This post is going to be sweet and simple, hopefully in the style of this classy video interview with Alice Munro. I’m not sure if she speaks for every writer. She certainly speaks for me, especially when she talks about the joy of writing, the search for at least a glimpse of something universal, and of the importance of the reader’s experience.
Having said that, I’d just like to thank one reader in particular – Patricia Williams-Forgenie – for a kind book review. She’s such an optimistic person, she’s been through so much, and I admire her almost to the point of envy. She seems to be acutely aware of what a poison cynicism can be, something I battle constantly . . . it’s the opposite of inspiration. She’s all about inspiration.
Now it’s back to daydreams . . . in this one I’m wondering how an interview/ discussion would go between Patricia and Alice . . . why is it that this image of two little girls is the first thing to come to mind?
My first love, sports-wise, was baseball. Then there were the movies . . . oddly enough, this video really touches on much of what my novel’s about . . . all those confusing signals! What’s a player to do? It seems to be a great complement to the book description below.
This is an older description, but still very relevant, though some of the names have been changed since it was first posted. One of my readers – someone who has helped immensely – convinced me that the book is very much a romance. I can’t deny that, though this was never the intent, yet it seems that way it is.
I hope I’m not“making the wrong mistake” here, using a bit of a baseball analogy . . . thinking of Cupid as the pitcher . . . I’m still wondering if she cheats . . . hiding some of that slippery stuff under the tip of her cap! By the way, yeah, there’s plenty of Yogi Berra logic inDawn at Last, but no worries, he’s just the catcher!
So here’s the old book description . . . and if you should ever read Dawn at Last, may she throw plenty of slow, sinking sliders!
An Older Description of Dawn at Last
Robin Belcour appears to have it all. She is a specialized therapist who handpicks her clients – all men who adore her – the only way she will have it. Managing a life for contentment is very easy when one shuts the door to love, an apparent necessity given her many secrets. Yet something haunts her . . . three recurring words . . . bound and impatient.
It would be unfair to label her as the protagonist in this tale . . . after all, there are five others playing games of their own, but all on the same field.
In these individual games of love, it seems that Cupid has put away the arrows. Instead, she has taken to the mound . . . playfully dishing out a menu of tempting curve balls, changeups, forkballs, sinking sliders, and the occasional screwball. The half dozen players that step up to the plate have varied backgrounds – apparently they’re allowed to swing away as much as they want.
Fate doesn’t mind – if Cupid’s the pitcher, then it’s safe to say that Fate is the manager, keeping an eye on a scoreboard that has no numbers! Together, Cupid and Fate make it all look like an art form, something new, but old at the same time. In a way, all the art becomes part of the game, fans and all!
Fate lets Cupid toss out all kinds of pleasant surprises. The players miss the signals, trying so hard to second guess this pitcher of opportunity. They seem to be their own worse enemies: a house painter who is really a dreamer, two very smart waitresses who sometimes live the dream, an eccentric art enthusiast, a psychologist who has nightmares of her past, and a lover of gardening . . . a man who only wants to make dreams come true . . . but for others.
It doesn’t seem to matter whether one is 24 or 52 in this pack . . . they intertwine in what is mostly a humorous calamity of mistaken affections. Perhaps only love itself can straighten out their trials of error. She masterfully dances around the mayhem, even letting these mysterious tulips become part of the dance . . . in more ways than one. There is the mystery of their tangled lives, but above that, there is the mystery of a different kind . . . of pure joy, of the greatest dance of all . . . will any of them ever learn?
The younger ones seem to make the complex simple, when it comes to matters of love and affection. The older ones are trapped in the complexities of their own doing – yet they thirst for something more simple – perhaps a little less drama?
This is very much a story of love – much more than a love story – right from the first word to the last one. It’s a wonderful, heart-felt journey of discovery, the coming to terms with one’s past – for some – and one’s present and future – for all. It is not a matter of lover conquering all, it’s more like she’s watching and laughing . . . by the time it’s over, you may wonder whether the dreams know more than the dreamers . . . .
Music and silence…combine strongly because music is done with silence, and silence is full of music.
The words above aren’t my words though I recently had the pleasure of sharing them with someone who seemed to need to hear them. Her name is Brenda and I had a conversation with her a few weeks ago, after not being in touch for about 3 months. She was telling me about a presentation she had the next day, part of her training in an MFA program. With her background in marketing I’m sure this would normally be excited about this speaking opportunity, but given her current bout of laryngitis, she was pretty stressed out.
As she’s telling me of her dilemma I sent her this wonderful quote that I’d come across awhile ago. While I knew she would appreciate the beauty of it, I was surprised by how much the words seemed to alleviate her stress.
In my art I often refer to what I describe as a curious blending in nature, and it’s in this context that I think of this remark on silence and music. It is the “silence that is full of music” which is most intriguing, as if at times there is this mysterious child at play…the muse? It feels like this child is very much a part of one of my favorite pictures, Forever Dancing, a spirit that also seems to be forever young.
There must be something of love in it all too. It reminds me of a very special picture called Muse-ic by a kind artist named Pat Erickson. In the way she describes it, I know what she calls a picture is very much an outcome of love. So here is the picture, including such gentle notes…Muse-ic
So thank you Pat for saying so much in silence, and for putting it to music.
This quote also reminds of a rather unusual and wonderful evening of music performed by the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra. What made it unusual was that there was a silent movie playing at the same time, on a screen at the back of the stage. The movie was Charlie Chaplin’s Modern Times which was done in 1936, some nine years after sound had come to the cinema. Apparently he resisted the use of human voices all this time. This film was to be his last screen appearance. The concert was held in celebration of the 100th anniversary of the day of his birth. I didn’t know until that night that Chaplin also wrote music!
So there you have it, more music in silence, so to speak.
Finally, I like to add a little humor or music to my blogs, but usually at the end. So if you think of my blog as a meal, then you can think of these additions as your dessert…Dinner Roles
Oh, and I almost forgot to reference the quote from the beginning of this blog. It comes from a man many of us are very familiar with though have never heard from…his name is Marcel Marceau.