Dennis Lehane Up Close and Personal

A couple of Bouchercons ago I was made aware of a well-known author I had not heard of by a certain ocean-dwelling creature, I mean, lovely lady named Janet. She was so excited to get her hands on his latest that I knew there had to be something special about this guy. His name is Dennis Lehane (Shutter Island, Mystic River, Moonlight Mile, among others). There was a certain amount of subterfuge involved during the incident but it all worked out in the end. I had discovered an amazing author! 

I love hearing other authors speak, hearing about their journey, their inspiration, hopes and dreams, the good and the bad. It motivates me, and gives me hope.

So I was excited to hear that Dennis Lehane was appearing at a local library. Of course, I found out pretty late, and in a weird sort of way. I am on Facebook, but stuff flies by so fast I miss most of it, especially since I am not on it with any regularity. Four days before I found out about Dennis Lehane I had about five minutes to kill so I checked FB, and saw a posting from Hallie Ephron with a string of comments below. One of the people asked if it was true that she was going to be at the Clifton Park Library. Since we have a Clifton Park nearby, I went to the CP library's page to see for myself. I have taken one of Hallie's workshops, and it was amazing.

When I pulled up the library's home page, there was an announcement for Dennis Lehane. And you had to register. I immediately registered and the confirmation email came quickly. I was on the waiting list. Oh well. Three hours later I was in!

It was a packed house. Mr. Lehane began by reading from his latest book, out October 2, called Live By Night. I had already read it due to the aforementioned subterfuge (it was an ARC) and enjoyed it. After he finished reading he told us about his inspiration for this book about gangsters, watching Jimmy Cagney movies with his uncle when he was a kid. When he visited Ybor City he found his setting.

He talked about his Irish family, and their love of storytelling. He grew up surrounded by people who knew how to tell a story and had an interesting relationship with facts: they didn't like them.

He also prefers stand alones because, as he explained, it's a lot of work putting a new character on the page for the first time. But once the character works on the page, the sense of discovery is wonderful.

Someone asked him what his favorite book was (of those he's written), and he actually has three. The Given Day, Live by Night, and Mystic River. The reason he gave was that these three novels have the shortest gap between what was in his head and what landed on the page.

So I'd like to thank Janet for turning me on to Dennis Lehane. If you haven't read him yet, what are you waiting for?

The Past Coming Back to Haunt Me

Going through my mom's stuff sometimes brings little surprises. As the book lover in the family, I took it upon myself to go through her bookshelves and save what I could from the upcoming garage sale. (No worries, no one else wanted them. Their loss!!!) Space is limited on my personal bookshelves, so I only took hardcovers.

I keep a spreadsheet of all my books, a recent thing as I often end up with multiples because I forget what I have. So I went through every book and recorded the title and author (among other information), discovering that a bunch of the books belonged to me when I was a child. Inside one of them was a folded up piece of lined notebook paper that contained what appears to be a short story I wrote, complete with pictures. I am not sure if there was a first page, but here is the story (reproduced exactly):

     "$20,000!" shouted Judy.
     "Yippee!" said Paul. "Now we each can get a horse!"
     "I'll be right back, Paul. I'm going to tell Mom we're going to buy a horse or two."
     Jack put $10,000 in Judy's place and took $10,000. Just then Judy came.
     "We can go!"

     As they arrived, men brought in the ponies. Next came the horses.
     The first one was a skinny little animal. She had an uncut mane and tail. Her winter coat was falling off and there were large patches of her summer coat showing. Her hooves were not cut. She was a racing thoroughbred.

     "$5.00!" shouted the horse-meat man.
     Judy looked at the horse and quickly shouted, "$10,00!"
     (over)
     "Going, going, GONE! Sold to the young lady with $10.00!"
     "Call her Old Bones!" said Paul. "That's what she is! A sack of bones!"

     A year later Judy entered a race. She won. Her horse was the fastest in the city. Judy named her "Windy".

