RPMs, Splicers, ODDs, USBs…A Dancer’s Half-Century Trip Thru Tech

Posted on by - 2024, Dance

My heartbreaking choreographic debut

Spring 1968. 8th Grade. Pine Grove Junior High School Talent Show. For my solo, I wore a purple leotard, pink tights and pink pointe shoes, to dance my original choreography to the smash hit “Love is Blue.”

“Original”? Perhaps I stole a few signature moves from my beloved ballet teacher Sally Espino. From a young age, I’d taken her classes at Live Oak Community Center, Berkeley Parks & Recreation, an affordable choice for my parents (who were raising seven kids). When I was eleven, Sally approved me for toe shoes and sent me to a children’s shoe store on Shattuck Avenue, where a clueless, middle-aged man in a suit squeezed my feet into chunky Capezios. At age twelve, I performed with Sally, en pointe, in the Live Oak Theater, to music from the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.

For the junior high talent show, I entrusted my 45-rpm vinyl single to the A/V boys, along with a plastic adapter in case the school’s turntable didn’t have a pop-up adapter.

On cue, I stepped out on the curtainless stage to face a sea of whispering, giggling middle-schoolers. My heart pounded through an awkward pause before the needle went down with a crackle. Pulling up to relevé for my first emboîté, I nearly froze. What?! A slow-motion nightmare. The turntable was set to 33 rpm! I slogged and teetered through a drawling parody of the music until, near the end, the pink ribbons of one shoe unraveled to the floor. Pretending my shoe wasn’t loose, I improvised a woeful, dying-swan-like ending and left the stage in sobs.

Dancing, Teaching, and Performing in the early ’70s

In high school, my parents upgraded my training to a professional studio, Dancer’s Theatre in Oakland, an affiliate of the Royal Academy of Dancing. An RAD examiner flew from England to California every two years to judge our progress. While seated, the examiner gave the exercises in French ballet terms and evaluated our technique as we executed the movements to live piano accompaniment.

When I was 18, I switched studios to Carlos Carvajal’s Dance Spectrum in San Francisco. Both studios often had live piano accompaniment. Pianists at Dancer’s Theatre played traditional classics, while the pianist at Dance Spectrum in SF improvised new-age minimalist kinds of melodies, occasionally adding wordless voice—appropriate for the vibe of the hippie years. We ballerinas defied convention, wearing socks for barre exercises instead of full-sole ballet slippers—that is, when we didn’t do the entire class en pointe. Flexible split-sole ballet slippers hadn’t yet been invented.

When live piano wasn’t available, teachers used LPs on turntables. Both the Oakland and SF studios had wood floors that shuddered when we jumped, causing the record to skip occasionally. At Dance Spectrum, Carlos used orchestral music for many of his center combinations—something that was different and exciting.

I performed with both companies, Dancer’s Theatre and Dance Spectrum. Recorded music for performances was played from a turntable or reel-to-reel tape player connected to the sound system. [My father had a reel-to-reel player at home and swore it was the best sound for his jazz favorites—although it required transferring music from his LPs to the tape!]

1973, a memorable performance. We danced Carlos’s choreography to live music at the SF Civic Auditorium, Arthur Fiedler conducting the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra (Fiedler’s “Pops” concert). For Saint-Saëns’ Bacchanal, we danced part of the piece in the aisles. What fun! Here are the front and back covers of the program.

When I was 18, I landed my first teaching job at—guess where—Live Oak Community Center. Every Saturday, six classes in a row, 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. They paid me $9 per class. I supported myself on this, plus an 8-hour weekly housecleaning job at $2 per hour.

As you can see in this 1973 photo, the clunky turntable was on a long, folding table, a little wobbly. I don’t remember the records skipping when we jumped, but perhaps nothing could shake that shiny linoleum-covered cement floor at the rec center, where we risked shin splints, hairline fractures, and slips-and-falls.

My second traumatic choreographic effort

1973 spring recital. The choreography was all mine and not half bad, as far as I recall, but very short. Students in all six classes performed, a couple of minutes for each class. We weren’t in the Little Theater but in the gymnasium with folding chairs set up for family and friends.

As people arrived and took their seats, I sat with my students on the floor. Every student—but one—arrived on time. Five, ten, fifteen minutes ticked past the appointed hour, people getting antsy. Finally, I gave in, made my opening remarks, lined up the kids, and put the needle on the record. Fifteen minutes later, as we took our final bow, the tardy student and parents rushed in, half an hour late. “It’s over?” screeched the angry mom. Crying child. Embarrassed teacher.

That was the first and last recital I staged at Live Oak. My dance ambitions lay far beyond Berkeley Parks & Recreation.

Soon after, I left for Amsterdam, where I studied at Theaterschool with hopes to audition for companies—a whole story I won’t go into here. After five months, an injury sent me home, where I moped around for a bit, took a temporary job stuffing envelopes at a mass mailing outfit, and decided to go to college, then law school.

Interestingly, I did perform again at Live Oak Theater with the Berkeley Mime Troupe in 1975.

The’80s arrive with high tech! And… My third and fourth choreographic efforts

Gradually, through the ’70s, LPs gave way to cassette tapes. Oh rapture! No skips or warped LPs. Actually, the cassettes did warp if left in the sun. And there were other annoyances. Like, somehow, the tape could get pulled out and tangled.

And you always had trouble cuing up your song. All that rewinding and fast forwarding, no index or track indicator.

Then there was the extra expense, time, and effort to convert your favorite music from LP to tape. Equipment, cables, magic. Turntable with output, tape recorder with input. New possibilities! Compilations: favorite songs from different LPs on a single cassette tape.

’78-’81, while in law school in Boulder Colorado, I subbed a few dance classes, using cassette tapes. Nerves…not about teaching but about the music, fast forwarding and rewinding. Those years, I danced in local performances and with the Boulder Jazz Dance Company. One piece was called “Walkmania,” and these things were part of our costume!

My third and fourth choreographies were in Boulder. 1980: a solo entitled “Amor Lejano” (you can see excerpts here—yes, that young girl with shoulder-length hair).  1981: “Inner City Drama,” a dance for me and three others, performed in Boulder and New York City. I don’t have a video and don’t remember the choreography, but it included this whacky jump.

Each choreographer provided the sound manager with a cassette tape containing only their music. The sound person would cue each tape to the start and switch out the cassettes for each piece during the show. My tape for “Amor Lejano” was easy enough—a single piece “Utviklingssang” by Carla Bley  But the music for “Inner City Drama” combined parts of songs from the “Together Brothers” LP, Barry White’s Love Unlimited Orchestra, something I couldn’t edit. A company member adept at splicing created the tape for me. Can you imagine doing this? Cutting the tape at the exact moment with a razor blade and taping it to the next section. Some of the splicing jobs for various choreographers were none too perfect, with little glitchy sounds at the edited points.

The ’90s and new millennium

Although CDs came on the market sometime in the ’80s, dance teachers were using cassette tapes most of that decade. As I started my law career in Manhattan, I was taking dance class whenever I could fit it in. In 1989, after having my first baby, I dropped out of the dance world for a decade. When I started dancing again, everyone was using CDs. On hiatus from my legal career, I danced like crazy from ’98-’08: taking and teaching classes, performing, choreographing, and running a dancewear store.

CDs: what convenience! But…have you played a CD recently? So annoying, all those extra seconds to open the tray, insert the CD, close the tray, select the track, wait for the player to “read” the disc. These days, it seems so slow.

Again, we had to convert favorite tracks from outdated media to CD. Somewhat easier with computers connected by USB cable to a turntable or tape player. In those days, every computer came with an ODD (optical disc drive).

I soon gave this up for the new thing—music streaming. In the early ’00s, we subscribed to Rhapsody for about $10 a month [avoiding Napster, a “free” service that violated artists’ rights and was later sued for copyright infringement.] I used the RealPlayer program on my Microsoft laptop to save selected tracks from Rhapsody on my computer and “burn” them to a CD. RealPlayer could also “rip” tracks from our store-bought CDs and burn them to a blank CD. I made a lot of compilations for listening and teaching.

