.

“Are you trying to run away again?”

Várya pressed her fingers over her eyes and ears, positive one of the skeletons were talking to her.

“Don’t be scared, Várya.  It’s just me, Alyosha.”

Várya recognized the soft, soothing voice of her new husband, the most powerful yet craziest man in Russia.  At least she knew he wouldn’t beat her or hand her over to be punished for running away.

“Why are there a pile of skeletons here?” she gasped, her voice ragged and shaking. “Does anyone at the palace know about this?”

“Of course we know.  This is an ongoing project.  These are just some of the priests Dzhugashvili murdered before my father was restored to the throne.  They’re being excavated to a more respectable location, with plans for a large stone engraved with each one’s name and dates.  Dzhugashvili himself approved the project.  It’s amazing how much progress Dr. Freud has made with him.” Alekséy lowered himself onto the ground and put his silver fox coat over Várya. “You’ll be nice and warm on the walk home.  I hope this teaches you not to run away again.”

“You don’t want to be married to me either.  I’m not the only one unhappy in this marriage.”

“At least I like you.  That’s more than some other monarchs can say about their arranged marriages.  And I don’t want to be married to anyone because I don’t want to risk a child with my condition.  If I weren’t sick, we might be a real married couple.” Alekséy pulled a silver flask out of his leather satchel and guided it over to her mouth. “Drink this.  It’s a special potion to make you feel warmer and happier.”

Várya accepted, then stood up and gave her husband her arm.  She huddled closer than usual to him as they walked out of the forest.  Even if he were no match for ghosts, it was nice to be on the arm of the Tsar.

PonyFest 2013

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Rebecca Enzor is hosting PonyFest again, and I’m entering on the final day. I had planned to enter earlier, but forgot about the time with grad school and the current roommate drama.

Here are three of the girls from The Strongest Branches of Uprooted Trees.

Csilla's Pony

Csilla Bergman, the third-oldest character and oldest of the nine teen characters. Very sturdy, businesslike, professional, serious, not very girly, devoted to her two friends Aranka and Klaudia, whom she survived the camps with. She’s got dark blonde hair and is a bit on the tall side for a girl.

Klaudia Pony

Klaudia Buchsbaum, whom I imagine looking a bit like a moviestar of the Forties, with a bit of a Persian/Middle Eastern look to her. She’s got a curvy, womanly body, and was so proud when she started getting her womanly body back after the liberation. Of all the girls in the cast, she’s the first to start having sex, with her complex fiancé Kálmán Rein.

Marie's Pony

Sweet little Marie Zénobie Sternglass, the token French girl. Marie’s main character trait is how sweet, innocent, and naïve she is, even after everything she’s survived. She has a rather childlike mentality, but not so much so she’s afraid to eventually make the first move with Artur Sklar, the guy who’s in love with her but afraid to confess his feelings.

One-line description of The Strongest Branches of Uprooted Trees:

During the early postliberation years, nine teens and two twentysomethings travel across Germany, Hungary, Italy, and France, as they relearn how to be a part of the human race and adjust to normal life, all while feeling pulled in competing directions for America and Israel.

More Than Just a Kiss Blogfest, crafty stuff, and lace anniversary

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More Than

Cecilia Robert and Christine Rains are hosting the More Than Just a Kiss Blogfest from 9-15 September, which they’re judging with Laurelin Paige and Kyra Lennon. A number of prizes will be given. Full rules and list of prizes are available by clicking on any of the above links.

I’m using part of a scene I used in another blogfest last year. It’s from my Bildungsroman And Jakob Flew the Fiend Away, Part IV, “And Jakob Loved Rachel,” Chapter 20, “Heat Beneath His Winter.” (Bonus points to anyone who knows the song I got the chapter title from!) It’s May 1945, and young soldier Jakob has finally got up the nerve to kiss his dream girl. They first met a year and a half ago, but he thought he’d lost her forever when he found out she was sent to Westerbork. While on a brief relief mission at the newly-liberated Westerbork, they met again, and began a deep friendship that turns into romance.

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He knew it was now or never.  That night, as they were counting stars, Jakob slipped his violently shaking arm around her and pulled her towards him, then wrapped his other arm around her, leaned down to her height, and kissed her.  Rachel seemed to sense that he didn’t really know what he was doing, and he gratefully let her take over and teach him.  He let his mouth become soft, pliant, and passive against hers as she demonstrated the techniques she liked.  After awhile, he became emboldened enough to try imitating her, while still letting her lead.  His only active role was running his hands through her hair and along her face.  He was burning with desire to touch a lot more than just her hair and face, but he knew respectable people never went from nothing to everything overnight.

His whole body was shaking when he finally released her and gazed into her eyes. “I love you,” he blurted out.

Before Rachel had time to respond, he pulled her back into his arms and began kissing her again.  Once more he let her dominate him, glad at least one of them knew how to kiss properly.  There were so many different factors that had to come together in just the right way, but there was no time to think them all through in the heat of the moment.  As jealous as he was of her prior boyfriends, he was glad she had experience.

Express Sept

It’s been awhile since I participated in the Express Yourself weekly meme, as I had a bunch of posts I wanted to move out of my drafts folder during the summer lull.

For almost 25 years, I’ve been cross-stitching and embroidering. I also know how to make simple quilts and dolls, though I never figured out how to work a sewing machine. It takes at least twice as long to sew a quilt or mend something by hand!

Just a small sampling of my projects:

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My first cross-stitch, maybe 1989.

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I had to reconstruct a lot of this from educated guesswork and observation of patterns, since many of the stamped stitches had become faded from age. I last worked on it in 1996, when my family moved, and it was about 10 years before I finally picked it up again.

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I made a few mistakes on this, but hopefully no one will notice.

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A cute little project that was in one of my sewing baskets for years but never done.

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My mother began this in ’88 as a gift for her parents, after my uncle died, but never finished it. She gave it to me to finish in 2006. She made a few mistakes with colours, but I worked around them as best I could. It’s now hanging in a frame on my grandparents’ wall.

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9 September is a very special day for me because it’s my lace (13th) anniversary with my first Who album, Tommy. I actually bought it on 7 September 2000 (not knowing at the time that it was Moonie’s Jahrzeit) and played the first few songs the next night, but didn’t play it all the way through till 9 September. It took me awhile to get used to it, but once it had become a familiar friend, I was insatiably hungry for more. I’ll always fondly remember my junior year of university as when I became a serious Who freak. Within a year, I had all their studio albums plus a few extras.

Here’s to 13 more years, and even more returns, with the album that started it all!