Sunday, July 20, 2008

Who me? What? Where?

I submitted a short memoir piece to a literary e-zine a few months ago. Friday morning, I woke in the wee hours thinking I ought to go check the site out because I hadn't heard anything and knew their current issue released last week. I hadn't really thought of it for several weeks and was curious what pieces they selected instead of mine.

Imagine my suprise when I went to their news blog from July 9, scrolled down the page, and saw my name and title in their announcement of the new issue's contents.

I booked on over to the e-zine and sure enough, there it was. I've been floating around for a few days feeling all bubbly and such, and realized tonight I should probably blog about it!

So, check it out ...

Perigee: Publication for the Arts

Click on "Current issue" at the bottom of the page, then "Memoir" on the left, and then my story is ...

Final Sale on Tires by Julie Layne. (It comes up in Flash--hope you have it)

This certainly can't hurt on the query letters. Whee! Perigee has had several Pushcart prize nominees, design awards, and various other honors in their six-year history, many recently, so I feel honored and humbled to have a simple story about my Grandma and her influence on me appear in the pages of this issue.

Labels: ,

Saturday, February 23, 2008

Get out of your comfort zone

Did I think when I wrote a short skit for a church service that the drama lady might ask me to play one of the parts? Well, maybe. I always, always, always wanted to be involved in drama when I was in high school. But, I was the painfully shy kid. You know, the girl who, when spoken to, jumped a foot or so in the air and croaked out the answer. You remember her, right? I tried out for one play and nearly had heart failure in the process, so I stuck to costumes, props, or whatever I could do that didn't require me to be on that stage actually saying anything.

In college, I continued the tradition. I was the actual paid costumer for the theater department. Only problem was (well, other than getting the actors there for their fittings) the previously used costumes and props were all stored in a cavernous basement under the theater. A basement that had experienced a flood who knows how many years before. Mold grew in massive quantities all over the walls, and on many of the costumes and props. It was like something out of a horror film, seriously. And it made me deathly ill every time I had to go down there for something.

Still, I managed to struggle through one semester, and I had a great time. I even had to sew some of the costumes without patterns. That was some creative thinking, let me tell you. The grand finale was that after the final show of the semester, I tagged along with the other girls from the cast and crew, and we painted the town red. Well, as red as you could paint Abilene, Texas, at midnight on a Saturday night in the mid 80s. Not that red, really. I think we went to an all-night pancake house and irritated the wait staff until they kicked us out. But we felt very adventurous.

Well, at that point in time, the dorms at the small, Christian college I attended had curfews. We missed the curfew by a mile or so that night. The two or three of us that were freshman girls would have had to ring the buzzer at the dorm to get back in. And, believe me, you did NOT want to incur the wrath of "Miss Cul."

Miss Culpepper was the freshman girls' dorm director. She was about 80 back then, and I think she might be 80 if she's still alive today. She had a towering dyed-red beehive and eyeglasses the size of Abilene. During finals week panty raids, she'd stand at the door intoning, "Sodom and Gomorrah . . . Sodom and Gomorrah . . . " over and over until the boys got a little queasy and gave up and moved on to the other dorms. If Miss Cul had something to say to you, she just came to your room and used her key. Once, my roommate was ironing in nothing but her "dainties" and Miss Cul burst in to speak to her about something. The dainties didn't phase her. We loved her anyway. (I think she actually passed away a few years ago, and probably had the biggest funeral attendance of anyone ever in Abilene.)

Where was I? Oh, yeah. So, to this day, I do not know the name or face of the person whose apartment we crashed that night. One of the girls conveniently had a key, he was out of town, and she said he wouldn't care. I think she got the bed. She was the leading lady of the play, and after all, she had the key. One lucky girl got the sofa, and the rest of us "slept" in chairs. And they were not recliners. Something about the floor repelled us, I believe.

So, anyway, that was the end of my college theater experience, and soon after we slithered back into the dorm the next morning, I quit that job and went to work at the university bookstore.

Since then, I've played one other part in a drama production. I was Mary in a Christmas play, but I didn't have to say a word. All I had to do was fall flat on my face when the angel came to tell me I was giving birth to Jesus. That was easy.

So, here we are. This afternoon, I go over to the church where we're filming the skit (we are high tech, baby), and I get to be in it. I have actual lines. I will probably have to enunciate and be expressive and all that. I'm only a wee bit nervous. It would be easier for me to say, "Naw, I'm just a writer," and pass up the chance to do something different, right? Something out of my comfort zone. Something that gives me new experience to draw on, new emotions to remember the next time I need to describe nerves. Nope, I'm doing it.

Besides, doing Toastmasters for a while helped me get over much of my stage fright, and I left that shy kid behind years ago anyway. Once I got started talking, I couldn't figure out how to shut up.

I should go learn my lines. I'll let you know how it all works out. The real draw is the cast party.

