Happy New Year...hopefully...

Happy New Year everyone!

For the first time in the years of sending my new year wishes, I find that I couldn’t come up with anything sensible to write. I’ve been thinking about this on and off for a day or so, trying to for something fitting for the end of the roller-coaster year 2011 turned out to be and that would be equally relevant to 2012, a year that I won’t even take a gander at predicting. 2011 has taught me many things and one of them is to hold off on the resolutions.



As usual, I’m sitting at home with a glass of something nice. No mixed drinks this year though. In honor of the madness of 2011, I thought something simple was more appropriate. So I’m drinking Filanda Rose from a tall champagne flute — there’s no other way to drink it. It’s quite pretty in the crystal with the beautiful sleek etchings as tiny bubbles float to the top. Filanda Rose is by Bortolomiol and is a brut sparkling wine though it is pink and bubbly like champagne. It was a Christmas gift from a friend. It has a nice taste and the bubbles are divine. I can picture myself in a penthouse suite of a tall building lounging on a white recliner by candle light with tons of champagne flutes lined out on tables against floor to ceiling glass, a panoramic view of the city against sparkling sky and Creed playing in the background as they are on my laptop as I write. Divine. Oh and did I mention I would be wearing a yellow and white diamond right-hand ring from Tiffany’s and a splash of Chanel No. 5...a girl can only dream....

As I said, 2011 threw me for a loop. At times I thought I wouldn’t get through it sane and then as the year raced on, I begged it to slow down because my achievements were so few. I ended the year pretty much the same way I started it with none of my recycled resolutions anywhere near complete. I’ve now given up on them. After all, if I can’t get through them in three years, I might as well admit now that I never will. The only thing I’ll try to do for 2012 — and it’s not a resolution! -- is to keep in touch more regularly and better with my friends. I’ve done a poor job of that this year.

As is customary, in a few minutes, I’ll go stand on the lawn and look for fireworks on the hill. Last year was a poor showing, one little something shooting up in the sky and then that was that. It was over before it started and was such a let down. This year, I’m hoping they will rally back and attempt something better. I doubt it but I’ll go nonetheless, take a fresh glass of Filanda Rose and see what the night has to offer.

So, as we bid 2011 farewell — good riddance — and wince at the dawning of 2012, I say let us throw our shoulders back, put on a brave face and forge ahead into the unknown. Usually Auld Lang Syne is sung at the end of the old year to usher in the new, but I think I’ll start a new tradition with the words to the old favourite The Way We Were as sung by Barbara Streisand:

...Can it be that it was all so simple then?
Or has time re-written every line?
If we had the chance to do it all again
Tell me, would we? Could we?
Mem’ries may be beautiful and yet
What’s too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget
So it’s the laughter
We will remember
...The way we were

I say choose the good from 2011 and the years before, remember them, store them.

The flute is empty so I need to pour another glass of Filanda Rose....

Walk good my friends.

I wish you good things and blessings for 2012.

Living in myself

About 15 years ago when I got my first computer at home and signed up to the Internet, I remember waking at night to use the bathroom and stopping to check my emails, hopeful that something would come in from a friend, colleague or anyone, just as long as that tiny envelope flashed on the screen, telling me that somewhere out there someone wanted to keep in touch. I had lots of Internet friends then – persons I communicated with from countries I never visited –and it was quite satisfying to share information about our homes and the things we do. Since then I’ve had this love-hate relationship with the Internet. At times I feel like I could throw everything with a cyber-space connection through the window and at other times I feel I could take the laptop to bed, snuggle down and sleep contented knowing there’s a real live connection to information that would be lost if it were not for this wonderful creation. These days though I’m thinking it a curse and an addiction I cannot seem to rid myself of....but do I want to? Do I, really? I don’t think so.

As it turns out, the Internet is perfect for anyone who is as introverted as I am. My friends laugh when I say this to them because they feel I don’t have an introverted bone in my body. But I get the last laugh because I’m wickedly so; it’s just that I’m a very good actor and over time, once I’ve gotten to know someone, I get out of my shell more and more, but only barely. And if people were as attentive as they seemed to think they were, they would see that my going for weeks or months without connection except for emails and text messages is all part of my inability to crawl outside of myself and be a proper social being.

I get into friendships quickly – I know within minutes if I’m going to like someone or not. I have to, otherwise I may spend a long time on a relationship that’s going nowhere and the disappointment of that is as bad as any betrayal. And because I make friends quickly, I also hurry on the friendship activities: hanging out, exchanging messages, chatting often. Then it dies as suddenly as it begins because I’m usually sucked dry by then. Mind you, not the friendship, but the energy required with being a friend. And after that first waning, I may or may not pick myself up and make a connection and continue as if nothing has happened. Because of this, I have few true friends. Few people who even if they don’t hear from me in a long time, can embrace me once I come around and who understand that they don’t have to hear from me daily to know that I do care and that I’m there for them. My best friends know if they phone me up in the middle of the night, out of the blue, in desperate need, I would simply come. Calm and collected, unquestioning and willing. It’s the same with family.

So, what has brought on this examination of my strange friendship ways (Hey! I think I’ve found the name of my next story!)? It’s the end of the year and time for a reckoning to prepare myself for the new year and another birthday. Oh Lord!

I got an email from Oprah – you know the ones she sends out to anyone who will opt into her mail out – and as I read it, I starting thinking it was a mail from a friend. Then it occurred to me that the only mail I get these days are junk, from work and a few friends. And I do look forward to the junk – or rather store subscriptions – because without them I realise I would get very little mail on a daily basis and that should make me feel alone but it doesn’t, not really. Except it had me thinking that I’ve been extremely bad with communicating this year.

Three years ago I had a newsletter I sent out once per month that kept me in touch with friends here and abroad and kept everyone up to date with happenings at home and with me. I stopped that for school and never started back. Instead I would send occasional emails about my thoughts and what was going on with me. I stopped that too due to work and that’s when everything sort of ended. Communication became a hurried birthday message with a graphic and the exchange of jokes – never threatening spiritual passages – and a brief Hello, What’s up? Then I became hooked on watching movies on the Internet, voraciously reading books on Kindle on my BlackBerry. Every moment I had to myself was spent reading or watching; hiding from everyone and everything. I would climb out to do the honours or talking on the phone when I was called or responding to an email or going out with friends then once that was over, I was back in my world of work, watching and reading. Reading Oprah’s email today, it occurred to me that for the past two years, I have finally achieved total alienation. I no longer wanted to socialize unless I had to. Driving in the car alone with my new discovery of alternative rock was a blessing, so much so that I would resent having to pick up someone on the way to work because it meant I had to speak and I cherished down to the last second because I needed it to interact with people who I had no choice but to. Depressed? I don’t think so. Maybe.

