I'm Sioux Roslawski and this is my blog about writing, dogs, grown-up children, menopause, the joy of a marvelous book, classroom teaching in general, and specifically, the teaching of writing. You can email me at sroslawski(at)yahoo(dot)com.
Next week I'm going to see John Mellencamp in concert. I enjoy his music, and once made a trip to Indianapolis, a solo car trip, and listened to nothing but him the whole way. Anything else seemed sacrilegious. However, concerts and me don't always mix well. I get antsy--sitting for that long--and they never seem to measure up. I've been spoiled, I guess, by the best. My first concert was John Sebastian and Richie Havens. It was in Washington U's Quadrangle. Under the stars, surrounded by the stone buildings as John asked if we believed in magic... as Richie begged over and over for freedom... Well, it was the perfect first.
My second one was Cat Stevens. I admit: I had a serious teenage crush on him... and I was in great company. He had a string of famous, gorgeous girlfriends. Patti D'Arbanville. Carly Simon wrote "Anticipation" about him. His once-glossy black curly hair is now short and gray. Now he is Yusuf, but he can still sing... However, it was Harry Chapin who ruined all concerts--forever--for me. An incredible songwriter with a not-so-incredible voice, he made the evening we spent together into an intimate experience. That night he spoke to us of his hopes and dreams--through his music--and joked with the audience and his band in a sometimes-bawdy manner. He was humble and self-deprecating. He was delightful.
What's a memorable concert you've been to, and why was it so unforgettable?
At writing critique night this week, Lynn shared an early concert memory. (I think it was her first concert.) Her vignette was more about an awful prospective boyfriend than the Ozark Mountain Daredevils concert... but it brought back a flood of memories. On the way back home, Kim and I talked about our first concert. Kim's first was Crosby, Stills and Nash. (That made me extremely jealous. CS & N was one of my favorite groups. They still are.) I'm not sure if my first one was a Richie Havens-John Sebastian combo (there was a third singer, but I don't remember who it was) in Wash U's quadrangle, or whether Cat Stevens was my first. I do know who ruined me for concerts. Harry Chapin. Harry Chapin's concerts were intimate, poignant and hilarious. A true storyteller, he could weave human suffering into a few verses and a chorus better than everybody else. He didn't have much of a voice, but what a songwriter he was. He'd alternate a song about a dry-cleaner who aspired to be an opera singer... only to have his dreams dashed to the ground by critics... with a song about a truckload of bananas that meets a horrible end. And he could do it with an incredible wryness. In-between songs, he'd make jokes about the other musicians on stage. It was good-natured back-and-forth banter. They gave as well as they took.
This is a song that hardly ever made it on the radio waves. Be patient--watch the whole thing. Chapin shares four different endings... and they're amusing... What was your first concert? Leave a comment and share a memory. I'd love to hear about it.
And now onto the business of the book blurb. Look at the photo below. That is the cover of your book. You choose the genre. Is it a nonfiction piece? Is it a romance between a fellow primate and his selfie stick? You decide.
Write an enticing blurb--150 words or less. (The title doesn't count in the word count.) Blurbs are those enticing bits that prod you into buying the book. Sometimes they're on the back cover of the book. Sometimes they're on the inside front cover. What they always try to do is lure you into purchasing the book.
Lisa Ricard Claro was the original creator of this writing challenge. We don't know what she's doing these days. She moved to Florida and with the piles of money she's made from her novels. She's probably hired a couple of cute cabana boys. Perhaps that is what's keeping her busy... (If one of them looks anything like Viggo Mortensen or Benecio del Toro, I hope Lisa at least lets me visit so I can gape and drool a bit.)
Include your blurb in a blog post. Include a link to this post. Also, link your post to Mr. Linky. Mr. Linky is easy. If you've never done it, you'll be impressed with how simple he is. And then, check out the other blurb(s). It's interesting to see the different directions writers take, given the same photo.
Here's the book cover, along with my blurb:
photo by Pixabay
Manny’s Revenge
Manny was tired of being stared at. Manny was especially weary of people who’d think they were clever by looking at him through the glass and making weird noises while they scratched their armpits and jumped around.
Enough. Manny the gorilla was mad as heck, and he wasn’t going to take it anymore. When the next group of idiots gathered to gape, Manny swung from his rope onto the top edge of the wall. Reaching out, he grabbed one of their cameras and gracefully swung back to the floor of his enclosure.
Looking into the glass, he saw himself—certainly a more handsome primate than that idiot in the spandex bike shorts and the fanny pack who’d just waddled past.
Is that what people were doing with these things—admiring themselves?
Manny decided to turn the tables on the foolish spectators… and he already knew what he was going to do first. (150 words) For those writers who'd like to work ahead, here is the photo for next week's blurb:
Recently I had an electronic conversation with a writer friend. They were sharing how much social media work--work that is devoid of joy--it takes to promote a book. This writer does appreciate their success (several published books and a mob of loyal followers) but occasionally (as we all do) they lose sight of their joy. When I watch my dog race around the backyard, chasing after a frisbee or a squirrel (thankfully, the squirrels always allude him), I think of the joy Radar experiences all the time. Being petted results in him wiggling his rear end in excitement. Just the sound of our key turning in the lock when we get home... and he's turning tight, fast circles of anticipation. If we say "blinky ball" (his ball that lights up and squeaks) he's like an unstoppable horse as he heads for the backdoor. Radar knows nothing but joy. It's something he experiences all the time. He's decided that life is nothing but one big party... and he's the guest of honor. Last night we went and heard Compton Heights Concert Band play. It was their last summer concert. These are free, and are held every Sunday and Monday during the summer. Every summer they have Hugh Smith join them. Smith is a tenor--one that I enjoy. What's the connection with joy and some guy who sings? Last night, it was obvious how much he was enjoying himself as he sang. Yes, there are tenors who are way more famous than Smith. And yes, he may never be remembered as one of the greats. But when he sings, he's joyous. It reminded me of one of my favorite Harry Chapin songs--a song that never made it on the radio waves. "Mr. Tanner" tells the story of a singer who loved singing, then his joy was taken away... You have to listen to the song to find out what happened. (If you want to skip Chapin's intro to his band, go to the two-minute mark.)
What brought you joy today? Or yesterday? Or last week?
I was reminded of Karen Carpenter when reading Becky Povich's blog. (She has music that accompanies her blog, and there was the Carpenters, a blast from the past.) When I was 11 or so, I loved the cool, smooth harmonizing of the Carpenters. What a voice!
Then when she died, I was a bit angry. Having that talent, how could she be so tortured? Me, who when I sing, cause people to wonder if a cat is caught in the car engine...What would I have done with a voice like that?
I also bemoan the absence of Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Croce and Harry Chapin. What would our musical world be like if they were still around?
Harry Chapin
photo by RSB Image Works
Janis Joplin
photo by frangeek
Some of the talent I shake my head about belong to people who are still around, but have been hit with the whacky stick (numerous times). Robert Downey, Jr. is one. There was a time when he wandered around, got into a stranger's house and was found, asleep, by the homeowners. In and out of rehab. He is such a talented actor---what did he need drugs for? (However, it looks like he might be on a straighter and more narrow path these days.)
Whitney Houston is another. If you ever saw the "reality" show that trailed after Houston and her husband, you know she was far off the whack-a-doo scale. If I had just a small fraction of her singing talent, or her looks...Where would I be now?
What writer or performer or artist do you miss the most that is "gone," whether that absence is due to death or drugs or mental illness? (It could even be someone from a hundred years ago.)