But, more work! No metadata, so I manually typed the title and artist onto each track saved on my laptop. This information did not transfer to CD when burning. I typed and printed a list of the songs on each CD. For teaching, my compilations grouped songs with similar rhythms for certain exercises (e.g. for jazz pas de bourrées, kicks, and pirouettes); I labeled each CD and taped the list of songs on the CD cover.

I still have tons of these homemade CDs!!! They’re all good.

For my students’ performances in the early ’00s, the sound manager asked for a CD with the single track for each dance. Later into the ’00s, this changed to a separate USB flash drive for each piece.

Moving into now

After working another ten years in law, I returned to teaching dance in 2017. A decade had passed, and most teachers were using smartphones (or tablets or laptops) connected to the studio sound system by Bluetooth or cable/dongle attachment.

I was behind for a while, still using CDs, but soon learned how to transfer all the music on my laptop to iPhone with the sync feature. I made playlists for some of it. Every studio has different equipment so, to soothe my nerves, I travel everywhere with my own little speakers and use Bluetooth. I love them, especially when I use two for “party mode.”

For performances, no more cassettes, tape splicing, CDs, or USB sticks. Simply send an MP3 file to the sound manager on a file sharing platform. I’ve also edited and combined tracks on the Audacity program to create a unique piece of music for performance.

I could write pages about the technical conundrums of teaching dance on Zoom during the pandemic, but I’m not in the mood to revisit that! One good thing came out of it. When I went back to the studio, I recorded several dance classes and uploaded them to YouTube for my students who wished to continue dancing at home. Go ahead, take a free class at home! Here’s my YouTube channel.

The latest tool for dance teachers is a smartphone wristwatch playing purchased music or streaming from a service like Spotify. Freed from the sound equipment, the teacher can roam the studio, observing and correcting students while easily starting and stopping music. But, dare I admit…

I’m kind of afraid of them. So small, and my music is all over the place, favorite tracks in albums, others in playlists. Will I be able to find what I want? I’m getting nervous just thinking about it. Perhaps I’ll skip this and all subsequent innovations until we get to the point where it’s possible to simply think of the track we want and music will fill the air. I don’t doubt this will happen one day. It’s all magic.

Thank you for tripping through 55 years of technology with me!

Keep an eye out here for news about my upcoming novel! I’ll be making announcements soon.

 

Travelogue (7)—Latvian Song and Dance Festival

Posted on by - 2024, Travelogue

In 2013, I visited Riga for the Latvian Song and Dance Festival and became a big fan of this event. Every five years, Latvians all over the world come together for a weeklong celebration of their beloved folksongs and dances. The festival also embodies a spirit of solidarity among a people who survived a tumultuous and tragic history of foreign occupation.

 

My late father and his sister were Latvian WWII refugees who emigrated to California and Ontario, respectively. I never learned the Latvian language and am left to wonder what it would have been like to attend the festival with them, to benefit from their insights and translation. The Canadian version of the Latvian Song and Dance Festival is closer to home, so I made plans to attend.

My husband and I started our road trip to Toronto on July 4, making stops in Western New York on the way up and back. We had great accommodations, dining experiences, and sightseeing adventures. First stop, Keuka Lake. We stayed the night in this Airbnb cottage, clean and comfortable with beautiful surroundings. Our host was friendly and helpful.

 

Highlights: walks along the wooded lake’s edge, a visit to historic and beautiful Garrett Memorial Chapel, the best ice cream in New York at Seneca Farms in Penn Yan, and a perfect view of Independence Day fireworks all around the lake’s edge.

Garrett Memorial Chapel

 

Midday on the 5th, we left Keuka Lake and stopped in Naples, NY, for lunch at the Old School Café. Had a delicious meal, sitting outside under the trees with good shade from the hot day.

Then we hopped in the car for Toronto. Not much delay at the U.S./Canada border (Peace Bridge). On the Canada side, we zipped along for a while before the traffic on the QEW got horrendous. The last 50 miles to Toronto took forever. Friday rush hour? Or is it always like that? We got to our hotel at about 7 p.m. Hotel X.

A good choice. We explored two rooftop lounges with great views of the city and had a scrumptious dinner at the hotel restaurant, Roses Social. Our large, comfortable room presented only one challenge—how to work those strangely unique light switches? Took us a while to figure them out. The best feature was the high-impact water pressure in the shower.

Saturday, July 6, was a busy day. In the morning, I took Johanna Bergfelt’s contemporary dance class at the National Ballet of Canada. I’d “known” Johanna virtually for nearly four years, taking her online classes at home, so it was a delight to meet her in person and to dance her wonderful choreography in a huge studio.

Next, hubby and I had brunch at Fox on John. We bypassed the outdoor seating only because a flash rainstorm hit. Inside, we had mimosas, omelets, and fixings while watching a Euro 2024 soccer match between England and Switzerland. A lot of energy in the room!

Then, on to the Latvian Mass Choir Concert at Roy Thomson Hall.  The President of Latvia, Edgars Rinkēvičs, gave opening remarks. The stage was filled to capacity with singers, overflowing into the upper audience boxes on either side (this photo doesn’t quite capture all the singers on the sides). About 700 or 800, everyone in national costume. They performed dozens of folksongs in beautiful harmony, each with its own conductor.

 

My videos of the songs didn’t turn out so great, so here are links to a few good ones posted on YouTube by other attendees:  Lec Saulīte (Sun Rises) and Saule Pērkons Daugava (Sun, Thunder, Daugava [River]).

The concert ended with Pūt Vējiņi (Blow Winds), the song that closes every festival, with the audience singing and swaying along. Here is a video of Pūt Vējiņi at the 2023 Riga concert (40,000 singers in a huge amphitheater!)

Sunday morning the 7th we took the ferry to Toronto Islands, getting this view of the city skyline on the way there. A low flying airplane went directly overhead, coming in for a landing at the nearby Billy Bishop Toronto City Airport.

 

The several small islands are connected, making a large park with plenty of trees and white sand beaches on Lake Ontario. We started out on the westernmost island and walked for about an hour to the center island, where we caught the ferry back.

About halfway through our walk, a loud din caught our attention across an inlet to a small interior island. Hundreds of birds were circling or perched on denuded trees, squawking like crazy. Think Hitchcock’s The Birds. A man who had docked his boat nearby told us that the cormorant population is out-of-control, damaging the trees and environment. We were lucky the wind was blowing away from us, he said, because the noxious odor of their guano is overpowering.

Back in town, we found a great place for lunch a few blocks from the venue where the next festival event was to be held. We had delicious burgers and cold beer sitting in this outdoor patio at Pogue Mahone Pub & Kitchen.

Then it was on to the Latvian Folk Dance Spectacle at the Mattamy Athletic Centre, home of the Maple Leafs ice hockey team! No ice that day. 800 dancers of all ages filled the entire arena with joy and spirit, making intricate patterns with their dances. I made a short video from a few clips of different dances you can see here (Instagram).

Here’s a fuller recap on YouTube. At :45 seconds in, you will see a song near the end of the concert called Daugav’ Abas Malas (Both Sides of the Daugava River), where we all crossed our arms and held hands and sang along. (I’m in that audience somewhere!) Some of the lyrics translate as: “One language, one soul, one land that is ours.” And here is a video of the dance finale.

My favorite dance was by a group that won first place in the new choreography contest. I got most of it on my iPhone and posted it here, on YouTube. Really beautiful and fun!

The performance ended at about 6:30 p.m. and we headed back to New York. Again, the traffic was bad. The Google maps lady sent us to the Lewiston crossing, claimed to be “the best possible route.” We waited in line almost an hour before a customs agent waved us through. On the U.S. side, the highway is a lot prettier than the highway we took going north, through Buffalo.

We didn’t get to our hotel until about 11 p.m., a really nice place, the Chautauqua Harbor Hotel in Jamestown. It was built five years ago, everything spiffy clean and comfy.

In the morning, we visited with friends who took us on a tour of the Chautauqua Institution, a 750-acre community on Chautauqua Lake that hosts summer residence programs in music, dance, theater, and fine arts, among others, and holds events open to the public year round. You may recall that this is where author Salman Rushdie was attacked in 2022. After that, security was tightened and we needed a grounds access pass. There are many beautiful privately owned homes that can be rented, a historic hotel, studios, theaters, and so much more.