I wondered what finding this meant, besides the obvious enthusiasm for exclamation points I had as a child. I am wrapping up my first novel (although every time I read it I find something to change so I may never finish) and suffering from that fairly common writer sickness known in some circles as isuck syndrome. Other fairly huge things are also going on in my life which aren't helping to alleviate the symptoms of isuck.

So when I found this, I couldn't help but try and attach some significance to it. Honestly, the story is pretty pitiful, but I was only 9 or 10 at the time so I can't beat myself up too badly. So maybe it was a gentle reminder (maybe from Mom!) not to give up on as dream I've had since I was old enough to read.

This past Monday evening I was lucky enough to get a seat at an appearance by Dennis Lehane (more on this next post). One of the things he said was that in his opinion you needed to put in your time as a writer, 10 years between first picking that pen. I smiled to myself when he said that because I had proof I'd put in the time, and then some.

My conclusion: don't give up on your dream.

Lucky for me my dream wasn't to become an artist.

 

Plymouth Rocks

Plymouth does rock but the post title refers to two significant rocks located in Plymouth, Massachusetts. One is very famous, the other not so much.

The first time I set eyes upon Plymouth Rock I was a bit surprised. Okay, maybe very surprised. This large Roman-like structure was impressive as we drove by, parked, and walked past the sign announcing the Rock's presence.

This picture is not from my first trip to see Plymouth Rock, that was with my mom many years ago. But the structure was the same back then. It sits aside Plymouth Harbor, and is even more impressive at night under an almost full moon.

If you spend enough time in Plymouth you'll probably hear it referred to as "Plymouth Pebble". Not so respectful of such a beloved landmark, but if you've been there you know why. Here is a view of the Rock from the top of the structure that houses it, and a view of the harbor from the top.

 

We all know the story of the Pilgrims' landing at Plymouth Rock in 1620. Some of us may be aware that the Rock may not actually be where the Pilgrims landed. What most of us probably don't learn in school is the actual story of the Rock and its changes throughout history. When you see it in person, you'll wonder how the Pilgrims managed to land on such a small rock. Maybe 392 years of sand washing up on the beach has taken a toll on its magnificence.

Not sand, but hands.

In 1774 the Rock was split in two pieces. The top half was moved to the Plymouth meeting house and the bottom left in the sand. In 1834 it was moved to Pilgrim Hall. In 1859 the structure you see below (courtesy of Wikipedia) was begun to house the portion of the Rock still in the sand, and when it was completed in 1867 the top was brought back. Gates were eventually added to deter souvenir hunters. The structure pictured above replaced the original structure in 1920. 

The hands come in prior to the gates. Numerous pieces of the Rock were taken as souvenirs. A piece was sent to the Smithsonian, some still remain in Pilgrim Hall (now a museum), and another in the Plymouth Church of the Pilgrims.

The other rock is not housed in a grand canopy on the edge of Plymouth Harbor. Nor has it been chipped down to size by souvenir hunters over the years. It sits on the side of a road that is only partially paved, surrounded by trees and brush.

It took us awhile to find this rock, which sits on the side of Old Sandwich Road and even has a number (394). By the time we did the sun was interfering with the pictures. But we were only in the area for a day, so we had to make do. This rock is known as Sacrifice Rock. From the Plymouth Antiquarian Society: 

Everyone knows Plymouth Rock, but how many have visited Plymouth's other historic rock? Sacrifice Rock on Old Sandwich Road is the Antiquarian Society's oldest and perhaps least known historic site. Centuries before the arrival of English settlers to the area, this ancient landmark was an important stop for wayfarers. Travelers left small branches or stones atop the rock perhaps as a gesture of sacrifice, or to receive the blessing of safe passage -- the full meaning of the custom is shrouded by time.