Labels: ,

Thursday, March 08, 2007

Power, and The Queen

Power...it's something we're talking about this week in the writing class I'm taking. It's also something I thought about a few days ago when my friend and I went to see the movie, The Queen. Helen Mirren was amazing as Queen Elizabeth and her Oscar was well deserved. This movie made a few statements about power. We might picture "power" as a man in a dark three-piece pin-striped suit on Wall Street, or the dictator of a faraway country, or even as a huge, grey metal electricity transformer sitting in a field behind our subdivision. And yes, we may even picture power in the form of someone like Queen Elizabeth, even though we know that realistically, the monarchy in the U.K. is now more a figurehead than anything else. Wikipedia says, "In legal theory she is the most powerful head of state in the world, although in practice she personally exercises very little political executive power."

The story of The Queen begins with the world was reeling in the aftermath of the accident that killed Diana Spencer and Dodi Fayed. Diana's official status as a member of the royal family was questionable—she was already divorced from Prince Charles—yet she was being eulogized as the "People's Princess" and millions were dropping flowers and notes at the foot of Buckingham Palace. I remember the news well. I had a month-old baby who often kept me awake during the night. I would switch on the television to stay awake while feeding her and settling her back to sleep, and saw the story about the accident soon after it happened. I also clearly remember the 1981 fairy tale wedding of Diana and Charles, having spent that long ago summer as a teenager with my grandmother in Albuquerque while she was dying. I sat by my grandma's bed as we drank in all the details of the beautiful wedding and forgot about the cancer for one afternoon. In August 1997, I woke my husband as I was crept back into bed and told him the news because it really was shocking and sad, even though we were here in the United States. I think Diana truly was the "People's Princess," and most of us had come to admire her humanitarian efforts and felt sorry for her because of the media's persistent dogging and attacks on her character.

In The Queen, Queen Elizabeth begins to take flack from her subjects and the world as the media asks why the royal family isn't observing Diana's death as formally and publicly as expected. They're not flying a flag at half mast over the palace, they haven't made a public appearance at the gates to observe the tokens of sympathy left there, and the queen has made no public statement. She defends her actions, or apparent lack thereof. She tells those questioning her that a) the only reason the flag was ever flown was simply to let the world know when the monarch was in residence at the palace, and had never flown at half mast, even when her own father had died, that b) she and her family were dealing with their grief in their usual manner—in private and with decorum, which is what they had always done and what she believed her subjects expected, and c) that most of all, she was caring for her grandchildren, who had lost their mother.

In several telephone interchanges with the new prime minister, Tony Blair, the queen stands her ground, but finally, she realizes and acknowledges the world has changed, and that she must change along with it, at least in the public eye. She begins to make new plans.

In a subsequent scene, Queen Elizabeth is stuck in her vehicle in a riverbed, having driven her Land Rover to meet her husband and grandchildren somewhere on the Balmoral Castle estate. The boys were being "distracted" by stalking a huge elk. (My companion was amazed at a similar previous scene..."Who would have thought they'd cook for themselves on a grill?" she said.) Queen Elizabeth uses her satellite phone to call for help, and as she waits, she sees the prize-winning elk, standing silent and regal only yards away. Suddenly and briefly, tears spill from her eyes. She hears her family nearby and shoos the elk away so it can't be shot. In a later scene, however, she discovers the elk has been shot on a neighboring estate, and she asks her neighbor to let her see it. She stands in silence and views the dead elk. These sequences, although perhaps fictionalized, seem to represent her coming to grips with the lasting image of royalty to the world, Diana's death, and even perhaps a belated understanding of Diana, in spite of her sometimes scandalous actions in the limelight.

The queen and her family return to London and visit the overflowing gates, viewing flowers alongside notes that accuse her of being cold-hearted and threaten to topple the monarchy. Then, she notices a small girl holding a bouquet of flowers behind a fence. She asks the girl if she wants her to place them, and the little girl says, "No. The flowers are for you." The line of people at the fence begin to bow and curtsey in deference as she smiles and takes the flowers, thanks the little girl, and walks on. She goes on to make a public television appearance and gives a gracious speech.

The power demonstrated by Queen Elizabeth was exemplified in restraint. First, obvious restraint in the initial actions that came to her naturally. Second, restraint in understanding that because of the power and influence she held, she had to change her actions, even when it went against the grain of what she had always believed to be right. She recognized that the responsibility bestowed on her at such a young age was "for life," and that it required her to go outside herself and do what was "expected," even when it was the unexpected.

In the final scene, Tony Blair arrives for his second audience with the queen, and she asks him if he has sensible shoes on, because her best advising is done on her feet, and it's time to walk and talk and get on with modernizing the kingdom.

We all have power in some shape or form. How will we use it? Will we recognize that sometimes using power for good requires us to take actions outside our comfort zone? Using power for good may require us to stretch and change to meet those who look to us as leaders and role models. Nothing earth shattering, but something to think about.

Labels: