...Know a Snowman named Olaf...The Storytelling Fairies Do!!!

 

Well, if you've been following these blog posts about the Storytelling Fairies you'll understand, but today another miraculous guided Synchronicity...

Let me explain...Heritage Press operates out of the Mocha Lisa cafe and I have an arrangement with the baristas that every day they bring me an Espresso with some latte art that they create. Today the barista brought me...

The delightful latte art snowman I took a picture of with my phone and as I do every day, I sent it to the author of Hawthorn Moon, Miss Lisa Anne Minneti. But I wasn't done, I usually follow that up with a GIF, went into my phone, and found a GIF of an animated snowman...I didn't know that it was a famous fantasy character, Olaf, but I sent it along with the latte art pic to Lisa Anne.

Seconds later, she texted back with..."I HAVE TO BE OLAF, THAT SNOWMAN, TOMORROW!!"

Again, let me explain, Lisa, along with her sister, Lori, perform as fantasy characters for parties and apparently Lisa was scheduled to be Olaf tomorrow at a kid's party!!!

 

So, what are the odds that I would randomly first be given a latte art of a snowman, randomly text her a GIF of Olaf, not even knowing who Olaf was, and have her text me right back (which she almost never does) with the revelation that she was playing Olaf tomorrow!

Thank You Storytelling Fairies for caring so much about Hawthorn Moon that you would take the time to orchestrate this magical pat on the back, keep up the good work encouragement!

On The Road...Electric Refrigerator

 

What can I say, Hawthorn Moon is not done and neither are the Storytelling Fairies done encouraging the writing team to keep the project moving forward...yes, another incredible Synchronicity incident today. Having recently completed the final draft edit of author Lisa Anne's initial manuscript, today I was walking past a shelf full of books I haven't looked at for years and years and one book jumped out at me, Jack Kerouac's On The Road.

I pulled it off the shelf, randomly opened it up, began reading down the page, and there it was..."electric refrigerator" one of the unusual references from Hawthorn Moon indicating that November came from a poor family. And, in an even more targeted comment from the Storytelling Fairies, a few lines down from "electric refrigerator" is a reference to a "half-finished manuscript" which is exactly the status of the Hawthorn Moon project.

I've heard even more fantastic stories of books literally jumping off bookstore or library shelves and dropping into the hands of someone in need of the very information contained in the book. My case wasn't that dramatic, but I was clearly moved to pick out that book, open to that page, and there it was...another Synchronicity pat on the back from the Storytelling Fairies!! 

FROM CHAPTER 8 IN HAWTHORN MOON

Perhaps I do have more in common with my mom than I thought. She would whisper these pat phrases, like you were privy to some fabulous secret. One of her favorites was, Some women dream of Gregory Peck, some women dream of Glenn Ford, I dream of a refrigerator with Tupperware.

I was little when she would talk about the refrigerator we never got. I told dad in a whisper once that if we ever got one I wanted to live in it, but not that ugly lame green, it had to be a pretty one—harvest gold. Dad’s eyes brightened as he replied, “If you get cold in the fridge, you should wear a sweater the color of tangerines.”

...the Storytelling Fairies must have a Sense of Humor!!

 

 

https://www.npr.org/2021/11/24/1057250055/dave-grohl-storyteller-from-nirvana-to-foo-fighters

The most recent scene I'm editing in Hawthorn Moon introduces the up-and-coming early '90's Seattle grunge band, Nirvana. So, again, within hours of the editing what do I hear on the radio but a remarkable NPR Fresh Air interview of David Grohl, former Nirvana drummer, recently inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for his work with his band the Foo Fighters.

Okay, so yes, more remarkable Synchronicity, but here's where a "sense of humor" comes in...yes, incredible that at this point in my editing "Nirvana" should be featured on a national media stage in 2021...but more...David Grohl has written a memoir...titled...

THE STORYTELLER!!!!!

 

Tell me the Storytelling Fairies don't have a sense of humor!!

 

HAWTHORN MOON SCENE MENTIONING NIRVANA

 

 

“Dear November…during this month of the Hawthorn Moon, if you select your soulmate, the one who will be the Truth in the bevy of false suitors—that person will become the one true magical love you will ever need. Go get it, girl. Your life can be a fairytale. It’s not so complex anymore…a simple beautiful love. People would give years of their lives to have ten minutes of the love they would see in you with your beloved. A life like that is almost like being in heaven, and believe me I would know. On the other hand, if you should choose one of the comely others, for the wrong reasons, and granted they are all sweet, you will be fated to dilly-dally around with two or three mid level lovers at the same time for the rest of your life. Not without some happiness, mind you, but much exhaustion, drama, and love triangles will follow you to your grave—your days full of secrets and trysts, falling in and out of love over and over and over again.”