Generations of Pokanoket and other native people en route between Plymouth and points south and west placed their offerings on Sacrifice Rock and over time created a great stick formation. Plymoutheans in the 19th century were familiar with the ancient accumulation, although it was later destroyed by fire. Local historian William T. Davis discussed Sacrifice Rock and other examples of this type of ritual site in Ancient Landmarks of Plymouth:

These rocks, still covered with small branches, etc., remain as monuments of aboriginal religious rites. Like the Manittoo Asseinah or Spirit Rocks of the Western Indians, they have always received homage of branches from the natives, who passed them reverently as the abodes of the Great Spirit, as they went on in silence.

There is a plaque on top that reads: 

Sacrifice Rock

Manittoo Asseinah

Indian Name Meaning

God's Rock

Not everyone has forgotten about Sacrifice Rock. Even with the shadows you can see the coins and small rocks people have left behind.

There is a quiet beauty about the place, as if you can still feel the spirit of the travelers that left offerings to God. 

In my car I've kept a rock for many years, given to me by a dear friend. It's a long story, but connected with some very personal things in my life. During our day in the Plymouth area, I took a pilgrimage to a store that my mom loved, and while I was there I found a head's up penny on the ground. I put the penny in my car, and almost forgot about it. Before we left Sacrifice Rock, I decided to place the rock my friend had given me on top with the others, and added the penny for my mom. My husband said that he thought the rock was special to me, and I replied that I guess that was the point.

Around the corner is a street named for this little piece of the world:

The development that sits off this road looks new and expensive. I felt a little twinge of sadness that this ancient site was being swallowed up, but when I returned home and read the Antiquarian Society's piece about Sacrifice Rock, it ended with this:

Few of today's travelers stop at Sacrifice Rock, which is located right on the edge of the road with no convenient parking at hand. A plan proposed by The Pinehills, an extensive residential development that abuts the site, may allow improved access to Sacrifice Rock while honoring its historic character. The plan includes an extended buffer area with a walking trail and a pocket park for Sacrifice Rock. If implemented, the improvements may put Plymouth's other Rock back on the map, and help to highlight an ancient part of the region's diverse history. 

I hope that I will have the opportunity to revisit the area when this plan is put in place. It will be nice to see it given the honor it deserves.

 

   

Free Advice to Those Who Freely Employ a Certain Finger While Driving

Road work has caused hellish weekends locally for those folks traveling up the Northway. A recent 10 minute trip took us an hour, but my husband was dozing and I had an Elton John CD in the player so we were good. We were on our way to a wedding rehearsal and had plenty of time.

Eventually we got stuck in bumper to bumper traffic going north on the alternate suggested route (of course), sitting about four or five cars back from a red light. There is a median here, large enough for a car to fit comfortably without issue for merging and turning.

The light changed, and shortly thereafter I took my foot off the brake and began accelerating. Not very fast, but still moving forward.

Suddenly a truck flew out from somewhere on the left, into the median, and without hesitation into the lane I was moving forward in. Luckily I saw him in time and slammed on my brakes. I missed him by inches. Also luckily for me the car behind me saw him as well and narrowly missed rear-ending me.

I know some of you will accuse me of having road rage, but I freely admit to honking my horn. I didn't lay on it until everyone's ears bled, just honked it. It was a knee-jerk reaction.

His response, naturally, was to hang his arm out of his window and give me the finger.

Now, having driven for many many years, I am almost used to the rudeness and stupidity of drivers of this type. This time, however, the stupidity level of the driver made me laugh out loud.

He has his own business cleaning and maintaining pools, and his name and number are plastered all over his truck. Yes it was a local number, yes I wrote it down, and no I will not provide it here. The only clue I'll give is that he uses his first name in the ad on the back of his truck.

Will I ever use him if needed? Nope. If given the opportunity will I relate the story to family and friends? Yup. Did this local small business person just shoot himself in the foot with a whole bunch of potential customers who also have family and friends? Most certainly.

So maybe next time you want to be the cause of a potential accident and cannot take responsibility for your carelessness and/or blame the person you narrowly victimized, make sure you're not driving your company vehicle.

Be careful driving out there friends!

And watch out for the pool guy who advertises on his truck using his own name.