I’m an introvert and the Internet was made for people like me and in that breath it’s a curse. Don’t get me wrong. There are times when I crave human connection. When I feel I must go out or go mad but those times are few and when they occur I’m careful where I choose because I know that being around too many people for too long would send me back into myself in a heartbeat. At those times, when I’m among people putting on my act for long periods, I literally feel like I’m bottled up and about to burst. I long for a quiet space and not being able to find any then would turn to a screen or a monitor and close off. Anyone who knows me very well, can see in my eyes that I’m like a caged animal, desperate to get out, anxiously shaking my leg or tapping my finger in need of release. Turning to a monitor has become my escape. My own little room in which I direct my attention where I want and I don’t have to be concerned with what is going on around me. Only then am I able to relax and breathe properly.

At times, being alone is euphoric. I have maybe an hour some evenings when I’m by myself at home and I feel so free that I’m actually frighteningly happy and have to think hard about how I’m gong to put it to use. Not that I don’t love my family – I do and know I wouldn’t do well without them – but I also like being with me and am not afraid. After a long tiring day the first moment to myself is greeted with a sigh of relief. I do this thing where I stretch my neck from side to side and I breathe...just breathe – inhale and exhale and then I smile. Bliss.

I like crowds best when I’m a stranger and there’s some distance between myself and everyone else. I don’t like to be touched – not unless I know you, and even then, only so much. I like being a spectator but people see me and continuously think I need company and I have little choice but to be polite. It’s a joke we have in our family that we attract crowds, and we do, especially me and particularly when I don’t want to.

For now I'll admit I'm an introvert and because of it a terrible friend. I would want nothing better than a place I could escape everyone for about three months of the year (with Internet and cable) and be able to recover. But I don’t have that and so must make due with snatching moments of alone time, like now in my office with everyone else asleep or in their own little corner of the house.

For 2012 the only promise I’m going to make is to re-open some friend connections and send more emails. I will try to remember birthdays and make an effort to send proper messages, maybe even mail a letter...nah, not the latter but better messages...yeah. And of course, I will write.

It’s a start. Isn’t it?

Charmaine's Flavors

This is where my 'net' comes together:
Charmaine Morris

Vampire Dawn is alive!

I was working on Vampire Dawn (name change pending) but was having a bit of trouble with the prologue. It kept nagging at me like Jehovah’s witnesses on a Sunday afternoon. No matter how much work I did on the other pages and how far I’d gone, I would hear it’s call and be forced to guide the cursor up to the beginning and re-read the prologue. I read it so many times that I could recite it in my sleep.

The feeling begun to set in that the pages needed drastic editing. But I didn’t know what to do. I just knew something was wrong with those five pages of prologue and that they screwed up the first half of the book.

Sunday morning I was in the kitchen fixing tea when suddenly it came to me – five pages of prologue had to be condensed to one and the deleted parts scattered throughout the first half of the book. I got right to it and edited the shit out of that baby. When I was done, I read it through and thought, good stuff.

Thing is, now that I’ve done it I realize that all along I knew what had to be done but just didn’t have the guts to do it. I’m flying on a hope and a prayer writing this novel. Sometimes I don’t have a clue but press on regardless. Other times, I’m too caught up and like a mother, refuse to admit the child is bad and must be punished...or in this case, done away with. The effort to redo is daunting. I procrastinate, I bitch and I groan, but eventually, I get to it. The creative process can truly be hell.

The prologue was condensed and I’ve begun placing things where they should have been in the first place. Truth be told, I’ve known I needed to do this from the moment I finished this version of the draft in May. As a matter of fact, if I were completely honest, I would say I knew it from the moment I expanded what was originally a one page prologue into five. Ridiculous, huh? But I had to do it, to know that it really should be one page.

Writing the novel is like writing the story of my life – not the tale but the process. I am a terrible procrastinator and then again I can be dangerously spontaneous; so dangerous that I suppress that part of my instinct in favour of the other. I have to. I’ve seen the results of my spontaneity and let me tell you, it often isn’t pretty, despite the pleasure of the moment. But no matter how I suppress this ‘wild’ side, somehow a bit of it always stabs through, like in my writing.

The best short stories I’ve written – at least I think so – are those done on a Sunday morning when inspiration usually strikes in the middle of making tea when the house is deadly quiet and I’m standing by the kitchen window peering out at the little view I have of the distant mountains. I would rush to the computer and start writing. One hour later, I would have the first draft of something special. The same thing has happen for novel ideas or the name of a novel. Funny, isn’t it, that the thing I suppress the most, can produce something good in one aspect of my life and dread in another. I’m a walking conundrum. The medical journals must have a name for this.

But, back to Vampire Dawn. There are aspects in the middle – the hated middle – that I need to tie up and others that must be clear. I have to go through the first half and make sure the story builds properly and is explained in preparation for the second half – the story’s sort of complicated and to get everything, certain key points must be explained. That’s the thing with science fiction, you have to make sure the ground rules are laid and then play by them and in my case it has to be done in the first part if the second is to be accepted.

The novel is divided into three books: Book I: Spark of Life, Book II: The Dawning and Book III: Awake!

Book III is actually the epilogue – of course it’s one page and I’m not about to change it (lol!) – and will eventually be the beginning of the next book in the series. It will be the real third book because I plan to write the prequel to Vampire Dawn entitled The Cauldron. (Hey! I just thought of that. I think I’ll keep it.) Vampire Dawn fittingly has 13 chapters spread across the three books.

Told you it was complicated.

I use a verse or quote at the beginning of each book and I just thought of the one I’ll use for Awake!

I see the sun
Rise up before me
And I think,
God of man
You,
Are a magnificent
One!

I just created it and wrote it on a piece of paper I have beside the computer – truly, I did. (There’s a hidden gem and if you can figure it out, drop me a line.)