After delivering that prophetic warning, shaking me to the core, like God delivering the Ten Commandments to Moses on Mount Sinai, Lady Luna began vocalizing a rather disturbing melody—thrash edgy, defiant…not at all Camelot. Of course I totally liked it.

“What are you humming?” I asked her.

“Oh…Nirvana.”

Then, right on cue, a vision of her prophesy began to unfold right above my head as dozens of pitchers full of sloshing beer appeared, I suppose representing my many male suitors, marching in lockstep unison, like in Fantasia with the sorcerer’s apprentice, Luna the sorcerer, wearing her magic hat; the broomstick suitors—coming…coming…coming…coming.

The sky opened. I cried with pure May rain joy—drenched with amorous men ready to proclaim their undying love and devotion.

The feeling of being desired was an admitted vain weakness of mine and I need it like a crack addict needs their next fix, so much so I couldn’t tell the difference between being in love and loving to be loved.

 

Yes...Here We Go Again...

 

 
 

 https://www.usatoday.com/story/life/2021/11/17/frida-kahlo-self-portrait-sells-record-breaking-34-9-million/8648571002/

This pat on the head by the Storytelling Fairies is a bit more subtle, but no less effective. Within hours of editing a Hawthorn Moon chapter titled, Frida Kahlo Red, the national news was letting the world know that one of her self portraits had just been sold for 34 million dollars.

Now, Frida Kahlo, was an arcane choice on the part of the author to begin with, and this reference was written into her manuscript several years ago, long before she became famous in her own right. So, another case of a remarkable occurrence, guided Synchronicity...letting the Hawthorn Moon writing team know that our storytelling efforts are not going unnoticed! 

 

CHAPTER 10 FRIDA KAHLO RED

 

…I walk with pride with a Black girlfriend…

…my mom said not to bring her around.

                                                                  Everclear

 

My lips tasted like sweat, someone else’s. My lower lip had just started bleeding.

“So…you’re a vampire?”

My blood was a healthy red, a spring red, on his face. He picked me up like that last cheerleader launched to the top of a Friday Night Lights pyramid—the one the crowd was waiting for. He held me so tight. I wanted to be broken, shattered on the burnt caramel carpet.

“Do you believe in magic?”

“Are you the magic?”

“Now, that would be you…Miss Moonbright.”

Jupiter—the Prince of Light, that centaur bowing his arrow, galloping with confidence through the Milky Way.

 

Frida Kahlo once said, “Take a lover who looks at you like you might be magic.”

There it was…that feeling, like this moment was all I had ever wanted, or would ever want, and it did not matter because he was fucking everything.

He carefully turned me over and kept repeating, my favorite…my favorite…my favorite. Then, a whispered…love you, as my face buried deep into the hard hotel pillow.

Like all spells of magic and sorcery, they can shatter, like a windshield in a car collision, into shards of jagged daggers, daggers that can damage and deform.

“I am very fond of our relationship, Miss Moonbright,” his words delivered slow and soft, as if he was confessing—not full of the velvety crunch of his day-to-day swagger.

I could not see his face. It was nestled in my hair and looking backwards. Maybe he was kissing me. Fond…that word freaked me into a much-too-easy role.  Fuck Fond…I erupted in my mind, like Joan Crawford in those ‘60’s horror flicks. Did he forget he was dealing with a Warrior?

It felt like I was too drunk on a Chardonnay that had spent much too much time in an oak barrel, it was bubbling up from my stomach and I was going to vomit right there and then on the itchy pretend wool blanket. Fond…a word to describe a favorite cheeky aunt, or a chubby backyard squirrel you see chomping on hazelnuts through your window while you sip that first cup of morning coffee. I almost shouted…you suck, you fucking asshole, but didn’t.

Damn, there I go again, wanting to use four-letter words. At least this time I only thought the F-bomb…really have to cut back on my cursing. Luna would say, it’s just not ladylike—but am I a lady?

Anyway, there it was again…that haunting symbol, this time on the door lock—the Hawthorn Rune sign. The pitted brass seemed to glow. Did it want to help me?

Escape…bust a move and boast a lie.

“Life is too short for bad sex…and I have lots of opportunities,” I hissed, dressing and quickly gathering my things.

I grabbed the door handle, feeling like Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley—strong, fearless, badass. I did not slam the door though, didn’t need to.

Some Broadway show tune was bellowing in the halls of the hotel. Twilight was creeping into the new day and rainbows were already bouncing off the shiny vinyl wallpaper.

Now running, a heroine in my own film noir movie, I collided with a chambermaid. You could hardly see her tiny frame, balancing armfuls of once white sheets. She gave me a quick nod and started stuffing them in a way-too-small garbage hamper.

“Miss, excuse me, but if you’re throwing those out, please let me take them. I can use them for god’s sake!”