Of most interest to me would be to take the dance classes taught by visiting teachers, or to watch performances by notable dance companies. Alas, that will have to be another visit! We were tuckered out from all the excitement and long drive, so made our way back home.

Thanks for riding along! In other news, pick up my award-winning collection Your Pick: Selected Stories during my summer sale. A mere 99 cents in e-book for another week!

 

2023—Let It Be

Posted on by - 2023

Like all years, 2023 held the good and the bad. For me, the scale tipped more toward the bad side, but thankfully, most of that is well behind me. I have much to celebrate today, my 35th wedding anniversary, so let me reminisce.

Photo by Qui Nguyen at unsplash.com

Why a picture of coral? Symbolizing longevity and success, coral represents the 35th anniversary. Neither plant nor rock, coral is animal, an invertebrate that can live for hundreds, even thousands, of years! A sign that these beautiful old fossils and their strong union will last nearly into eternity.

 

Oops, those aren’t the old fossils but the young cuties in 1987 and 1988, respectively. These are fuzzy stills taken from the video interviews we did at the dating club where we met, then known as American Millionaires International (“AMI”) on West 57th Street in Manhattan. No, we weren’t millionaires or anywhere close, even further from that mark after AMI took a big chunk of our money in membership fees! Worth it, though, right? The people at AMI eventually realized the name was a little off-putting and changed it to “Invitations.”

For those of you in the dating app click-and-swipe generation, here’s how the antiquated system worked in the 80s. I filled out a two-sided, single-page questionnaire with basic info and still photos, what AMI called the “Perfect Match Profile.” I’d go there and leaf through the binders of profiles, find the ones I liked, and ask to see the corresponding videos with scintillating questions like, “What’s your idea of a romantic date?” and “Where do you see yourself in five years?” If I liked a video, AMI would snail mail a postcard to my chosen one, asking him to come in and look at my profile and video. If it’s a “yes” from him, AMI snailed me a postcard with his phone number. It was up to me, the initial chooser, to call the amenable chosen one. If someone chose me first, it would go the other way around. Don’t think I had too many of those.

What a process! Had to be patient in those days.

I’d been in the club for a year and had about eight dates before meeting Kevin. He was new, and I was his first, occasioning his tongue-in-cheek comment that he didn’t get his money’s worth on the exciting dating scene. I told him, “You lucked out big time.” The eight dates I had were painfully awkward. My favorite was the guy who had a fantasy of driving me to the restaurant on the back of his motorcycle. On the phone I said, no way, I’ll meet you outside and we’ll take a cab. He showed up at my building with his motorcycle anyway. On the intercom, I nixed the motorcycle ride again and refused to open the door so he could leave his helmet in my apartment. When we got back from the date, his helmet was no longer dangling from the handlebars.

Six months to the day after our first date at Windows on the World, Kevin proposed—also at Windows on the World. I could guess what was coming as he nervously whispered his practice lines. So could the party of four sitting at the next table. Before Kevin could take out the ring box, one of the men blurted in a Texas accent, loud enough for us to hear, “I think he’s going to propose!” It was a “yes” from me, of course, uttered shyly to Kevin as he put the diamond on my finger, with my back partially turned to that boisterous (drunk?) group.

Soon after, we went back to AMI and politely demanded our profiles and videos as keepsakes. When they found out we were engaged, the cry went out, “Engagement here!” Three or four startled singles in the library looked up from the profile books and started clapping. AMI agreed to release our profiles and videos only after shaking us down for a Member Profile Interview to publish in their newsletter. The writer got creative and colorful in exaggerating our respective career titles and “quoting” our remarks about the fabulous AMI system.

And the rest is history.

I owe Kevin, as well as other family members and friends, my gratitude in helping me through my 2023 health setback. Chemo, surgery, and most side effects are now out of the way with complete success, so it’s full speed ahead with good health in the New Year! I had to quit teaching dance for several months, but I’m back now and looking forward to teaching many adult classes in 2024.

This photo with some of my students at Scarsdale Ballet Studio was taken in February before I went on break. I danced at home during this period to try and keep in shape.

 

Here is a still from a short piece of choreography I recorded in July, pre-surgery. You can watch it here on YouTube.

 

The writing life continues. Had a lot of fun appearing on the Voice of Indie podcast in August. You can hear it here. The two hosts, Beem Weeks and Stephen Geez, are excellent writers with interesting books I recommend.

Didn’t get anything published in 2023 but wrote a few stories and I’m close to finishing a book-length collection of short fiction. Murderous Ink Press will be publishing my story, “A Father’s Duty,” in one of their 2024 anthologies. I’m most excited about my new novel, Indelicate Deception, a character-driven family drama with an element of suspense and social thematic underpinnings. Although one of the characters is a lawyer, the novel is a far departure from my Dana Hargrove suspense novels. I finished the first draft early in the year, polished it, and am sending out queries to literary agents. Wish me luck trying to get this book out to the world sooner than later!

Dear friends, here’s to health, happiness, and peace in 2024 and beyond,

Vija

The Orchid Hour: Book Review & Conversation with Nancy Bilyeau

Posted on by - Fiction Favorites & Awesome Authors

For this installment of Fiction Favorites and Awesome Authors, Nancy Bilyeau returns to talk about her new historical mystery, The Orchid Hour. (Isn’t the cover beautiful?)

Nancy first appeared here on VBlog after the release of her suspense novel The Blue, set in the rivalrous porcelain industry of 18th century Europe.

The Orchid Hour takes us to the Prohibition Era of the 1920s, when, despite the law, alcohol was flowing freely. The book’s title is the name of a speakeasy that serves as the focal point of the action. Aiming to appeal to a highbrow clientele, the world-class nightclub is decorated with a species of orchid that gives off a heady fragrance only at night. The club’s front is, appropriately, a flower shop, where one must have the trust of the florist to gain entry.

I remember getting a feel for the speakeasy days at a bar/restaurant called Chelsea Place, which operated from 1974 through 1992 on Eighth Avenue in Manhattan. From the avenue, you entered what appeared to be an antique shop. In the back of the “store,” you opened the mirrored door of an antique wardrobe to enter the piano bar and restaurant.

Exciting and glamorous, right? Well, in this novel, Nancy Bilyeau does not shy away from the underbelly of the Jazz Age: bootlegging, gang violence, rising crime, and the Sicilian Mafia (Cosa Nostra). The protagonist, Audenzia De Luca (“Zia”), is an Italian immigrant, young mother, and WWI widow. Two murders that hit close to home give Zia the motivation to transform her conservative appearance and get a job at the speakeasy, where, she believes, she will find clues to the unsolved murders.

No spoilers here! You’ll just have to read the book to find out what Zia discovers! Publishers Weekly (starred review) says, “Historical mystery fans will find this irresistible.” And so did I!

Welcome back, Nancy! Orchids and speakeasies: a unique and interesting combination! How did your vision of The Orchid Hour come to you? Was there any particular NYC nightclub in the Prohibition Era that served as an inspiration?

My vision of the novel began with wanting to write a main character who is touched by organized crime in New York City and that would be part of her story but not her whole story. I created a main character who is born in Italy and immigrates to New York City with her family in the early 20th century but does not act out the stereotypes of Italian American women that you see in movies and television shows.

Because it was Prohibition that basically created the mafia—one of history’s greatest unintended consequences—I thought that putting the novel in the 1920s made sense. I find the first part of the decade more interesting than the second.

The Orchid Hour is a cross between The Cotton Club (which opened at the end of 1923) and Chumley’s, another real-life club, this one a secret speakeasy in the West Village that attracted writers such as Dorothy Parker and Eugene O’Neill.

Your protagonist Zia, a young mother and widow living with her in-laws, is conflicted about her desire to behave according to the more liberal standard American women enjoyed in the Jazz Age as opposed to her family’s rigid expectations under the ordine della famiglia, “the unforgiving, centuries-old code of the villages of southern Italy.” How did these two standards for women differ, and how far did Zia deviate from the Italian code?