If you ever get to read my novel, you’ll understand why this would be quite appropriate for the protagonist to say, even though he is a vampire.

To summarize, the plan is, when I’m done with all three books I’ll have: The Cauldron, Vampire Dawn (to be renamed) and Vampire Awake! Neat, right? Yeah. I think so too.

My juices are flowing and I feel energized like I could write for the entire day. But as it is with the world, I have to stop to go earn a living.

So until next time, I bid you adieu, adieu.

I'm back!!

The song The Shining by Badly Drawn Boy has a verse in it that says:

But now I’m dry of thoughts
Wait for the rain
Then it’s replaced
Sun setting
And suddenly you’re in love with everything

These five lines sum up the way I’ve been feeling these past three months since I’ve blogged. I could say that I was working on some grand project or taking a break to fuel creativity but it wouldn’t be true. I’ve been in a fog this past year and have had to push myself extremely hard to get by. It’s been particularly difficult his summer. I wrote and read nothing of substance because I felt it important to let my mind run free, otherwise I would be in serious trouble. I did spend the time watching a lot of movies – and I mean a lot! In watching movies I had the opportunity to observe other people’s lives without having to be involved or responsible. It took away some of the pressure.

“My rain has come and my sun has set and suddenly, I’m in love with everything.” What a beautiful thought.

For me, this translated to what I felt was best to get me through the dark time. I needed to be immersed in my troubles and in my self so I could once again see the true me. I know my strengths and my short-comings and while some may be shameful, I am aware and honest, if only to myself.

“But now I’m dry of thoughts.”

I went to a dark place, and probably still am there, but at least now it feels less dreadful and there’s a lightness around me that’s quite refreshing.

“Wait for the rain. Sun setting.”

I have this new sense of appreciation for all things in this world and no longer see with black or white vision. I get it now that everyone’s different but yet the same, ultimately wanting the peace of mind, comfort, love and respect. I get it too that I can’t impose myself on anyone but must accept that sometimes I won’t get what I think I want.

“And suddenly you’re in love with everything.”

The world cycles itself and history does repeat. What appears to be tragic and hopeless today is tomorrow's past incident. Courage and faith is what gets us through each moment. I must accept and appreciate life for what it is because at the moment, it won’t change. It is what it is.

So what does it all mean? I have not a clue and it doesn’t bother me that I don’t know. What is important is that as hard as it is and as impossible as it seems, I’m trying to pull myself through it.

My sun has set and I am in love with everything.

Vampire Dawn - some more revealed - and Picket Fences - my next project

I've finished the first true draft of the vampire novel I'm writing, Vampire Dawn. By the way, the title will have to change because I've discovered another vampire book by the same name. I'm thinking of renaming it The Dawning, The Vampire at Dawn or Re-Birth...something like that. I'll figure it out although I really did like Vampire Dawn.

There are some things I need to work out like Cutter (antagonist) being like a human and what he can do as his 'humanness' reverses and he becomes more like a vampire and is desperate for the new dawning. Likewise, I need to decide what powers Neloc has and how he will use them. (I looked into the name Neloc which I thought I made up but only to find that Nissan has a car by that name with the same spelling -- one more thing I'll have to change.) I also need to work out the distances between the various estates. Sometimes this appears short and other times too far. There's also a scene that I don't know if I'll keep and if I do decide to keep it, then I will have to rework some parts to make it more meaningful.

I entered the first few pages in this online competition. I was a few marks away from the final 3 but I did get good reviews. I had 3 judges -- one gave a low grade but she did go through and offer some good points. While the other two did the same, they gave rather high marks and one sent a personal comment.

At the same time I sent it to the competition, I sent it to an agent in LA and was happy when they asked to read the first few chapters. Then I was deflated when they wrote back and said it wasn't for them but at the bottom of the email was a personal note from one of the owners that said it was an interesting premise and that I should work on it some more and shop it around. So I'm feeling good. I'm going to look at all the comments and apply them to the book and do exactly as advised.

I finished the draft about two weeks ago and decided I would let it sit and start another novel then go back and do an edit. That way I look at it with fresh eyes and will be able to work out some of the things that I couldn't while I was immersed in the story. Even though I'm not working on it daily, I find my thoughts often drift to it as I try to work out aspects of the story.

Writing Vampire Dawn, is a scary yet exciting processe. Scary because I think I may never get it published and also that I may not present it the way I know it should be presented. The excitement comes because I really do like the challenge of creating the story that's different from anything that's on the market. Then I get scared again because I know the literary world is going through a vampire phase that will soon be over. If that happens, I may have to put it down and hope the phase returns in the next century, as it has done many times in the past.

The story I'm working on is called Picket Fences and it's about 4 friends (as always) who lead dramatically different lives and have the strangest relationships that best friends can have and still call themselves friends. It's about women who have no illusion that there are no picket fences in life, but still they try for no other reason than it's what they were raised to believe. And of course, as it always does, that seed of a dream, planted when they were little girls in their mothers' arms, prevent them as women from achieving true happiness.

Picket Fences is a story that was published in the Observer as a pure narrative with no prose. The section that was published was a restaurant scene when the friends were talking about the various troubles in their lives. I've used this as the start of the novel and will expand on it. The story is told from each woman's perspective and all together as they try to surpass some hurdle.

I have a lot to do and so I'm off to write. Until next time.

The Last Oprah Show

Surprisingly, I can't wait to watch the last three Oprah shows. I say surprisingly because before April, I hadn't watched the show in months except for now and again if I was scanning channels and came across it. And so I'm a bit taken aback that I have this sense of nostalgia about the show and feel like I'm truly going to miss it. I think part of it is the loss of something familiar. I've always thought it would be on and now and again she'll bring someone interesting and I would watch; now there's no such option, unless I'm watching reruns.

I can't identify any talk show or other that will fill the void of Oprah. Like her or not, she really was a remarkable woman and one who knew when to call it quits. I like that she did it while she was on top. I like also that the media was never able to get one over her and that she followed the basic rule of PR - tell it all before they find out. That way there's nothing to scoop and interest will wane. I like it too that she wasn't afraid to show her weaknesses even with the roller-coaster ride of her weight.