Life. Can we make a musical after all?

She was tiny, young, and probably did not speak much English, but someone taking the work burden off of your shoulders is a universal language.

Her lipstick was red—Frida Kahlo red.

She said with crispy, tidy English, “You are welcome to my garbage.”

    

 

 

 

Tupperware & the Storytelling Fairies

 

 

Well, do I have to say it...yep, the Storytelling Fairies were at it again today...within hours of editing a scene in Hawthorn Moon dealing with "refrigerators & Tupperware" I pull into the parking lot of my Mocha Lisa Cafe Heritage Press office and what do I see but the van above, a vehicle I'd never before seen at the cafe or in my life.

And, to make this unlikely Synchronous event even more impossible without some Storytelling Fairy influence, I spoke to the lady driving the van, she told me that a girlfriend had her come to the cafe's open house a few days ago, she won a raffle prize, and was only there for a few minutes to pick up the prize!

REMARKABLE...

 

THE TUPPERWARE SCENE FROM HAWTHORN MOON

 

Ooooh ‘70s…digging the retro vibe at the Holiday Inn, greeted by huge cantaloupe-colored pendant lights—designed as enormous ice cubes meeting each other, some sticking out together. The glow from them was dim and dingy, like a ripe avocado pit…totally relaxing.

Perhaps I do have more in common with my mom than I thought. She would whisper these pat phrases, like you were privy to some fabulous secret. One of her favorites was, some women dream of Gregory Peck, some women dream of Glenn Ford, I dream of a refrigerator full of Tupperware.

I was little when she would talk about the refrigerator we never got. I told dad in a whisper once that if we ever got one I wanted to live in it, but it could not be that ugly lame green, it had to be a pretty one—harvest gold. Dad’s eyes brightened as he replied, “If you get cold in the fridge, you should wear a sweater the color of tangerines.”

“Thanks for coming here, Mr. Marcus Aurelius. Mommy really wanted to see Aaron do his Elvis thing, and well, it even smells like fun here,” said Angela, breaking into her favorite hip-hop moves for emphasis before adding, “my brothers…had a group, Brothers 5, and they taught me everything I know about dance,” to explain her soft-shoe skills before anyone even asked.

Marcus joined in with a sweet Michael Jackson spin just for emphasis and replied, “How do you like that, Miss Angela with an A. I’m here for your Momma Rosa…all in, no other reason.”

He smiled, his head slightly tilted, as Angela shook her shag haircut and blew Marcus a kiss, leaving her tongue slightly below her two front teeth.

“You like Elvis, don’t you? I mean, everyone likes Elvis,” Angela added.

“I’m Black…does that answer your question?”

Ripley & a Romantic Crescent Moon

 

 

Well, the Storytelling Fairies pitched me a double-header today. Within hours of editing a reference to Sigourney Weaver's Ripley character in the film Aliens, I found myself by sheer Synchronicity chance watching a film I haven't seen since it was at the movie theater on an obscure channel I never go to, but right under TCM, a channel I almost always look at each and every day.

As if that wasn't enough of a "tap on the shoulder" by the Storytelling Fairies, within an hour of editing a scene in Hawthorn Moon where the over all theme of the novel, centered around finding a Soul Mate, had our Armenian heroin, November Rainer Savitchian, confronted with all the men she could be soul mates with, I leave my Heritage Press remote office, the Mocha Lisa Coffee Shop, look up, and there in the sky was the most romantic of all celestial scenes...a crescent moon "kissing" it's near soulmate, the planet Saturn.

This phenomenon, though rare, I've come to almost expect when working on storytelling projects. Can I prove that the Storytelling Fairies exist...no...but how else do you explain what is happening!

 

SCENE INVOLVING THE SOUL MATE THEME, FROM HAWTHORN MOON

 

This day…what was all happening. First Gutter, now some other dude is heading towards me, a sure, steady, sexy stride. Oh my…it’s that intense Italian guy from the coffee shop, looking smoking in a slim charcoal blazer…pure sprezzatura!

“Jacamo…what the…so great to see you.”

 

He had me panting so that I could hardly get the words out. I almost dropped some four-letter words, but so sick of cussing, passed right by them. At this point I was done talking and wanted to start making stuff happen.

 

“Jacamo will get the teddies,” directed Gutter, turning to Jacamo, “Victoria’s Secret, you know at the mall next to Wet Seal. Get sizes 34B and 36C, in red lace. So, let’s go slam-a-shot man…way cool to see you. You’re looking good, have you been working out,”

Gutter squeezed Jacamo’s bulging bicep while adding one of his above average soft shoe shtick routines for editorial emphasis.

 

“Something about this day…I feel like anything is possible—best damn day of my life,” Gutter shared.