Those two standards were a world apart! The ordine della famiglia meant to live for the family, to subordinate yourself to the good of the family. Yet in the 1920s young American women, primarily in the cities, were cutting their hair, shedding their girdles, wearing modern clothes, going out dancing, and seeking independence from their families. To do any of those things was a deviation of the code for Zia.

Some of the characters in The Orchid Hour are purely fictional and others are actual people—especially some of the organized crime figures from the 1920s. What guides you in deciding to use historic figures rather than fictional characters in your novels? As a corollary, what guides you in placing the historic figures in fictional, as opposed to factual, settings and scenes?

I like to put real people in my historical fiction. My main characters are always imaginary, but I often have them playing off real people. From E.L. Doctorow to Philip Kerr, novelists writing fiction set in earlier times have done that. Even Tolstoy slipped Napoleon into War and Peace! These historical figures have had a big impact on the times in which they lived. As I like to put my stories in the thick of things, it seems fitting to populate my stories with these real figures. And they’re such fun to research and write.

Zia’s cousin, Salvatore Lucania, plays a big part in the novel. We get to know Sal through Zia’s eyes, first, as a sympathetic character, then, as she slowly awakens to his true nature and criminal behavior. I thought this was an inventive way to draw both sides of his character, the good and the bad. Any reader who goes into the novel without knowing much about the Mafia [I’ve withheld his more commonly recognized name here!] will be awakened along with Zia. Did you take liberties or stay true to your research in creating Sal’s gentler side?

I did a lot of research into Salvatore Lucania. We won’t give away his nickname, but he’s considered one of the “founders” of the American mafia in the 20th century. He didn’t give many interviews, to put it mildly, and the book about his life that was supposedly written “with” him is most likely a hoax. There’s a ton of contradictory information about how violent he was, how intelligent he was, and what his attitude toward women was. I did follow the most-accepted facts about his family background (abusive father), early poverty, education, and first arrests. Salvatore said he never wanted to have children because he didn’t want to have a son who’d be ashamed of a criminal father. That tells you a lot.

Finally, a question that may be of interest to writers. The Zia chapters are in first person, and other chapters with different POV characters are in third person. What considerations went into deciding this structure for The Orchid Hour?

All of my novels up to now have been written in the first person. I wanted to experiment in this book. I think it increases suspense to bring in other points of view. Sometimes the reader knows more about a threat to Zia than Zia knows herself!

Thank you, Nancy. We look forward to your next great novel!

Dear readers: If you happen to be in Manhattan, pick up an author-signed copy of The Orchid Hour at The Mysterious Bookshop. (They also ship if you want to order online.)

The Orchid Hour is also available wherever books are sold, including these: Bookshop.org, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon (P.S. The e-book is currently on SALE for 99 cents on Amazon for a week).

Nancy loves to place strong female heroines in fascinating historical settings. Check out Nancy’s website for descriptions of all her novels.

Gratitude and Curiosity…and a Post Script

Posted on by - Ballet & Mystery, Dance

My Royal Academy of Dancing certificates, faded and stained, hang on the wall near my computer desk. I see them every day, but like so many things in the home environment, they fade into the background and go unnoticed. Today I focused on them with feelings of gratitude—and curiosity.

The gratitude: For my parents

With seven children and very little money, they still found a way to give me ballet training. They knew how much I loved it. I lived for dance class, twice a week as I remember, plus rehearsals. Professional-level training should be daily, but that was something well outside the family budget. As a teen, with my own income, I added classes and somehow made it to a performing artist. Ballet, and later, jazz and contemporary styles.

Dance has stayed with me for more than 60 years and now I dance daily, either taking or teaching class. No other form of exercise includes all this: full-body strengthening, flexibility, stamina, and coordination; musicality, mathematical precision, and artistry; mental acuity and memory improvement; organization and discipline. Surrounded by other dancers in the studio, you absorb their energy and gain inspiration. You walk out of there feeling happy the rest of the day. An endorphin high.

Okay, you get it. I’m grateful.

The curiosity: Who were my RAD examiners?

My RAD certificates are signed by my examiners: Ruth French and Jean Bedells. I was a teenager when I took those exams. Like most teenagers, I lived in blissful ignorance of the backgrounds and daily lives of my teachers and elders. I knew next to nothing about the RAD examiners.

All I knew was this. The studio I attended in Oakland California was an affiliate of the Royal Academy of Dancing in England, whose president, Dame Margot Fonteyn (1919-1991), was the prima ballerina in a storied partnership with Rudolf Nureyev (1938-1993). In 1962, when Fonteyn considered retiring from the stage, she reluctantly agreed to dance with the Russian defector, who was 19 years her junior.

 

As it turned out, their unlikely partnership was magical and lasted for decades. Nureyev once said of Fonteyn that they danced with “one body, one soul”. Their last performance together was “Baroque Pas de Trois” in September 1988 when Fonteyn was 69 and Nureyev was 50; they danced with Carla Fracci, then 52.

Click here for a video of Fonteyn and Nureyev dancing the Swan Lake pas de deux on the Ed Sullivan show in 1965. Fonteyn was 46 years old. Gorgeous.

I digress. Back to my exams.

My training in classical ballet followed the RAD syllabus. Every two years, RAD examiners traveled from London to our studio in California. As I recall, a few students took the exam together. We wore a regulation outfit: black leotard and pink tights with a particular kind of skirt and headband. The examiner sat at the front of the studio and gave us the exercises and dance combinations using the French terms. What’s the difference between a “pas de bourrée dessus” and a “pas de bourrée dessous”? The words sound almost the same, but you’d better know which one the examiner wants you to do. Nowadays, when I teach, I call them “pas de bourrée over” and “pas de bourrée under.” So much easier.

In my recent search for information about my examiners, I couldn’t seem to find the “Royal Academy of Dancing.” Isn’t that the organization on my certificates? Mystery solved when I learned that the name changed to “Royal Academy of Dance” in 1999. Does “dancing” sound too pedestrian? Better to say “the dance,” pronounced like “the sconce.”

My elementary examiner was Ruth French (1903-1986). It was 1970, I was 16, and the lady from England seemed ancient. In fact, French was a year younger than I am now—and, of course, as you surely will say, I’m not ancient, or even very old (!)

French danced before the so-called birth of British Ballet, so she had to develop her own career. When touring, she advertised with her own publicity boards—like the one pictured above. She twice appeared in Royal Command performances and danced with Anna Pavlova in the 1920s. In a 1935 production of Swan Lake, young Margot Fonteyn and Ruth French were co-stars, Fonteyn dancing Odette (the white swan), and French dancing Odile (the black swan). French later became a respected teacher and an examiner for the RAD. In 1973, she received the Queen Elizabeth II Coronation Award.

My intermediate level examiner was Jean Bedells (1924-2014), daughter of Phyllis Bedells (1893-1985), who was a founding member of the RAD in 1920 and helped develop its first syllabus. Jean Bedells performed with Sadler’s Wells Ballet, the precursor to the Royal Ballet.

Here is a photo of her as a teenager in 1938. A list of Bedells’ performances includes a 1942 performance of Coppélia in which she danced the part of one of Swanilda’s friends. Thirty years later, in 1972, I danced that role in the RAD company I performed with in the East Bay Area, Dancer’s Theatre.

 

Here is another photo of Bedells from a performance of “The Quest” in 1943. Not sure, but I think she’s the one in the middle.

 

In performance, 1973, when I had enough hair for a bun

I never took the RAD advanced level exam. I was training for it when I decided to switch studios. In 1973, I joined Carlos Carvajal’s Dance Spectrum in San Francisco.

This is me on stage in Carlos Carvajal’s “Iridis,” to Ravel’s “Le Tombeau de Couperin.” Beautiful music and choreography.

I’ve enjoyed this little trip down memory lane, along with everything I learned with a little extra research. Now for a….

Post Script

Here’s a bit of news about my other passion—fiction writing!

As many of you know, the sixth and final Dana Hargrove legal mystery, Power Blind, was published in January 2022. A few years ago, the first four novels were combined into two e-book double sets, making them available at a discount and free to Kindle Unlimited members. Now the third and final “Dana Hargrove Double” (novels 5 and 6) is on pre-order, to be released February 17.