For a woman to create something so simple and so overdone as a talk-show and take it to the level it has reached is truly remarkable. She will go down in history as an icon and someone to be remembered for a long, long time. Her largess and ability to 'force' others to be equally generous is unprecedented. She started a trend of giving that other talk shows tried to imitate but could not equal. Those who have been fortunate enough to be on her shows for one of the big give-aways must truly treasure the moment.

For the final show, I'm planning a one-woman Oprah party. I'll mix up a cocktail take a seat and enjoy. I will miss you, Oprah!

True Romance

I’ve long ago admitted to being a romantic. Not a hopeless romantic but a romantic nonetheless.

I puke at the mushy, mushy stuff that bear no resemblance to how love develops in real life. Yes, I do believe in love at first sight, or great attraction, but I’m more convinced if love survives life’s tolls and grow into something more solid than the initial reaction.

Over this Easter holiday, I happened upon a story about that 1990s hit, la Femme Nikita...okay, okay, I didn’t happen on it, I went in search of it. I was trying to work out some romantic scenes in Vampire Dawn and something about Michael and Nikita kept nagging at me. I felt the need to see what interaction between the two characters were like in order to decide how my characters would play against each other. (Plus after watching one episode, I find the new Nikita show a failed cliché.)

Before I get back to Michael and Nikita, let me start off by saying that there are very few romantic novels, movies or television shows that I enjoy. Primarily my interest is more dramatic with a bit of action or problem-solving intellect. I like mysteries and crime novels (with or without romance), first person narrative if the narrator is interesting and of, course anything by Stephen King. I never read a romance novel until I was in my 20s.

My list of romantic moments, written or dramatized are:

First a disclaimer: this list is as I can remember right now. It doesn’t mean that there have not been others or that sometime in the near future the list will not change. So here goes:

I think my most favourite movie is The Bridges of Madison County with Clint Eastwood and Meryl Streep. It’s the most sensual movie I have ever seen and starring old people at that!

My other favourites, in no particular order are:

-The English Patient – Ralph Fiennes and Juliet Binoche.
-Sixteen Candles - Molly Ringwald and Justin Henry.
-Bend it like Beckham – Parminder Nagra, Keira Knightely and Jonathan Rhys Myers.
-The Princess Bride – Cary Elwes and Robin Wright.
-The Way We Were – Barbara Streisand and Robert Redford.
-The Horse Whisperer – Robert Redford and Kristin Scott Thomas.
-The Wedding Planner – Jennifer Lopez and Matthew McConaughey.
-Something New – Sanaa Lathan and Simon Baker.
-Angel Eyes – Jennifer Lopez and James Caveizel.
-Mission Impossible II – Tom Cruise and Thandie Newton.
-The Truth about Charlie – Thandie Newton and Mark Wahlberg.
-Anything adapted from Nicholas Sparks pre Nights in Rodantha, such as Message in a Bottle, A Walk to Remember and The Notebook. Anything now is just mush.
-Ten Things I Hate About You – Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles.
-And last but not least – and for this I will get a lot of flack – Brokeback Mountain with Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal as well as A Single Man with Colin Firth. Yeah, say it and get it over with. I don’t care. I like them because of the writing and the plot and the fact that they are beautifully scripted and expertly directed.

I won’t get into books now but for television series the list is rather short and more consists of missteps than anything else. All the romantic characters in television drama that could have great onscreen relationships usually fizzle and die and I stop watching. JAG immediately comes to mind. There was an opportunity there, much like there is now for Tony and Ziva in the NCIS drama. Bones too is another let down and one I’ve stopped watching.

Producers seem to get cold feet as they think the end of any series is the consummation of the romance, but that isn’t so. The romance actually begins after and that’s the beauty of it. It takes a skilled and brave studio to carry on a series after the characters have gotten together and it is felt that nothing else can happen. I consider the producers spineless and lacking creativity and so they go for the obvious – never make the characters come together, for what will we then write? My response, go find some experienced writers and begin the real relationship.

That takes me back to la Femme Nikita and the never-ending romance of Michael and Nikita and my week of indulgence. This is a show that is a perfect example of how to manage a romance and manage it well.

First there was the question of, Will they get together and does he even like her? Once that was answered in his mumbled-lack-for-words-breathless whispers, we then start thinking, If they do, what will happen? We saw that and finally came the ultimate question, Will they survive and will their love last considering they work for an agency that frowns upon imperfection and considers emotional attachment, debilitating. Their solution should this occur is death. For Michael and Nikita, it was truly a live or die situation and as we saw from many episodes, both characters were more than willing to die for each other or at the very least preserve the other. Of course they both will survive. But despite this, it is perhaps the ending that’s most fulfilling and that left something for the current Nikita producers to take off on. But they failed to do so.

In the end Michael and Nikita still aren’t together; at least not how normal people consider together. At the time of parting their love is evident but duty separates them and they have little choice but to wait. It is the tragedy of their situation that makes their love true.

To understand the obligations of your partner, support it and still love is probably one of the best ways modern couples can show their love. It is why the old fashion notion of the woman taking care of the house and the children while the man works is not so ridiculous if you truly think about it. If love can endure poverty or death or similar grief, then you are set for life. Nothing will break you apart. This is unselfish behaviour and the only way of demonstrating true love.

Someone I went out with once said, you should marry someone who is in love with you. It took me a while to reason this out, but he was right. If we all married people who are in love with us, then for sure we will both love each other. Get it?

This is what the characters in la Femme Nikita portrayed: they were with people they knew loved them. It took Michael a long time to tell Nikita he loved her but he showed it everyday. His lack of expression was a puzzle, for like a typical woman, Nikita held nothing back and was quite happy to tell him countless times that she loved him. But his one wish was for her to be patient. A request for patience in this situation is one that required great faith and belief to know that he had his reasons. I don’t know anyone in real life who would do this.

Mid-way through the series, the reason for Michael’s hesitation was revealed and that sent viewers into a new tizzy. I’m sure he was hated by many but there were a few, including me, who perfectly understood and who knew the characters would get through it because, to say it as simply as it can be said, they had trust and respect for each other, another sign of true love. In one episode when Nikita was rethinking her faith in Michael, he says, ‘You are the one person in the entire world I can trust. Don’t fail me’. In the final episode near the very end, he embraces her and says, ‘I love you’.

