Egads! Murphy Calling!

Smells really good in here today! It's either the lilacs, or the coffee beans...all over the floor. You see, today (Saturday) has been one of those days; you know the kind - the days when everyone else's world is filled with sunshine, roses, and perfect cups of fresh coffee, while your day is haunted by a grayish cloud over your head (and only yours) labeled "Murphy's Law". Yup. My day started with the hand slicing while cutting beautifully aromatic lilacs for the store. Then there was the dog surprise, which I discovered with a bare foot. No details needed. At work, the bean grinder was plugged. This I learned while attempting to fill it with fresh beans, tearing the bean bag thus sending two pounds of beans hither and yon throughout LaDeDa.

This dance of the catastrophe continued until about 2:00, when I decided to hang it all up, and pick up a book for the last hour of my day. Upon the recommendation of several young customers, I selected Diary of a Wimpy Kid by Jeff Kinney. I knew I needed to delve into the world of graphic novels sooner of later, and this got me started. It's not a pure graphic, more of a hybrid, combining text and pictures. Adults have trouble with graphics because we don't know how to read pictures. Sometime around fifth grade, book publishers decided we longer needed beautiful illustration to clarify the text. We were ll grown up and could handle 5X7 sheets of paper filled with nothing but, as Hamlet said, "words, words, words, words, words, words," - or something like that.

Thank goodness we have emerged from those dull days of no frills, no fun tomes, to an era where comic book type accents are no longer considered an attempt to dumb down a story. So, I went ahead and started the book, only to discover that twelve-year-old Greg Heffley, the main character, was having a Murphy's Law life - not a single day, mind you, an entire life! Wouldn't you just know it. Not only was I living it, but I was reading it as well. No use trying to flee. I spend the next hour with Greg and his nit-wit friend, Rowley. Greg's a little dorky, and he is the first to admit it. His journal recounts his constant attempts to overcome his dorkiness by doing cool things like becoming a safety patrol, taking on the aggressive role of an apple flinging tree in the school production of "The Wizard of Oz," and participating in Big Wheel races. He never really succeeds is upping his self-image, yet he never stops trying. I'm not big on reading sequels, prequels, or even more than one book by the same author (except for Sedaris, of course), but I need to read Jeff Kinney's second book about Greg. I have to find out if the guy's persona improves, or if he just gives in and joins the local chapter of Losers International.

Come to think of it, I have read a couple other graphic-hybrids, The Invention of Hugo Cabret being the most impressive. Brian Selznick incorporates several iconic themes including the Frankenstein legend, and the story of Oliver Twist. These are all wrapped nicely in the tale of a young French orphan, working to stay one step ahead of the law, and trying desperately to fulfil his late father's dream.

Marjane Satrapi's autobiographical graphic, Persepolis, is the story of the author's unforgettable childhood, and coming of age in Tehran during the Islamic revolution. This skillful piece was transformed successfully into a film.

My occasional desire to get me some culture reared its head last week, and I watched an artsy movie called "Caravaggio". He was a 15th century artist who apparently ushered in the Baroque period. His work is intensely dark. The play of light andshadow is so strong that some of his works look more like sculpture than one dimensional paintings. The enigmatic Caravaggio was a fighter, a drinker. He was a charismatic character who intimated himself into the lives of religious leaders. He had a dangerous side that led to him committing a murder (and getting away with it due to "connections"), attempts on his life, and colorful love affairs.

This is a self portrait called "Young sick Bacchus." Isn't it interesting that he named it after the Roman god of wine and festivity?

The movie didn't work well for me,but it did get me thinking about all the troubled artists, and whether or not they are truly troubled. I guess that history (and psychologists) would indeed say they had problems - people like Poe, Plath, Hemingway, and an all too lengthy list of visual artists, actors, writers, and musicians. But maybe some of them were just ahead of the game. Maybe they were tapped into some fresh vibe that the rest of us had to hear about, be appalled by, reject, and eventually, after years of deciphering and analyzing, finally embrace. I always think that people with edge have so much to say or to show to the world, but they seem to frighten some people. John Lennon sure was edgy in his day, but look how many of his songs have become anthems for peace - not to mention the strength of the poetry in much of his later work. Once again, I have to say how grateful I am that the arts community allows me the privilege of hanging on the fringe of their fringe. They have taught me to look and to see. They have prodded me until I learned to listen. But most of all, I appreciate that they do not laugh at me lack of artistic ability, and my desperate wannabe attempts. In return, I see and I listen with sincerity.

I also saw "The Wrestler," and fully agree wtih all the awards that Micky Rourke won.

I know, I know, you have all seen irises. but, these are a new variety. These are the "OH JOY! Bev did not manage to kill us," variety. There is a nice lady across from the east side of Franklin elementary school, who sells plants dug from her garden each spring. I have gotten some of the nicest ferns, and hosta, irises from her. Her prices are great, and, in exchange for that, all she asks is that your return the plastic pots.