Here’s the real news. During the preorder period, all three double sets are priced at just 99 cents (regularly $5.99). All six novels, for pennies. So, load up your Kindle before February 17 for rainy day reading to come!

I’ve just finished writing a new novel (very different from the Dana Hargrove series), and I’m on a hunt for a literary agent. Wish me luck!

Ciao for now.

Summer eBook Sale

Posted on by - 2022, The Dana Hargrove Novels

 

Just a quick note to let you know about this!

Summer 2022 is the time to pick up the first 5 Dana Hargrove novels in ebook.

Less than a buck each, marked down from $4.99.

Tell your friends!

Here are the links for my author pages at these booksellers:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Apple iBooks

Kobo

Here’s the sale schedule!!»»»»»»

 

 

“Informed, thrilling action in and out of the courtroom, and few can portray it better than V.S. Kemanis. Highly recommended.”  — The San Francisco Review of Books 

 

 

 

Discovering America Travelogue (6): Florida Extravaganza! March 2022

Posted on by - 2022, Travelogue

Winter blues and an urge to explore prompted our 12-day tour of the Sunshine State, March 10 – 21, 2022. Travelers: one of my daughters, my husband, and moi.

March 10

A successful snaking and circling of the same old (but repaved) convoluted traffic patterns brings you to the spiffy-new LaGuardia Airport terminal. I still hold a place in my heart for the 1964 terminal, which, in 2014, a pol likened to that of a “third world country.”

LGA Terminal

 

Evening flight to Jacksonville. The JAX airport has tons of rocking chairs, a creepy giant person in a window,

JAX Airport Window: creepy giant person

 

and a beautiful art installation in the baggage claim area. “The River” by Peter Hite is composed entirely of postage stamps.

Part of “The River”

 

We rented a car in the terminal and were directed to the garage across the street. The man in the Budget booth glanced at our contract and said, “Wait here.” Twenty minutes passed, customers coming and going, their cars delivered to them, easy as you please. The man assured us, “Your car is coming soon. It was parked two miles away.” Oh.

Ten minutes later, still waiting, we showed the contract to three women in Budget uniforms, chatting nearby. One of them found the car 100 yards away, parked in the aisle in front of us. “Next time, ask one of us, not him!” They laughed, throwing oblique looks at the man in the booth.

March 11

For much of our east coast tour, the Sunshine State gave us 50s, 60s, wind, and rain. The first day, we drove around Jacksonville in the downpour, fondly recalling our umbrella stash back home. We admired the exteriors of rain-soaked buildings, the performing arts center, a huge county courthouse, and the public library with an owl sculpture.

Jacksonville Library

 

Then, a pleasant surprise. We happened upon MOCA, the Museum of Contemporary Art, and dashed inside. Damply, we enjoyed the installation “Letters of Love” by Chiharu Shiota,

Hubby and me behind Letters of Love

 

and works by Karen Seapker, Didier William, Jiha Moon, and Jessica Hische.

Vilano Beach

Facing up to reality, we purchased umbrellas at Target.

Driving south on coastline Route AIA in blinding rain, we got out to look at Vilano Beach for 5 minutes during a slight let up. The wind laughed at our flimsy umbrellas.

A beautiful beach. This was our second 5 minutes on this beach. We’d been here in 50-degree weather in February 2020 [see photo in Travelogue (4)], when we vowed to return on a nice weather day. Oh well.

St. Augustine hotels were full, so we checked into a Quality Inn, 20 minutes away in Elkton. PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: Avoid The Un-Quality Inn of Elkton at all costs! Our ground floor room, which smelled like cigarette smoke, had a jimmied door lock and faced the parking lot, where a man sat in his car for hours, staring at us whenever we entered or exited. Quality Inn customer service responded to my negative review with a four-paragraph apology email, expressing the “hope to see you back again, so we can show how we improved and give you a far better experience!” Sorry to dash your hopes.

At 7 p.m. the rain stopped. We gladly hightailed out of our rooms, back to “the Oldest City in the U.S.” Had a lovely walk around historic Castillo de San Marcos National Monument and through the old City Gates to the pedestrian mall with shops on St. George Street.

Castillo de San Marcos National Monument

At 9 p.m., it started raining again.

March 12

Drove south on AIA, arriving in Daytona Beach around noon. The rain yielded to a cold, gray, windy day on the last weekend of Daytona Bike Week. Leather-clad bikers paraded their noisy machines, many blasting music from speakers. The bikers came in all shapes, sizes, colors, and ages (Boomers predominating). At an outdoor beer garden on Main Street, a band played a cover of the 1967 hit, “Sunshine of Your Love” by Cream.

Do we look cool?

 

After Main Street, we took a cold walk on the famous beach of flat, hard-packed sand you can drive on, though we didn’t see any beach drivers or many beach walkers for that matter. Too cold. On the boardwalk that isn’t a boardwalk (brick and concrete) we read commemorative plaques with world records from past races.

“Bullets are the only Rivals”

 

Out of Daytona on Route 1 south (because AIA dead-ends halfway down the barrier reef), we spied Cape Canaveral in the distance, then cut back to AIA at Cocoa Beach, through neighborhoods of small, well-kept homes and passed Patrick Space Force Base. An hour before sunset, we stopped at Sebastian Inlet State Park and enjoyed watching the fisherman and beautiful waterfowl. Dinnertime! Dozens of pelicans put on a show, dramatically divebombing for fish.

Bird at Sebastian Inlet State Park

 

Continuing south to Fort Pierce, we checked into our hotel and went to dinner at Tutto Fresco in Port St. Lucie. Delicious food, highly recommended!

March 13

Drove west, inland to Lake Okeechobee. Not much of interest in the nearby town or barren landscape surrounding the lake, with many RV communities. After picnic lunch in the small Lake Okeechobee Park, we drove 12 miles to the “Scenic Trail” entrance. Not well marked, missed it, found it. Walked a couple of miles on the lake rim, turned and walked back. Saw Rainbow Lizards (agamas) and other interesting critters.

Rainbow lizard

 

Returned east, went over the Seaway Avenue Bridge to Hutchinson Island and south on AIA. We stopped at Frederick Douglass Park for a long walk on the cold, windy, empty beach. Beautiful surf. We continued south on AIA to downtown Stuart for an enjoyable evening strolling the boardwalk along St. Lucie River and streets of shops and restaurants. Ate at Spritz City Bistro followed by ice cream at Kilwins on Osceola St. Good choices! Recommended.

March 14

Checked out of Fort Pierce and drove south on I-95 for about an hour, then back to the coast, Route 704, the Royal Park Bridge, south on AIA through ritzy neighborhoods, Mar-a-Lago and Palm Beach. Stopped at Phipps Ocean Park for a long walk on the beach, the weather starting to warm up, sun peeking through clouds. A nice park with crowds of huge iguanas. We loved watching them, even if Palm Beach wants to get rid of them. Euthanasia services are available. 😬

Florida Iguanas

 

A bit further south, we had picnic lunch at Ocean Inlet Park. We weren’t as impressed with this park, possibly because the weather turned nasty again!

To speed up the trip, we took I-95 to Miami, arriving at 5:30 p.m. Checked into our nice, clean Air BnB apartment in the “Barbizon” building on Ocean Drive in South Beach.

The Barbizon

 

Despite “Spring Break” season, our place was relatively quiet, the streets not overly crowded. Bad weather will do that, even in Miami! At sunset, we walked on the “boardwalk” (brick pedestrian walkway) to South Pointe Park (yes, spelled like pointe shoes!), where you can see, across the water, Port Miami’s cruise ships, the Miami skyline, and Fisher Island.

South Pointe Park

 

On the way back, we admired the Art Deco buildings in South Beach and had a delicious meal at Kalamata Mediterranean Cuisine Restaurant. Recommended!

March 15

Big beautiful beach and, dadgum it, we were going! The weather report said low 70s, intermittent showers. I sat on my towel, battered by blasts of rain, bravely clutching my Target umbrella that shuddered in the wind. Gave up.

Less wind in Lummus Park, which runs between the beach and Ocean Drive. We enjoyed watching women’s college volleyball matches as the rain diminished to sprinkles.