So, is the love between the characters of Michael and Nikita the perfect love story? I think so. It’s the best I’ve seen portrayed on any screen, even more than those I’ve listed above. Yeah, yeah. I know you’re asking what about Romeo and Juliet or even Swazy and Moore in Ghost? Michael and Nikita are far better.

Romeo and Juliet died. What kind of crop out is that? Yes, I understand that they can’t live without each other, but to me, living with the hope that one day they would be together would be better. Fake suicide should not have come into it at all. But Shakespeare had little choice if he wanted to portray the tragedy of the day. After all Romeo and Juliet is a sort of ‘literary cautionary tale’ meant to warn that you never know what plots are playing in the background while you fight your battles, which often are unnecessary.

One last thing about Michael and Nikita. Roy Dupuis was not necessarily a good looking actor – unless viewed in a certain light – but he was quite sensual. I won’t say sexy because back then I was never sure about those tight leather pants and looking at them again, I’m thinking, creepy. His mouth’s sort of small and he appears shorter than the 6’ 11” he was supposed to be.

What he had going for him were those eyes and the way he played a romance scene. His ability to maintain and hold eye contact was uncanny – it may be a camera trick, but who cared. And he had a way of angling his head as if to search the deeper meaning.

The character Michael was able to exude desire simply by touching Nikita’s hands. He would lace his through hers and examined their entwined fingers as if he was always amazed that she let him touch her. And whenever he spoke to her in private he was always touching: arm, shoulder, hairline, brown, lips. His movements were seamless and natural and there was no resistance she could offer and often simply melted at his touch.

An aside—the actress who played Nikita was Peta Wilson. She’s not much known as Roy Dupuis except for their native homes. It is my opinion that Peta Wilson is a good actor and I wonder what would have happened if she lived in Hollywood and picked up regular roles there. In la Femme Nikita, her ability to switch emotions while the camera remained fixed on her face was uncanny. She could go from smiling to sad and hurt in a second and it all showed on her face: lips, eyes, angling of the head. Her on film crying is one of the best I’ve seen. Not the bawling or the scrunching of the face, but the fact that her eyes do tear up and around them reddens; or when Michael says something sexy and she blushes, her skin actually flushes. Her emotions were real. She was a clunky girl but then again that was probably the character. Another endearing factor – she was not a size 2.

I don’t know if the characters were created purposely to be as they were or if the writers stumbled on something and decided to go with it. What I have read is that they had very little budget to work with and it required great creativity to come up with something the audience would enjoy. That compares to nowadays actors whose salaries seem to know no boundaries. I think some of the pay is quite ridiculous and when their pays are high, the acting suffers. They feel they are important and people will come to see regardless, so why put out the effort.

For the writers or the director of la Femme Nikita, I like that the sex was never the focus and that there was no direct humping scenes. I like too that it’s Michael who mostly makes the arrangements for them to meet and that the character felt it his duty to provide a safe place and prepare. All she had to do was turn up. That caveman feature will get us girls every time.

If you look at my list above you will see that none of these shows have these sweaty, hot sexy scenes or characters that were constantly jumping in bed. In la Femme Nikiki most of the interactions were foreplay, focusing on the face and shoulders and maybe a back here and there. However, there was one scene where Michael was standing naked by a window and Nikita, also naked joined him. The shot lasted less than 5 seconds and them focused on their faces for the remainder. In other words, it was tastefully done. We are all adults, we can imagine what goes on between two people when they get naked, do we really need to see...all the time? And as is common in these nowadays sitcoms, do they really have to talk about sex in all their episodes, every single one?

I never got into Friends or Grey’s Anatomy or shows like that because everyone sleeps with everyone. When is there time to have great interaction? I’ve never watched it long enough to find out if there’s any. That brings Nurse Hawthorne to mind...I wonder what they’ll come up with this season?

So, in the end, what do I have to say for myself?

I am weird when it comes to love and all that and I believe that the bible had it right. The vows as presented did dictate that if two persons chose to marry, then they better be in love for nothing else will get them past the better or worst phases or even through the years of grief after death. I look differently on people who seek to change the vows. I’m always wondering what are they up to? If you love this person, then why is it so hard to say that at this moment, I will give you my all, I will love and honor you and I will obey. We both are agreeing to the same thing, so what’s so wrong with that? After all, isn’t love supposed to triumph all?

Easter Reviewed

My friend is all over Easter. She's into the Easter bunny, the hunt, the eggs -- the whole thing. And she's most surprised that I never exposed my daughter to that furry little rabbit that is non-existent in Jamaica except for a stew, or a cage. Why on earth would I have spun some tale about a rabbit that brings eggs? I can't even remember if that's how it goes...or if he brings chocolates. Whatever!

I was raised Christian and I went to a catholic high school. Need I say more? There is no Easter bunny in the stations of the cross and there's no disillusion that this is a time of hunting eggs. The only hunting involved soul searching and forgiveness seeking. Reflection was a big part of Easter and so too repentance.

Many feel it is their duty to give up some sin or pleasure for Lent and that through this, their atonement secures them a place in heaven. I am of the firm view that if you believe in Lent, the Bible, Jesus, etc., then you should know that abstinence for a few weeks will not resolve the issue. There's no two ways about Christianity. You either believe or you don't. And once you do, there's that little book called the Bible. You can't follow one section and then ignore everything else that doesn't fit with your lifestyle. If there's sin to be repented and pleasures to be put aside, then this must be done for all your life, not just during Lent. No one said righteousness was easy. Ask the nuns.

More and more we see the true meaning of Easter give way to shameless commercialization that encourages Easter egg hunts and the purchase of copious amounts of spring-colored sweets. I think the bunny's creepy. In the first place, where does he put the eggs? After seeing the preview to Hop, that ridiculous movie that's clearly meant for 3-year olds, I'm afraid to touch the stuff unless it's from a certified factory like Cadbury's. And if that's my thinking, what's the purpose of the bunny? Not a thing. Stew anyone?

But despite all of this, Easter is a time for reflection, just like Christmas. These holidays forces me to think of my life, even for a moment. It's a time to analyze the good and the bad and to determine: Am I getting it right? What will happen to my soul when I'm departed? It's a question I'm far too scared to answer, just because I know.