I'm Such a Girl

Last night my husband and I attended a rehearsal dinner for the wedding of an old high school buddy of hubby's (he's in the wedding). The groom handed out gifts to all the groomsmen, and half of the larger gifts were wrapped in Sesame Street paper. The guys are all old friends of the groom and/or high school pals like my husband. I turned to one of the high school friends, whom I happen to know well, and asked him what the significance of the Sesame Street paper was.

He laughed and said, "You're such a girl."

I asked why.

He answered, "All it means is that he ran of the other kind of paper and used what he had on hand so he didn't have to go shopping again."

Off to celebrate, enjoy your Sunday!

A Certain Genetic Look

I am not a supermodel, nor have I ever played one on t.v. And you wouldn't catch me dead on a reality show. Not that I'd ever qualify, according to a certain movie blogger. Up to this point in my life, mothers haven't pulled their children away from me, so I think I'm good. (I've been to many a big city and the same applies, just noting that up front.)

Lots of people live where I live, beautiful Upstate New York, close to so many equally beautiful places like the Catskills, Lake George, Saratoga, the Adirondack Mountains, Thousand Islands, the Finger Lakes, Niagara Falls.

One of the things these places have in common is that they all could be located in Upstate New York. I use 'could' because the exact location of 'Upstate New York' is not an officially agreed upon location except for one thing. It does not include New York City and the surrounding area, including Long Island. There's an explanation here if you're so inclined.

And apparently, most of the people who live in Upstate New York, or as the author of this gem called it, Upper New York State, have a definite disadvantage when it comes to the looks department:

"There's a certain genetic look to the men and women of Upper New York State, and they aren't the kind of people who pose for magazine covers or star in reality shows."

My parents didn't know each other before they met, and in fact came from different areas of the state. It is well documented in a family tree that there is no possibility they were blood relations. So perhaps I shouldn't take personally this blogger's implication that we're all inbred or worse around these here parts. Even so, I wouldn't pass his magazine cover or reality show star test. 

Oh well, such is life I suppose.

But I do take exception to this blogger's comments. 

I understand there are people out there who thrive on shock and insults and saying mean things. I usually feel sorry for them. If they are doing it deliberately to draw attention to themselves then they're pitiable. Getting ahead on the backs of others is sad. If they are truly that miserable that they have to spew nastiness at every opportunity then I feel sorry for them. Life is way too short to spend it spreading misery everywhere you go. There's enough misery out of our control already.  

I don't know why Derek Cianfrance chose to make his movie "Place Beyond the Pines" in Schenectady, New York. He discusses his idea for the movie here, and from what I read it sounds as if the story was developed for the movie as opposed to being based on a book. In any case, the title of the movie roughly equates to the English translation of 'Schenectady', a Mohawk Indian word that refers to a place beyond the pine plains.

It was quite an event to have a movie filmed in our neck of the woods. It's fun to watch the movie when it is out and try to figure out which parts were filmed in places you would recognize. Not that it hasn't happened before. Scenes for Ghost Story were filmed in Saratoga, as were Saratoga, The Way We Were, and many others. Albany has seen its fair share, including Salt and Ironweed. Schenectady was also used for location shoots in The Way We Were. 

I haven't seen the movie yet. I might, I might not. You know how that goes. And there's always Netflix if you miss the theatre release. Regardless, my decision to see it or not will be based on many factors, none of which are movie reviews or the opinions of bloggers. Not everyone has the same taste, so I prefer to judge for myself. 

One thing I certainly wouldn't do, assuming that I didn't like the movie, is decide to bash an entire population of people during a negative review of said movie. This particular blogger  did not seem to like the movie very much. If you've followed the link and read the entire review, you know what I mean. If you haven't, here's the part that is pretty offensive, not only to me but to anyone who lives in 'Upper New York State':

"I also felt that Mendes and Byrne are too hot to live in Schenectady. Beauty almost always migrates to the big cities where the power and the security lie, and in my experience the women who reside in blue-collar hell holes like Schenectady are far less attractive as a rule. There's a certain genetic look to the men and women of Upper New York State, and they aren't the kind of people who pose for magazine covers or star in reality shows."