What am I reading? Just finished an ARC called The Blue Notebook, and plan to start The Rivals, an 18th century comedy of manners play by Sheridan. I'm sure I'll be campaigning to bring back the word "Egads" by the time I am done.

She's a Little Bit Country

Anyone who knows me well knows that if I were stranded on a desert island with only one CD to listen to the rest of my life, it would be a Jimmy Buffet recording...doesn't matter which one. My ability to listen to a rotation of five CD's ad infinitum drives LaDeDa employees to the limits of their tolerance, as does my inability to throw out dead flowers. I am thankful that everyone is comfortable enough to know that, by mid-February, it is OK to take out the Christmas CD's, and that when the water in the vases of crispy carnations start to stink, they had best toss both the water and the posies, since I will not do it.

The Buffet vs Bon Jovi battle began within months of opening the store in our Washington Street location - was it '96, or '97? Jenny would know. She has all our significant dates locked in, and happily reminded me when it was time to celebrate 10 years in business. Apparently, I don't mark time the same as most.

Anyway, Jenny started working with us before our doors opened. She was still in high school, and LaDeDa was her first job. I was lucky. Jenny is bright, easy to work with, dependable, loyal, respectful, and best of all, she puts up with most of my idiosyncrasies. Except when it comes to music. She is a head-banging Bon Jovi fan, which baffles me, since she is the quietest person I know. The vision of Jenny in a mosh pit assaults my sensibilities, but for all I know, Bon Jovi concerts may not lend themselves to moshing. While Jenny was attending UW-Manitowoc, she worked at LaDeDa in the mornings while I was teaching. Many, many days I would have to spend the better part of my afternoons searching for my JB CD's. You see, Jenny's dislike of JB was as strong as my obsession, and she took to hiding his CD's. I would taunt her by slipping pictures of him into files I knew she would have to use, or drawers she would have to open. She would retaliate by tucking slips of paper with Bon Jovi song lyrics in clandestine crevices. It was all good-natured fun, and provided some laughter between the nail-biting first months of business.

Buffet fans know that he is a huge Patsy Cline devotee, referencing her in many of his songs. Although country music of the Grad Ole Opry variety hits my eardrums like nails on a chalkboard, I decided to give Patsy a try. To my surprise, I found her to be not bad. I found her to be alluring, soulful, funny, and genuine. About the time I began listening to her music, a little play called "Always...Patsy Cline" was stirring up interest around the country. In 1961, a Houston housewife, Louise Segar, struck up a friendship with Cline that continued until the singer's death in a 1963 plane crash. Louise and Patsy are the only characters in the play, with Louise recounting her growing relationship with Cline. Patsy Cline drifts in and out of the picture to punctuate Louise's story with appropriate songs. Wonderful show!

In 1955, Treva Miller Steinbrecker, a star stuck girl from Tennessee, approached Cline in hopes of establishing a fan club. Over the next four years, through an exchange of letters. Patsy Cline became Treva's close friend and confidante.

Love Always, Patsy, is the collection of that remarkable, cherished correspondence - poignant, colorful, humorous and filled with warmth and honesty. The letters reveal a young singer from Winchester,Virginia, excited at the prospects of her burgeoning career - and devastated by its impact on a volatile and demanding marriage. She shares the joy of the birth of her daughter, the strains of stardom, and her loneliness on the road to success. Above all , these letters reveal the dreams and aspirations, the private heartbreak and the public pressures of an ordinary woman who would become one of the most recognized names in the history of country music.

I never dreamed I'd find myself entrenched in the life of a country star. If you get a chance, listen to Patsy's music, read her letters...or better yet, see the show if it comes to a theatre near you.

What am I reading? Finally getting back to Snobs, by Fellowes. I started it months ago, got sidetracked, and am starting over. This biting comedy of manners gives us an inside look at the upper crust of British society, removed in time, but not is spirit from those snarky characters in Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest. The author, Julian Fellowes, won an academy award for the his screenplay of Gosford Park.

Over the weekend, I watched Mandingo, the controversial film about relationships between slaves and plantation owners. While I understand the nature of the controversy, for me, the explicit scenes were dulled by the ugliness of the slave trade in America. It is hard to fathom that those attitudes were acceptable, and that a whole race of people could be considered property, and subject to such repulsive indignities. The pulpy 1975 release paints a lurid picture of 1840's plantation life, and although it will never be declared a classic, it pushed the artistic envelope in many new directions.

*****I started thinking about word we don't hear anymore. Do any of you ever say "dilly-dally"? That's an expression worth bringing back, inso?

Adventures with Authors

We had a nice little book signing here on Saturday. Dave Crehore, former Manitowoc resident, read from his memoir, Sweet and Sour Pie. Although I was disappointed at the turnout (not everyone who signed up to come did) those who came spent a lively two and a half hours reminiscing about Manitowoc, and picking Dave's brain about publishing. Like all authors, Dave was proud of his accomplishments, and rightfully so considering his first book was picked up by the University of Wisconsin Press.