I don't subscribe to the premise that everyone who has some good in them goes to heaven. That's too easy. But seriously, where do the 'in-betweens' go? The ones who are bad but not quite as bad as the man who just shot his girlfriend because she left him? If they did not follow the Word, would they end up in hell together? It almost seems unfair. And when she sees him there, what will she say? There must be different levels, don't you think? But I fear good reader that the answer may not be what we want?

I reflect on Thee, oh Lord and accept what may.

The original wireless message

Last week I was driving to work and saw a billboard that read:

Prayer, the original wireless message - 0$.

I thought brilliant! because it was funny and then had to sober up because it was quite serious. Coincidentally, I had just read a page in the Daily Word (yes, I do read it. My sister keeps me supplied so I must read.) that spoke about prayer in times of desperation and the faith to know that God will answer. Those two things happening so close together made me wonder about the many times that I have called on God for help, knowing it's just because I can't figure my way out of the latest pickle. But what do I do the other times when things are good? Nothing.

Sometimes I do say thanks like when my daughter drives in late at night and I know she's safe, but mostly I forget to say thanks for the good things that happen every day.

So, from now on, I'm going to take a minute and pause to say thanks.

This week I uploaded an ebook on Smashwords.com and sold a copy. I also sold 5 copies of other stories on Kindle this month and am at a total of 37 from last June; this without advertising and only telling 2 people. Thank you God.

My family is well and I am working and getting paid, for this I am especially grateful.

Take a break and pause a moment and think about the blessings in your life. Even if you don't believe in God, you must admit, something is keeping us all going and for that, you should be grateful.

I am blessed.

Writing to the death!

I just watched an interview with famous author Dean Koontz who has sold over 4 million books worldwide. He was really being interviewed about his love for his dog but of course, some things about writing came out.

Koontz writes on a 19 year old computer that doesn't even have Email. I can understand this because the temptation to check an email is quite high especially is the email remains open like mine and arrivals are announced with a little tone. What I don't get though is him writing his emails for an assistant to type and send off. Huh? Oh well, if you're as rich as he is, then you can have an assistant do everything for you, even breath. His saving grace however is that he types at lightening speed. Two fingers flying over the clunky keyboard as if he was a tap dancer on a mission for a world record.

Koontz gave a tour of his library which he separated into books that he reads and his books. Both are large, but his books are closed off by an elaborate grill gate that opens to rows and rows of novels with his name on it including those translated into copious different languages -- more than I knew existed.

Koontz is 60 but he has been writing for years and he said he'll be writing until he drops dead at the keyboard -- it's what writers do. He also said that creativity is a muscle in the brain that must be worked and that the more one imagines, the easir it is to produce new stories...or something like that.

I agree as it seems that I'll be writing forever, whether I'm published or not. When I'm gray (well, more gray) and old, I'll sit in a comfortable chair and read my stories and imagine what could.

Here's to writing to the end.

Vampire Dawn - a little revealed.

I'm working on my novel, VAMPIRE DAWN which is about a black vampire living in Portland, Jamaica at the time of slavery. If you're into vampires you can imagine what this would be like and see the varying roads the story could take. Think about a black man who is an undead but who is physically stronger than all the white masters put together. That's something, huh? Except, it's dangerous too. Imagine him being discovered and them hunting him? And what would they do to others they suspect of having the same powers? Would they start a manhunt? Probably. In which case, it's important for Neloc to remain undetected.

In VAMPIRE DAWN, Neloc was turned by a white man whom he consider his father, but at the same time blames for taking his life. For Neloc, Portland is quite boring. He has nothing to do at night but roam the forests and chase animals. Then one night, while he lazed on a branch and watched the stars, he sees a slave girl who has come to the watering hole to bathe. Her name is Camilla. He watches her play in the water and is quite taken. She is brave for being out at night when she could be caught and severely punished. But he sees her need for freedom and is compelled to follow, just to be sure she returns safely to whatever estate she came from.

While watching Camilla sneak into the compound, Neloc makes a sound which frightens her. She stumbles. Halton, the guard wakes and goes to investigate. He enters Camilla's hut and sees her still wet from the swim. He decides to take what he feels is his. He attacks Camilla. Neloc comes to her rescue and kills Halton in the process, sucking him dry. Camilla sees this and faints. Neloc must leave or be found out. He chooses to leave and must hurry to Benin, because he is not prepared for the effects of drinking human blood after almost half a century without. As he fights his new found thirst, he wakes to find Alphanso gone. Suddenly his life is complicated as he is torn between ensuring Camilla's safety and finding Alphanso, his creator and father and the man without whom he cannot live in a white man's world.

Imagine the consequences of his actions. How will Camilla explain a dead, bloodless white guard in her hut? What will the white masters do with her when they discover Halton's body?

I'm in the middle of the novel and working my way to the end which I've already written. It's exciting and sometimes I can't wait to add a few more pages. Other times I don't want to be near it because I feel I cannot do the story justice. That's when I become really scared that I won't finish and that I'll never find a publisher.

I first wrote about Neloc in 2001. Yes, in 2001. Believe it or not. I wrote about 4 paragraphs and left it. But it never quite left me. Like all my stories, they remain near and pull my thoughts on a daily basis. I'm constantly thinking about it and wondering what should come next. I remember those paragraphs like I'd just written them. Halton wasn't a guard but Camilla's lover and it wasn't slavery time but some years on when black men were said to be free. Halton was a jerk who slept around with anyone who spread their legs for him. Camilla was thoroughly in love with him and while she knew of his indiscretions, she refused to challenge him on it, thinking that if she showed her love more, he would eventually be with her alone.

The paragraphs pick-up with Camilla walking behind Halton, begging him not to go out. He turns and smacks her on the cheek and tells her to go home and stop following him. Up on a branch in a nearby tree, a black man is watching the scene. he can read both their minds. He dislikes the man's character and his heart pains for the woman because she is so true and when Halton strikes he decides he must teach him a lesson and swoops down on the man, breaking his neck and sucking his blood. Camilla freaks out and runs off. She wakes the village with her noise and the village Madda comes to take control. She puts Camilla to bed and administer till Camilla is calm and is able to tell them about the black man that floated. No one but the Madda believes. Neloc returns home to his estate and is angry for revealing himself and for allowing the woman to go. He should have taken her with him and he vows to go find her. He had to. I didn't write another word until 2006 and then not again until last year.

