Taking a Break

An excellent post on the importance of stopping to smell the flowers and refresh the mind once in awhile, even if you’re a writer. No, ESPECIALLY if you’re a writer.

Simple Complexities

Many of you noticed that last week I didn’t publish my customary Wednesday post. There’s a couple reasons for that. The main one was that Wednesday was July 4th, Independence Day for the United States of America (where I live), and a national holiday. I decided to honor that holiday by taking the time off, not just off my day job, but off from my writing work as well. I spent the time with family and thoroughly enjoyed stepping away from the keyboard for a spell.

ilham-rahmansyah-102-unsplash Photo by Ilham Rahmansyah on Unsplash

However, I also just thought it was time for a break. That’s right, I take breaks from writing and I highly encourage you all to do so as well. I’m not saying that you have carte blanche to stop writing every time it gets hard, but I am saying that I think it’s important to stop…

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“Murder is my favorite crime.”

Some films are like coming home; this home sits at the end of a dark, dank alley.

We know the characters so well, they become family; this family is host to a killer.

And the script is imprinted upon our memory until the dialogue drips from our lips without thought, for indeed, they have become our own thoughts.

One of these films for me is Laura (1944). Like the eponymous heroine, this elegantly crafted Film Noir leaves an indelible impression with every viewing. As summarized on its IMDb page: “A police detective falls in love with the woman whose murder he is investigating.”

Directed by one of the “Old Hollywood” greats, Otto Preminger, Laura is a classic ‘whodunit’? A beautiful dame has been killed, a gumshoe-with-gumption starts asking questions, skeletons rattle in their proverbial closets, and then the first act ends, and nothing is what it seemed.

Remember, spoilers are tagged in blue.

Continue reading ““Murder is my favorite crime.””

A Tale and a Tune

When I was growing up, my parents LOVED folk singers. This makes sense, of course, considering that they grew up in the 70s, when folk music was popular music and singer-songwriters were the celebrated troubadours of the day. As a lover of stories myself, this music had a habit of getting stuck in my head. Or as Stephen Schwartz would say, “sticking to the soul.” I still crank up the volume when Gordon Lightfoot sings of “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,” and when I was… 10? 11? I loved wailing out the chorus of today’s sad, sobby song. I think we can all relate, sometimes, to someone who’s gone a little mad…