Dave's visit got me thinking about the adventures we have had with authors, and how much I have learned about publishing - both paid press and vanity press. Each week, I make it a point to check the forums on my professional association website. At times, I have used the site to ask business questions, or to solve a mystery about a particular book a customer has been searching for. People have funny memories of favorite books..."blue cover with a picture of a dog with a tail," "347 pages long, and ends with a chapter about Albert Einstein,"...and last week's teaser - "the book is about a little Asian boy who takes a tree for a long walk across the mountains." Believe it or not, with a simple post, a bookseller in Maine came up with the answer for me, and my customer is thrilled. That same day, a new bookseller posed this question, "I have been open for one month and am wondering how to get local authors into my store for signings." This first reply came rather quickly. As a matter of fact, it was the only answer needed since it said it all. The reply? ..."Don't worry, they will find you." That was so right.

LaDeDa had been open less than a month when the first "author" came calling. At that point, I knew nothing about self-published/vanity books, and was a little skeptical about why someone famous (aren't all writers famous?) would want to come to Manitowoc. Well, of course, it turns out he wasn't famous, his book was indeed self-published, but he and his wife were absolutely charming. At age 60, Dick Swinnerton rounded up five buddies, and they bicycled across the United States. His wife, Marianna, journeyed ahead of the group in a luxury camper the Swinnerton's bought after selling all their worldly possessions in preparation for the excurusion. Yes, they even sold their house. Marianna was on the lookout for a nice campground for the guys to rest, or some sights to take in. After the adventure, Dick wrote his book, They Passed this Way, and began peddling it to independent bookstores.

My first signing. I had no clue what to do or what to expect. The prospect scared the bejeepers out of me. We had little room in our previous location, and since hundreds of people were sure to line up to hear this big time writer, I conned UW-Manitowoc into letting me hold the event in the campus Fine Arts Room. Dick and Marianna arrived early in the day to get their bearings. I had invited them to spend the night at my house. I thought that might be all part of the author experience, and certainly part of my responsibility as the hosting bookseller. Feed and house the author! Makes sense. They went berry picking late in the afternoon, and brought several quarts of sun-warmed strawberries to share with those attending. The berries were sweet, and Dick pretended he had a room full of avid listeners as he recounted his six month journey, complete with slides, for a captive audience of two.

We've gotten a little better at book signings...known authors, larger gatherings, and my introductions aren't as lame as they used to be. Mike Magnusen (The Right Man for the Job, The Fire Gospels, Lummox) was our first author with a ready made rep. He actually visited us twice, although why he agreed to come back after his first reading, I'll never know. Mike read in our old location, and we crammed in about forty people - far too many for the space and for the 80 degree heat. Did I mention that my landlord had not put the air conditioner in at that point? As I watched Mike read, I also watched him melt. And, he turned out to be so darn engaging (and a little naughty) that everyone kept asking for more...and so he kept right on reading and melting. He came back a few years later. We had relocated to our New York Avenue building, and once again, Mike had a warm welcome. We're not talking temperature, but temper. Oh my! The ex-wife of Mike's former college roommate was living in Manitowoc at the time. She came to the reading, stepped up to him and asked for the money (apparently hundreds of dollars) that he owed her from many, many years ago. Mike graciously signed a book and sent her on her way...sans payment! He hasn't been back since...although he does surprise me with a note once in a while.

We packed 'em in for Mike Perry's impromptu signing and mini-concert stop, and for Jean Feraca. Lesley Kagan had a respectable crowd, and many of those attending called to thank me for the event. I had the flu, and missed her, one of my favorite writers. GRRRRR!

For the bookseller searching for local authors. Just wait. In time, you will be wondering how to graciously decline some of thse requests. You will be torn between the desire to support local writers proudly carrying in cardboard boxes of books they paid to have printed, and the knowledge that just because someone wants to write does not mean that they should. Heck, I have a novel half done, and every time I dedicate myself to another few pages, I laugh at the abusrdity of housing so much nothing in the cyber world. Of course, people who have read partial chapters have loved it. Of course, those "people" who have read partial chapters are all my friends, and they fear I will cry if they say something negative. If and when I finish, I will go the traditional route...find an agent, and have him or her shop it to publishers. I will receive a huge advance; the book will be released first in hardcover, and after several successful printings in that format, it will go to trade paperback; that is where all literary fiction settles. No no no to mass market pocket books. Not for my novel.

The reality is that I may not fnish, although the complete picture is clearly in my mind. I will not seek and agent, because I am not ready to be confronted with enough rejections slips to wallpaper my living room. And because I know it is not good. Neither will I seek out a vanity press and pay thousands of dollars to see my work in book form, sitting on a few shelves, the rest doomed to be remaindered at Big Lots, or worse, The Dollar Tree. Nope...better for me to read than than to write.

I owe the Swinnertons a big thank you for being so tolerant of a new bookseller who was making things up day by day. I tried to contact them a few weeks ago, but came up empty. I just know they are still driving that enormous bus around somewhere, enjoying the freedom of owning nothing but having it all.