In VAMPIRE DAWN, Halton is the guard who attempts to rape Camilla and is killed by Neloc who is indeed a vampire. The Madda is Selma who is a blind priestess who can do wonders with her potions and magical spirits. Neloc does live at Benin and he eventually will take Camilla to his home. I've gone 275 pages and I hope I can finish.

The novel was first named Neloc Benin after the lead character. A few weeks ago I changed it to VAMPIRE DAWN because these words are important in the story. I want the story to be a trilogy that tracks Neloc and Camilla's adventures as they travel the world. I don't know how it'll go as yet, but I do know one of two ways the entire thing will end. Either someone will die, or someone will leave. I already know to which way I'm leaning but you'll have to wait on the published novel to find out.

I will continue to blog about VAMPIRE DAWN, my writing and other things. You should come with me on this exciting journey.

The miracle of plants

My orchid is blooming. Remarkable! I have never had an orchid lose it's blooms, grow a new shoot and bloom again. It's a wonderful feeling. But, first I must say that my husband had a lot to do with this. I didn't realise he watered it until I saw the shoot coming up, then I got excited and started watching it like a hawk. Hopefully I don't love it to death. I don't think so, because now I'm careful with the water. I check on it every morning and every evening just to make sure. It feels good to grow something, or rather, have something grow in your presence.

As you can imagine by now, I'm no good with plants. Horrible as a matter of fact. Terrible even. Plants commit suicide rather than be tended by me - yes, it's that bad. I'm the woman who kills a cactus. Can you imagine that -- I kill a plant that requires no care!

I have a tender spot for orchids. They are beautiful, elegant flowers and I wish I could grow them for a living. But I don't think I have the patience to grow plants, soon I'll want them to water themselves and that won't happen. I'm easily distracted. I'll come home tired and forget about them and for weeks I don't see the back of the yard. Someone could move in and I would have no clue.

Today's the orchid show in Hope Pastures. I'll try and go if I finish cooking in time. It should be beautiful. At the orchid show I can dream of raising an orchid properly...one can only hope.

8.9 in Japan

Last Friday, the world watched with horror as an 8.9 earthquake rocked Japan and a tsunami produced a 23 feet wave that destroyed a large part of the north-east section of the island. I can't stop thinking about it. On the one hand it's rather incredible, especially the photo of the sea churning and looking rather beautiful. The photo of the wave showed nature at it's mightiest and literally stopped my breath as I thought of all those people. It is hard to fathom the last thoughts of the people caught in the wave or those who were unaware until the water slammed into them. My heart bleeds for them and I say a prayer for those thousands of persons who have died and the millions that must continue life without them. I pray particularly for the three Jamaicans who cannot be found and hope that it's simply a matter of communication.

Japan's 8.9 is the third major quake since the start of the year - and I suspect there were more that I can't remember. World disasters happen so rapidly now that I've begun a retreat from the media. I'm not as rabid as I was for some breaking news but check in when I wish. Sometimes it's every day, sometimes not. Locally, I try to read the newspaper daily - or rather glance through it and read what I want, usually something light mixed in with at least one important piece or commentary, depending on my mood. It's all too shocking and with the recession and the difficulties we're facing in Jamaica and in my job, my brain cannot absorb it all and I find it hard to think and focus.

My daughter says what happened in Japan is like the movie 2012 and she's partially correct. With the climbing number of disasters, I have to wonder if the world is truly not coming to an end, or if the planet is not at a point of repositioning itself for a new beginning, much like scientists thought happened when the dinosaurs became extinct. Everything is topsy turvey, from the weather to human behaviour. It all seems out of whack and I keep thinking, where has it all come from? But I think I know. In the last 15 years, technology has opened up a can of worms none of us thought possible. Two years ago we would not have gotten photos of the Japan earthquake within minutes of it happening and as it happened. Two years ago we would have heard the news hours later and would have to wait a day or two for photographs. Now, the news is instant and with that comes a level of anxiety that no one could predict. Maybe these things always happened and we were all wrapped up in our own little world that we didn't notice. Only the history books can tell. What I do know is that we're in a cauldron and someone's lit the fire.

The trouble with Gas - and unrelenting dictators

Gas price in Jamaica has passed the $100.00 mark. In US currency that is $1.176 per liter or about $4.71 per gallon. A lot of mullah for people who were suffering under a recession that shouldn't have hit our shores...so said one misguided politician, who thank God has since redeemed himself with his efforts in controlling the country's finances. But back to the gas...

I purchase by value rather than quantity. Where it takes is as far as I go and if I can purchase more I do. This week my sister and I decided to car pool. After all, we work and live in the same neighborhoods, or very near. The only difference is she works until late and I have to escape the office at 6 p.m. before the dogs are let out. But, in light of the cost of fuel, I'll sit in the car and read a book until she's ready. It's the new way of the world.

But seriously, when is this going to end? When are we going to get a transportation system that we're comfortable with in Jamaica, or at least one that I can be sure will arrive when it should. But then again, what do I know? I haven't taken the bus in ages, despite it running right past my gate. One look into that crowded abyss in the mornings convinced me that if I ever try that adventure, I will do it on Sunday morning, when the bus is practically empty. The crowds at the bus stop is also a turn-off as I think of the hours spent standing in the sun, peering far up in the never-ending metallica, hoping that yellow dot way back in the distance is your bus and knowing very well that peopling living further up the line have already rammed it tight. No wonder many still drive.

Last week, a friend told me that part of the reason governments are unable to properly convince their citizens to ride the public transport or car pool, is that people have become accustomed to the personal space and security a car provides. It's that three feet this and that way that keeps me protected from the other being without the need for unnecessary conversation or even politeness that has us struggling to afford pricey cars and ridiculous gas prices. He may very well be on to something.

They say this new rise in oil prices is due to the trouble in the Middle East. I don't know whether to thank the Tunisians for waking up the world and showing them the true deal behind the deals that have modern countries and so called leaders of the developed world, befriending these dictators and declaring them changed beings or to smack them over the head and ask, what the hell were you thinking? Well, one recent rant in the hallowed UN Council by the 'mad dog of the East' showed that up for the bag of hog wash it is. The plain and nasty truth is that not one of those countries would pay any of them the time of day if they weren't sitting on a sea of black gold, or if they weren't mad tyrants, threatening to kill us all. The latter, I do believe is closely tied to the first. What on earth is going on on earth? Where were we all when secret deals were being made with Ghadafi? How did we ever believe that this man or any of them really wanted to change and that the change would be sustainable? Why would they think that they can rule their people for ever, passing on leadership to their next of kin like it was a little plot of land in the desert. Did they not expect their people to be fed-up of being fed-up? I'm waiting to see how long it's going to take one of the G8 to go in guns blazing to save the people (wink, wink).