Late afternoon, took a long walk over the AIA Bridge to Miami (MacArthur Causeway), looking down at the cruise terminals and coast guard facilities. Just okay, not too exciting. On the way back, dashed into a Publix, barely avoiding the next torrential downpour!

That evening, we drove across the bridge and toured several neighborhoods in Miami. Most interesting was Wynwood, the design district, where people on the street listened to live percussion.

Design District Miami

 

Back in South Beach at about 9 p.m., got a sidewalk table at La Locanda. Delicious Italian food, a good choice!

March 16

Finally, a real beach day, sunny and low 80s, but we had to check out of the Barbizon! Goodbye South Beach. We donned bathing suits, packed up and drove up the coast to North Beach Oceanside Park.

Sun and swimming in turquoise blue water. Woo-hoo! This is the life!

Or…risk of death? What are those weird blue balloons all over the beach? Dead jellyfish? Didn’t know at the time but found out later that the “Portuguese Man-of-War” is multiple organisms combined. Saw one wiggling its pointy end.

Portuguese Man-of-War

 

Beware! If alive, the tentacles sting.

Stinging tentacles

 

No worries. Stings are painful but only “rarely fatal.”

Late afternoon, west to Naples on I-75, known as “Alligator Alley” or the “Everglades Parkway.” If there were alligators, we didn’t see them. High winds pummeled the car, and a flash downpour brought traffic to a creeping pace for 10 minutes. Literally couldn’t see a thing. A minute before the rain started, birds frantically flapped away and disappeared. They knew what was coming and weren’t sticking around.

March 16 p.m. – March 18

Wonderful visit in Naples with my sister and brother-in-law. 80s and sunny. We spent time at the pool and on the Gulf beach at Lowdermilk Park.

Sis and Me on Naples Beach

 

Looking for good food in Naples? (other than my sister’s cooking) Saigon to Paris Café has a unique menu featuring, you guessed it, French and Vietnamese cuisine. Delicious!

Left Naples the evening of March 18 and drove north on I-75 to Nokomis, where we checked into the Home2 Suites at about 8:30. A very comfortable, new hotel. The desk manager Tony helps you remember his name by lifting his leg and pointing twice: “Toe, knee!”

Night life in Nokomis is less impressive, however. Toe-knee recommended, Pop’s Sunset Grill, supposedly open for dinner until 10 p.m. At 9:05 the place was bursting with happy eaters. We asked for a table and they turned us away! The kitchen had just closed.

A couple of other restaurants looked closed as well, so we decided to pick up something to fix in our little kitchen at Home2Suites. The Publix was closed. Seems 9 p.m. is time to shutter the town of Nokomis. We barely made it to another Publix 20 minutes away before it closed at 10 p.m.

March 19

I don’t have much else to say about the Nokomis-Venice beach area. It may be very lovely, but even Toe-Knee couldn’t convince us to stick around. We drove north and went to the Sarasota County Fair. Chickens, goats, rabbits, “swine,” cows, and even camels. Elaborately patterned roosters were my favorite.

Camel at Sarasota County Fair

 

After that, we went to the Ringling Museum of Art. An absolute MUST SEE if you find yourself in Sarasota. John Ringling (1866-1936), the fifth of seven Ringling Brothers, was one of the wealthiest men in the world until he went belly up in the Great Depression. He bequeathed his leftovers—his art museum and home—to the state of Florida.

Ringling Art Museum

 

No small thing. The art collection is huge and astonishing. His home Ca’ d’Zan (“The House of John” in Venetian dialect) is a 30-room mansion inspired by Venetian Gothic palaces, with a terrace extending to the Gulf’s edge. After touring the mansion, we stood on the terrace and watched fish leaping five feet out of the water. We figured they must be reincarnated circus performers.

Ca’ d’Zan

 

Drove north over the fantastic Sunshine Skyway Bridge (see Travelogue 4) to Indian Rocks Beach, where we’d booked a suite for two nights at the Holiday Inn & Suites Harborside, 401 2d St. Check in was interesting.

A young man named Clayton (new on the job?) was behind the desk with his manager. Upon hearing my name, the boss said, “Oh! We were just talking about you!” She launched into a lengthy explanation and apology. We’d have to switch suites in the morning because a plumber was coming. No worries, the plumbing works, but the access point to the problematic plumbing is in our suite. So sorry. They’ll do everything possible not to disrupt our stay. If we plan to be out in the morning, they will happily move our luggage and hold it in the office because they don’t even know where we’ll be moved. Everything depends on who checks out first. On and on. Okay.

Went to the suite, opened the door, stopped dead in our tracks. The place was full of possessions, including a half-full bottle of tequila and glasses on the kitchen counter. Didn’t stay long enough to see who’d been drinking.

Returned to the office where Clayton was now alone. I slapped the keycard down. “This suite is occupied!” He rolled his eyes and exclaimed, “Of course it is!” before running into the back room. Hmm…  Clayton seemed to know something about our suite that maybe the boss didn’t. Had she disbelieved him? Exerted her ill-informed authority to cause him humiliation in front of a hotel guest? I was not to find out.

Minutes later Clayton returned, sans boss, and explained that the suite was an Air BnB rental. Oh. Tension mounted as he typed and jabbed at his keyboard endlessly. No vacancies? The place was hopping with people. I was mentally planning a lawsuit for breach of contract when Clayton, finally, produced a new keycard. This suite was just like the one we’d reserved, he said, but so sorry, it’s on the other side of the building, no harbor view, so the boss took $200 off our bill. We’d still have to switch in the morning.

Luckily, the new suite was uninhabited. But, what? “Switch in the morning” was really annoying and made no sense at all. Harborview? Who cares? I called the office. “Right, of course! Let me ask!” Clayton put me on hold for a consult with the boss and returned with a promise of two uninterrupted nights!

Once settled, we liked the place. The town was very busy. That evening, we scoped out several restaurants, all with wait times, and decided on PJ’s Oyster Bar. Had a drink and waited 45 minutes with the overflow crowd in the parking lot. The food and service were pretty good.

For dessert, delicious ice cream at the Tropical Bar, 435 Gulf Blvd, Indian Rocks Beach. My mouth is watering thinking about this again.

March 20

Indian Rocks Beach. A warm day but very windy, making it somewhat uncomfortable. The sand is so fine that, within minutes, our towels disappeared under it. Didn’t swim but walked and had a lotta fun watching excellent kite surfers, real pros.

 

Speaking of professionals, here is an action shot from our miniature golf game (onsite at the Holiday Inn & Suites Harborside). The pink ball was inside that tunnel, I sat down to make the shot and tumbled backward as the ball rolled into the hole. Great form, eh?

 

Late in the day, we walked over the Indian Rocks Causeway Bridge to the George C. McGough Nature Park. Loved this little park with a long boardwalk and live animal exhibits, including 22 rescued, non-releasable birds (owls, hawks & an eagle). We also tried out the kids’ playground, which had better than usual play structures, including a zipline. Speaking again of pros, here is my daughter zipping along. (You will thank me for not including photos of myself on the seesaw and chickening out from standing on the zipline.)

Dinner at Villa Gallace. Excellent Italian cuisine, highly recommend!

March 21

Our last day! We spent the morning at the Florida Aquarium in Tampa. Really nice, but if I must compare, the Georgia Aquarium is superior [see Travelogue (4)].

We had an evening flight out of Jacksonville. Drove most of the way on Route 301, parts of it scenic, through small towns and countryside.

Thanks for traveling along!

 

As vacation memories fade, it’s time to turn back to my latest writing project, a novel very different from my legal mystery series. Please enjoy all six of the Dana Hargrove novels. Power Blind (2022) is the latest and the last!

 

 

Happy trails to you! Remember to bring a good book along!

*   *   *

Goodbye 2021, Hello 2022

Posted on by - 2021

Looking back at this time last year, I recall the general mood among so many people to be done with 2020, with big hopes for a brighter 2021. In some ways it seems like “déjà vu all over again” after a year of continuing societal, economic, political, and health challenges for many of us.