He is referring to Eva Mendes and Rose Byrne. 

Granted, they are both attractive women. And having lived in the Capital District all of my life, I can say with absolute certainty that there are women (and men too) living here equally as attractive. I doubt that this person will take my word for it though. He bases his assertion on the fact that he's been here:

"...the general malaise that comes from living in the pure hell and suffocation of Schenectady and those Siberian environs...I've been up there and it's awful so don't tell me."

I also haven't see the devil hanging around anywhere, and I have no problems breathing either, unless the allergy season is in full swing. And this has to be the first time I've heard our area referred to as "Siberian". I wonder what he thinks of Canada? 

Having read additional musings by this person, there is probably no point in arguing any facts with him. I doubt that his visits to Schenectady (assuming there were more than one) constituted more than a drive-through. There are many areas of Schenectady besides downtown, some good, some not so good, which is no different than any other area, big or small, including big cities like New York or L.A. As with the inhabitants, some good, some not so good, in any capacity whether it be looks, smarts, money. And I may be wrong. It could be that he has spent some time in Schenectady but it was hard to see through the dark-tinted windows of his limo so he just assumed it was bad because Schenectady is located in 'Upper New York State.' Or maybe he stayed at a Schenectady hotel and had trouble with the wireless connection in his room.

Sorry, I let a little snark slip out.

A local newspaper blogger had something to say about the review. He of course had a rebuttal. I read more of his reviews and other articles by and about him, and I am not all all surprised by his attitude and opinions. And as with any other person who posts deliberately demeaning things he has a flock of defenders who jump on his bandwagon and share in the delight of putting down the residents here. Sadly, some of the folks in this case seem to live in the area. Makes me wonder why they haven't moved yet. But for the most part I roll my eyes and shake my head. This is the Internet folks, and if this blogger feels he is entitled to make sweeping generalizations then so do I. I am sure that 90% of the people who cheer him on are sad little people who spend all day on the Internet taking up the cause of the vitriol-spewers, hiding behind the anonymity of their computer screens.

At the end of his second post re the 'certain genetic look' of we Upper New York Staters, crafted I am sure to make certain we get his message, he writes : "And this is pretty much true -- face it, rurals."

So now I live in a rural area. Does this mean I have to turn in my indoor plumbing and get an outhouse? Or maybe my street should be dug up and reset with dirt? Better yet, how about we tear down the two large shopping malls nearby and replace them with cow pastures. Someone should suggest to Governor Cuomo that we bulldoze the South Mall and use the space to plant corn. It would be nice if we could keep the State Capitol though. It's a lovely building and would certainly complement the corn fields.

I get that this blogger feels he has to suspend belief because he thinks the actors are too good-looking to live in our area. He is certainly entitled to his opinion. And while I do agree that the folks who aspire to be actors or models migrate to the bigger cities to take advantage of the opportunities there, the fact remains that they were still born where they were born. Not only that, but many folks blessed with movie star looks don't have a desire to appear in front of a camera and are perfectly content to spend their lives in their hometown.

What I don't get is why he feels compelled to insult not only the folks who live in Schenectady, but depending on your definition, any New York State residents who do not live Downstate? How does that constitute a valid movie review? And by that methodology, how does this blogger manage to sit through any film that has beautiful people actors but is not set in a big city full of beautiful people? 

Just for the record, I don't live in Schenectady. I do live in the Capital District, and most likely in Upstate New York. I love my hometown and the surrounding communities. And I love New York City.    

Not only that, I am happy to have that certain genetic look. It comes from my ancestors, many of whom were pretty darn attractive. Lucky for me they didn't migrate to the Big City to appear on a magazine cover or star in a reality show. 

I wouldn't have the great life I do then, would I?

Even with my 'certain genetic look'.