 

Jacamo nodded in that serious paisano way he had, leering at me like I was some Catholic school girl flirting with sinful thoughts during the boring parts of mass. But then, I think he looks at all girls like that.

 

“November…you okay, what can I get you…anything?” he asked, grounded in this studied realness that so defined him, but I shook my head, no—not even Jacamo was for the moment going to make these lips do anything but focus on the video.

 

Then, Gutter jumped in with, “Spice, you’re rocking it, I love all your crazy stuff. I’m telling you the delights are going to be plentiful, but here’s the big jam, the understated super-steal message of the video—you, yes you, are going to be drinking a wooden chalice filled with red wine…chalice red wine…big chalice…red…very red…Spice drinking it…in a close-the-deal big chalice.”

 

As they walked away, the music, the sound of the heavy bass, pounding and smoky, I couldn’t help it, I dropped the sheets and started following the beat—happy as a zombie who’d just finished a meal of monkey brains.

 

Hazy smoke, the milky cream color of selenite, enveloped the band, now dressed in darkness, rehearsing for the upcoming video shoot in the bowling alley ballroom. The backbeat was hauntingly familiar—I kept swallowing my heart, but felt it escaping back up my throat. I was choking…on my misguided heart…then, I saw a woman, in white, dancing in a rainbow.

 

DAMMIT LUNA.

 

Approaching the stage, there she was two-stepping around a hero of my past, one I never got to love, sweet, sweet Pauley—RIP MY HEART OUT WHY DON’T YOU, LADY LUNA.

 

I’m also hearing a harmonica bellow and my whole body was seizing—both living and dead at the same time. It was Marcus on the harmonica, also on stage…Marcus, the best sweet lover of my life. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

 

Pauley, yes Adonis like, a bass player god, who, rocking his famous riffs on his Fender Boxer Bass, he was untouchable. Luna appeared loose, without a care in the world, while also flirting with the entire audience. She was singing a lick from “Luck Be a Lady Tonight” in a seductively low whisper that was barely audible over the screeching of her lead guitar.

 

Alive…yes, I was, and more than merely breathing I was bursting with sweet, sweet love—Marcus and Pauley on stage, Gutter on my right and Jacamo on my left.

 

Overwhelmed, closing my eyes I felt naked.

 

What was I so afraid of…             

           

 

 

The Storytelling Fairies...Like Peanuts!

 

 

Well...the storytelling fairies are at it again...this time within a few hours of editing a scene about a Hawthorn Moon character, Loyalty, who loved to skate and who is devoted to her mother, I opened the paper and saw the Peanuts cartoon above.

If you followed my blog, you know that these rare coincidences, which appear guided and directly connected to the story being told, seem to be presented to the team telling the story as a way to encourage them, pat them on the back...as in Keep up the Good Work!

The editing of author Lisa Minneti's first draft of the Hawthorn Moon manuscript is proceeding at a good pace and her new novel, the sequel to Hazel Moon, should be out early in 2022.

Here is the scene from Chapter 8 of Hawthorn Moon dealing with skating.

 

CHAPTER 8   SINGAPORE SLING

Pulling up to the park where she always roller-blade danced with her taxicab-yellow skates and biker shorts, I sighed. The sky was so ripe, like the color of Georgia peaches at their peak. I felt out of sorts…why was I hanging around this virtual stranger, letting him kiss me, and being so whatever about it. I need to get my people around me. I never ever wanted to be some fake pass-around, living at the bidding of others.

Paused for a moment at the park, I said, “When she skates, it’s just like a glimpse of heaven,” waving to get her attention.

Loyalty was the babe of the family, but had this grandmother way about her—this common sense quality and sometimes it seemed that her mom, Khloe Tree, was the child and Loyalty was in charge of the household.

I gave Gutter a look. He was surprising in a good way sometimes, but he was an asshole no doubt—but not really one of those really bad fucked-up assholes. I was actually the one feeling fucked-up.

Why had I gotten sweet Marcus’ little sister involved in all this drama? Oh, yeah, to save me—I guess it really was all about me. Mr. Gutter doesn’t know it, but this is going to be the fastest video take of all time.

“Miss November!” said Loyalty who had come over to the car.

I tried to give her an affectionate smile, but under the circumstances could only muster a toothless smirk. Thank god for Gutter, he got out of the car and as a gesture of respect opened the back door for her.

Giggling in that cute teenage way, as she took off her skates, my mind drifted, weighed down with the feeling of being so responsible for everything going down. Gutter had put on a Christmas Rap CD and Loyalty was singing quietly to the tunes as Gutter droned on filling the air with big words like proletarian chic while suggesting a fashion look for the video.

I felt like I’d created this big burgundy water balloon, it was right overhead, and was about to burst leaving us all totally wet and unquestionably uncomfortable.