But the threshold to a new year also presents the opportunity to count our blessings and make resolutions to build on the year’s accomplishments. As I wrote on this day a year ago in 2020: Positivity and Perfect Vision, I choose to “Accentuate the Positive”! I hope that you have found many positives in 2021 to keep you going strong into 2022!

Foremost, I’m grateful for my husband and daughters, sisters and brothers, friends and neighbors. In new ways, we got to know each other better and support each other.

My husband and I did not travel much in 2021, but the trip we took to Niagara Falls in April was a highlight, beautiful and memorable. Read all about it in my Discovering America Travelogue (5): Waterfalls! I look forward to new road adventures in 2022.

2021 was filled with my two favorite activities: dance and fiction. My adult ballet students stuck with me for many wonderful virtual classes through the first half of the year, and I resumed teaching in the studio in the fall.

Scarsdale Ballet Studio: quiet moment before class, Fall 2021!

 

For the students still dancing at home, I created and posted instructional videos. Are you a dancer? Check out my YouTube Channel for adult ballet and jazz dance classes!

My home studio: Jazz dance and ballet classes on YouTube

 

On the fiction front, my suspenseful story “Golden Silence” was published in a fantastic anthology, Autumn Noir. Don’t be fooled by the story’s title—the tale is darker than “golden” and quite atmospheric…

“Golden Silence” in Autumn Noir

 

My sixth, and last, Dana Hargrove novel is scheduled to release January 25, 2022, and currently on pre-order everywhere. Power Blind! I’m proud of this one. Anyone reading this blog post may request a free digital review copy. Read more about Power Blind on this website (links: book summary and non-spoiler book review excerpts) and if you think it’s for you, send me an email through the Contact Page.

Power Blind, the sixth standalone Dana Hargrove legal mystery!

 

I’ve been working on 2022 editions of all my books, with updated afterwords and formatting. Today, the 2022 editions of my first three story collections are live and newly enrolled in the Kindle Unlimited program. Subscribers may read them for free: Dust of the Universe, tales of family; Everyone But Us, tales of women; Malocclusion, tales of misdemeanor.

Story Collections, 2022 editions, now on Kindle Unlimited

 

And speaking of free stories, here’s one you can pick up for free on several sites: Wattpad, B&N, Apple, and Kobo. “GEN LD3” is my first attempt in the soft sci-fi genre. Influenced by the events of 2020-2021, the story starts out rather dark, but has an uplifting ending. I hope you like it.

GEN LD3: A short story

 

Meanwhile, ideas for new stories and a novel are swirling in my head. I eagerly await more pounding on the keyboard!

Thanks for reading. Here’s wishing you and yours a very Happy and Healthy New Year! V.S.K.

Summer into Fall…

Posted on by - The Dana Hargrove Novels

Summer sure flew by! As we acclimate to cooler days, I have a few summer highlights to share.

While fine-tuning the sixth Dana Hargrove novel (announcement coming soon!!!), I’ve been running giveaways and sales on the earlier novels. A big thank you to the many, many readers who entered and won the Goodreads giveaways and those who purchased 99 cent copies of The Dana Hargrove Double: Thursday’s List and Homicide Chart in September.

NOT TOO LATE! A big sale is still going on through October 6. Get two novels in e-book for a mere 99 cents: The Dana Hargrove Double: Forsaken Oath and Deep Zero. Don’t miss it!

Later this month, I will have news for you about the sixth Dana Hargrove novel of legal suspense, so stay tuned!

Meanwhile, exciting short story news. Coming in October from Unsettling Reads, the anthology Autumn Noir, which includes a season-appropriate tale by Yours Truly! I can’t wait to read the entire collection. It promises to be gritty and atmospheric.

Besides writing, I had a great summer in the world of dance. After more than a year of teaching ballet on Zoom, I took the summer off and made a few dance class videos, ballet and jazz, for my students who continue to dance at home. All available on my YouTube channel. Here are a few stills:

My husband installed that beautiful wood floor in our favorite sun room, great for dancing!

I’m back in the studio, teaching and taking class in person. Screens away! Great to be back.

Cheers!

Discovering America Travelogue (5) — Waterfalls! April 2021

Posted on by - Travelogue

Niagara Falls

Well, it’s been a while since we’ve been on the road. Our last trip was in February 2020, right before lockdown, when we toured Charlotte, Atlanta, Naples, Savannah, and Washington D.C. Read about it here!

Our latest was short and sweet, April 5-7. Trees still bare, but we lucked out with beautiful weather, clear, high 50s, low 60s, good for walking.

Buttermilk Falls

Buttermilk Falls

We left our home in Westchester County about 10 a.m. and stopped at about 2 p.m. at Buttermilk Falls, Ithaca, for a picnic lunch and a walk. A beautiful mini waterfall, foreshadowing the big one to come.

In past years we’ve walked the Gorge Trail, spectacularly steep and close to the water. This time it was closed for workers, dangling from ropes, knocking off loose rocks. We walked the Rim Trail, not quite as spectacular but very pretty, with views of the gorge.

Worker dangling and knocking off rocks over Gorge Trail

Out of Ithaca we took a pretty route: Scenic Byway 89N along Cayuga Lake, west on Ernsberger Road (Rte 128) and north on 96, through farmland and vineyards, through the historic town of Waterloo, the “Birthplace of Memorial Day.” The first Memorial Day was observed there in 1865 for the Civil War dead, and in 1966, the U.S. Congress, by resolution, officially recognized Waterloo as the birthplace of the national holiday. Read all about it here. After Waterloo, we enjoyed more of scenic 96, traveling northwest to I-90, not so scenic for the rest of the way to Niagara Falls.

Okay, this is strange. Whenever I hear “Niagara Falls” the Three Stooges pop into my head. Their routine must’ve made an impression on this little girl in the fifties. If you’re curious, here’s the YouTube link.

We arrived in Niagara Falls at dusk and checked into The Red Coach Inn, a historic bed and breakfast hotel. Highly recommended! Located in Niagara Falls State Park, you can walk to everything worth seeing. The place is a hundred years old, with solid vintage furniture, very well maintained. They advertise (accurately) a “warm English country ambiance,” along with the fact that Jim and Pam of the TV series “The Office” had their honeymoon there.

Every suite has a name. Ours was the Sheffield Suite with a view of the rapids. Had dinner in their restaurant both nights of our stay. Breakfast is included in the cost of the room, a REAL breakfast, anything on the restaurant menu. Delicious.

We spent a full day walking the entire park (I did get a few blisters—well worth it). The Observation Tower, Goat Island, Terrapin Point, Three Sisters Islands. Saw ruins from the Schoellkopf Power Station disaster of 1956. We also took the trails north of Rainbow Bridge as far as the ruins of the Niagara Falls Suspension Bridge, with a memorial to Harriet Tubman, noting that the Underground Railroad followed this route into Canada.

From the river basin up to the ridge, we climbed a stone stairway built by Tahawas Trails and others. Kevin built stone steps like this at Bear Mountain and other parks in our area when he worked for the New York/New Jersey Trail Conference. Here are some nice photos of Kevin in Niagara Falls.Kevin

 

You know what? Not nice for the economy but nice for us that tourism is so slow. No crowds, huge parking lots entirely empty, almost no one in the 50-stall restrooms. Look across the river at Canada and NO one. The Canadian side is built up with high rise hotels and amusements, all locked down. We are thankful that things are opening up here.

Our first day, Cave of the Winds was sold out (very few allowed down there due to distancing restrictions). We bought tickets and went the next morning, before leaving town. Felt like we were in Hitchcock’s The Birds, thousands of screeching seagulls. Winter ice hadn’t melted yet, and the formations were so interesting. Workers were replacing the wood steps and platforms. A worker there told us they do this EVERY year. All that water eats away at the boards.

On the way home, we took a very long, scenic drive on Rte 20 east. How could you miss out on blue lakes and sweet little towns with names like Skaneateles, Cazenovia, and Pompey (pronounced Pom-pee or Pom-pay?) Okay, the drive added a few too many hours, but we enjoyed most of it. After hitting the big city, Albany, we got on the Taconic State Parkway south the rest of the way, stopping off at exit 47B to have “dinner” (read that: ice cream) at Zoe’s Ice Cream Barn, Route 55, LaGrangeville. Moo!