It's amazing when you think about the whole thing. If we have peace in the Middle East, then the rest of the world sighs and happily sucks up as much oil as they can produce; if they're angry, then we're in deep excrement. If there is a recession, then oil prices drop because, naturally, many will not be able to afford their existing cars much less drive new ones or consume anything that uses the precious liquid. When the world is in the black, then oil prices soar because we're happily consuming. So what's the solution? Be poor and lament the inability to afford a vehicle but rejoice at the low oil prices? Or be rich and don't care about the cost of oil because you can afford it and damned the gaps created beneath the earth because we're sucking it dry? Either way, something's not right and it seems like we'll ponder this til eternity.

By the way, what happens underground when the oil's taken out - is it a black empty mass of nothing? Now that's one for the naturalists.

P.S. The photo above was taken from the web and is courtesy PennsylvaniaForChange.Blogspot.com

Lent

Today is Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent. It's the time when many persons make announcements about what they will give up for the season. Few follow-through and it becomes like New Year's resolutions - we make them, knowing very well that not one item on the list will be fulfilled. My daughter announced that she will give up soda for the period and I said, very good, thinking that I've given up so much during the recession that I don't know there's much of worth left.

This year, I'm trying to take a new lease on life and am seriously thinking through business options. I'm not short on ideas but rather on follow-through and funding. The first is a big hurdle to overcome as I often get lost in the details. Courage fails me and my creativity fades as I think of putting myself out there and taking the challenge. But slowly but surely I'm getting there.

So for Lent, I will give up fear and make a plan to develop a business of my own...as a matter of fact, it is my New Year's resolution that this year, I get the courage to succeed.

Poppy Show

There is a matter that is taking up much of public time and money and which up to now, I've refrained from writing about. This is the Manatt/Dudus Enquiry (not the proper name). For those non-Jamaicans who may wander into this blog unknowingly, the short version is that the Enquiry is being held to determine if anyone is to be held liable for the fiasco that was the extradition of one of our most reputed and known area leaders, Christopher Coke, a.k.a, Dudus. Manatt is the legal firm that was to don invisible cloaks and slip into a confidential meeting with US State Department and the Jamaican Government representatives who were there to discuss the extradition request. When found out, everyone lied and appeared stupid and here we are at an Enquiry.

It is a serious matter...or so I thought. I will be the first to admit that I thought it a waste of time. I was afraid to say it out loud, but now, I'm more convinced. I honestly don't know what will come of it except fame and future job prospects for the attorneys who represent the politicians who are all fumbling to protect themselves. To quote a newspaper headline, 'Send in the clowns!' Oh wait, they're already there.

The cartoon in this blog was taken from the Jamaica Observer's website today and is a perfect representation of the Enquiry.

Jamaicans would say this is a real 'poppy show' and it is. The lawyers are strutting their stuff like proud peacocks while the politicians hurl insults and innuendos. I have to wonder if this is their last ditch attempt at public grand-standing before they slip back into their uninteresting world of banging wooden desks in parliament and flipping pages of three-inch thick documents that they will never read. Politicians and attorneys are the only set of people I know who can sit and answer questions for 4 hours and not reveal anything except the fact that they saw nothing, read nothing, heard nothing and knew no one. And so it continues.

Ah well, I'm sure when this is done, someone will hold an Enquiry to determine why this Enquiry didn't reveal all the truths it should and why in the end, all we have is a fat expensive talk-fest.

Buju Banton

I cannot avoid writing about Buju Banton, one of Jamaica's reggae stars who was found guilty of drugs and gun charges in Florida on February 22, 2011. For almost two years, Jamaica waited for this trial to end, especially following the first mistrial. Many were hopeful that he would be found not guilty, but it was not so. When the news came, you could almost hear the audible gasp of Jamaicans as they receive the news with much sorrow. It's not that Buju is perfect but I think the feeling is for the loss of a music that was quite good, excellent in instances. Like Michael Jackson, we will forever wonder how one so talented could have found himself in this predicament and it is for this that we mourn. It is also a step back for reggae music and for the reputation of Jamaican rastas as well as Jamaicans. But I also hope it's a wake up call for all those 'DJs' and singers who feel that they must tout badness to sell songs. It doesn't work. All they need to do is write and produce good music that will bring riches for years to come. I don't even want them to write inspirational music, because that too I think is a cop out, they need to write good music - lyrically stimulating, intellectually compiled and perfectly scored. That's all one can ask.

Good luck Buju!

Colours are alive in Kingston, Jamaica

The flowers are all a bloom in Kingston, and I'm sure all across Jamaica. In the residential areas of the city there are many yellow Pouie trees that are now blooming. The dark woody branches shed all their leaves and send out these beautiful bright yellow buds that open and spread with magnificence. Then they fall and blanket the ground in glory. It is said that the blooming of the Pouie tree indicates that rain is coming. I don't know about that but what I do know is that these trees certainly illuminate the city. But like a rose, the blooms do wilt and rot and eventually become a dark colour that's quite unattractive.

I have two Pouie trees in my yard but they're not really blooming yet. When they do, they are great and people usually slow to look at them. Pouie trees also come in white and pink but these colours are not as 'eye-catching' as the yellow. I like the white but only if the trees are very large.

Sometimes you look up at the hills and see the trees blooming. That also is a pretty sight especially from a distance.

Bloom on Pouie tree, bloom on!

Romance stories

I now admit that I can't write a romance story to save my life. Usually, the people in my story die and some in a not-so-nice way. Even when there's romance, there appears to be a lot of sadness as opposed to the happy or contented ending romance stories require.

I've been doing a lot of research lately into romances, especially for formula type and I think my stories are lacking...very lacking. So I'm reading and trying to understand what drives these authors and how they manage to write so happy, happy.

Maybe I should give up and write suspense, at least people are expected to die in them.