Home again, back to days with Dana Hargrove on my screen. I’m about halfway through the sixth and last novel of the series. Stay tuned for further announcements!

A bird sitting with us at table in Niagara Falls

 

2020: Positivity and Perfect Vision

Posted on by - 2020

Perfect Vision

In 1989, the lure of big cash, fame, and glory, inspired me to write my first novel. The “Turner Tomorrow Fellowship Award” called for unpublished works of fiction on the theme of creative and positive solutions to global problems. Set in 2020, with an oh-so original title, Perfect Vision was to be my stunning debut novel, featuring a cast of fascinating, prescient characters who creatively avert a future dystopia. I gave it a happy ending. Sadly, however, Ted Turner passed on this masterpiece, cliches and all. The trash can wasn’t so picky.

Accentuate the Positive

Now, as we say goodbye to the actual 2020, I’m giving the final page a happy ending. “You’ve got to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative,” Bing would sing. I hope you’ve been cheered by at least a few positives this year. Here are mine.

The year started out great with the January launch of Seven Shadows and two sets of Dana Hargrove Doubles on Kindle Unlimited: Thursday’s List & Homicide Chart and Forsaken Oath & Deep Zero.

My writing brain took a while to refocus, but now I’m well into a draft of the sixth, and final, Dana Hargrove novel. Title to be announced! I’m also working on a new story collection.

In February, before the pandemic hit, we had a fantastic road trip through Southern states. Click on my travelogue for all the highlights: routes, sights, events, food, and more.

Social Distancing = More Socializing

Say what? This year has seen more frequent socializing—but of a different kind—with neighbors, friends, and family.

Used to be that the only breathing creatures out for a walk on our quiet cul-de-sac were the deer and squirrels. That changed with homeschooling and work at home. Now everybody needs to get out for a little fresh air and a walk. We’ve had many socially distanced conversations with our wonderful neighbors, and during the warm months, even had a few happy hour gatherings in the turnaround at the end of our cul-de-sac.

Speaking of walks, we are blessed with many beautiful nature trails in the area, and it’s been nice to see more families out together walking. One day, I was surprised to hear a lone saxophone player in the woods. Click here to go to my Instagram post to hear the beautiful sound.

We’re all Zooming, of course, and this has meant more interaction on screen with my children, siblings, and other family members who do not live nearby (why didn’t we always do this?) My longstanding book group of close friends, the Lit Chicks, have had more meetings online than ever before, and I found a new online book group full of smart, insightful fiction lovers, Books and Bars. Great books and intelligent conversation!

Dance, Dance, Dance

Virtual dance classes at home make it easier to get to class! Kevin installed a beautiful wood floor in our sunroom this spring, giving ample space to take class and teach class.

Wasn’t so easy, figuring out camera angle, sound, and virtual teaching techniques, mirroring and saying “left” when I’m on my right. A fun challenge. The sides of my brain may be permanently switched. To my dedicated group of adult dancers at Scarsdale Ballet Studio: thank you! It’s been wonderful teaching you ballet and jazz and watching you dance on my screen.

Not having to deal with driving or riding the train long distances has made it easier to take classes I would not otherwise get to. Big thanks to all the wonderful ballet and contemporary dance artists whose classes I’ve taken this year: Christian Claessens, Igal Perry, Nina Goldman, Tanner Schwartz, David Fernandez, Tobin Eason, Noriko Hara, Kate Loh, Nancy Bielski, Teresa Perez Ceccon, Diane McCarthy, Laurie DeVito, Jana Hicks, Tyrone Monroe, and Johanna Bergfelt.

And so ends another year, with great things to look forward to in 2021. I’m grateful for my health and the health of my family. Yesterday, December 30, Kevin and I celebrated our 32nd wedding anniversary.

Here’s wishing you a Happy and Healthy New Year full of laughter, dance, fiction, and fun.

Book Review: Janet Roger’s Shamus Dust

Posted on by - Fiction Favorites & Awesome Authors

 

Excuse me while I teleport back to New York of April 2020, into this surreal mix of pandemic grief and lockdown amid a gently emergent spring, pink blossoms and fragrant air. My transport is experiencing delay. I’m still walking the streets of war-ravaged London, Christmas 1947, where the foundations of bombed-out buildings, under a light frosting of snow, suggest the outlines of ancient Roman ruins—the key to a puzzling series of murders.

Give me another sec. Almost here, still a bit there. Let me knock back the last tumbler of gin and crush out my red lipstick-stained cigarette. Unfiltered.

 

Janet Roger is to blame. Her debut novel, Shamus Dust, pulled me in and keeps running like a 40s black-and-white film noir on the brain.

 

I’m no fan of categories and hesitate to apply a label or “genre” to this work of art. Hard-boiled, gritty, and atmospheric, yes, but also poetic and literary. Roger confesses a Raymond Chandler influence, and the similarities are evident, but her prose isn’t as spare and tough when she’s in the mood to embellish. There are moments when this book is purely about the writing. While some reviewers say that it takes them out of the story, this lover of language found it right up her alley. More on that later.

The story is told from the point of view of an American private investigator called Newman, or Mr. Newman—a man who possibly lacks a first name. An insightful interpreter of human frailties and dark motives, Newman moves in a world of distinctive characters from every stratum of society. By the end of the book, the upper crust is looking seedier and far less heroic than the inhabitants of London’s underbelly. Roger has created a large cast of characters, gradually dropping tidbits to reveal their back stories and relationships. To mention a few: Councilman, archaeologist, entrepreneur, architect, lawyer, medical examiner, police commissioner, detective inspector, nurse, barber, haberdasher, pimp/blackmailer, various prostitutes, and a homeless shell-shocked WWII vet. Add several murders, a rotating field of suspects, a complex web of clues, and you’ve got one hell of a novel, with an ending you won’t see coming.

Shamus Dust is not a beach read or superficial entertainment to pick up when you’re mildly distracted. You’ll need to take this one slowly to savor the language, its sophistication, wit, irony, unique metaphors, and turns of phrase. You’ll need time to ponder the complexity of the plot. The author honors the reader’s intelligence, never overstates, poses one intriguing puzzle after another. She follows Newman through London without revealing what he’s up to in a scene until, several pages on, the reader is allowed to discover the meaning of the interaction. There are many of these “ah-ha” moments, opportunities to marvel at the cleverly interlacing intricacies.

The writing style. The word choices. Here are just a few.

Physical descriptions that instantly evoke an image:

“The kind of room where you’re meant to sit at night in a cravat and a quilted robe reading Kipling by firelight until the Madeira runs out.”

A woman with a “mouth that made the fall of dark-red hair look incidental.”

“Littomy’s nose was built for a profile on old coins.”

A man’s “hair shone in flat stripes across the dome of his head, where you could count them if conversation ran thin.”

At a party attended by the one percent, a young scion is “wearing black-tie as if he’d been weaned in it.”

Chandleresque:

A volatile thug looks like “he could hurt a man and enjoy the work.”

Witty dialogue:

The butler to a sloshed hostess asks Newman what he would like to drink. He replies, “Not a thing. Mrs. Willard will be taking cocktails for both of us.”

And how are these lines for poetry?:

“Night was crawling in a deep, wet hole.”

“She put a hand flat against my chest and her gaze dipped back in an ocean, then surfaced again, dripping its dark purple lights.”

“He looked wild-eyed around a room so hushed you could hear him blink away the tears.”

The book opens with one of my favorite, longer passages. Newman says he has never had trouble falling asleep and “sleeping like the dead” until now:

 “Lately, I’d lost the gift. As simple as that. Had reacquainted with nights when sleep stands in shrouds and shifts its weight in corner shadows, unreachable. You hear the rustle of its skirts, wait long hours on the small, brittle rumors of first light, and know that when finally they arrive they will be the sounds that fluting angels make. It was five-thirty, the ragged end of a white night, desolate as a platform before dawn when the milk train clatters through and a guard tolls the names of places you never were or ever hope to be. I was waiting on the fluting angels when the telephone rang.”

Wow. Any insomniac (namely, me) can relate.

Now, don’t you want to read something like this? I may teleport back there now.