Alan Rickman is a god

I adore the actor Alan Rickman. For those of you who only know him as Snape in the Harry Potter films, you're missing out on the expanded repertoire of an accomplished, wicked, delightful, talented man. Who else could have imbued Snape with such humanity and complexity? Having finished reading the HP oeuvre, I'm even more keen than ever to watch Snape's vindication unfold onscreen and to see what amazing things Rickman does with it.

Beyond the HP films is the fantastic Truly, Madly, Deeply with the supreme Juliet Stevenson, directed by the late, great Anthony Mingella. Probably his most famous movie role is the villainous role of Hans Gruber in Die Hard, his first American film role, where he set the standard for the modern villain while uttering these immortal lines:

"'When Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept for there were no more worlds to conquer.' The benefits of a classical education."

And of course Rickman's wickedly delightful Sheriff of Nottingham in the best damn thing about Robin Hood Prince of Thieves:

"I'll eat your heart out with a spoon!"
"Why a spoon cousin?"
"Because it hurts more, you twit!"

Campy and cartoony, but oh so much fun.

(Folks, I didn't even have to look those quotes up.)

I could go on and on - as you all no doubt are well aware - but I do have a point; this clip below.




Sizzling hot, sexy and tender with a world of class.

And then there's that tango.

Gotta go stick my head in the freezer now.

A Shot in the Arm

A Brief Intro: This is my revised psycho fan girl post. Hopefully, it'll help retract the restraining order I'm sure Jane Porter gave serious thought to taking out on me.

I talk myself out of good things. Not plans with friends or parties or trips, but things specifically garnered to advance me personally, to do something that won't ostensibly affect anyone but myself, either for good or bad. Nobody does justification for bad decisions better than me, I promise you. It may just be my inherent laziness or the fluctuating depression that never really goes away. But I can do a full treatise any day on why I'm just not able to do X or why I'd be better off not doing Y. Self sabotage at its finest.

I almost did that on Saturday and I'm so glad that my better angels and German stubbornness won the day. I wanted to go to the NJRWA meeting that day particularly because the scheduled speaker was Jane Porter, an author for whose books I've written back cover copy. I also like her books as well (That doesn't always happen; about 30% of the titles I write copy for are easily dismissed and readily forgotten.) But the first of Jane's books that I read - Odd Mom Out - snagged me right away because it was written in the present tense, a form you don't usually find in popular fiction. More women's fiction than straight romance, the story was layered, intriguing, and it resonated as well. The main character is Marta; her mother has advancing Alzheimer's Disease and she changes the entire course of her life to come home and help her father care for her ailing mother. That's a mere fraction of the story, there's also a style-obsessed pre-teen daughter and an alpha mom nemesis, but as my grandmother had Alzheimer's and my mother has been diagnosed with the early symptoms of the disease (though it remains under control, for now), I was particularly able to relate to that aspect of the novel. I know a lot about changing your life for your family, though I've yet to be quite as successful at it as Jane's heroine. Her latest novel follows along with that alpha mom and is appropriately titled Mrs. Perfect. Both books explore issues of identity, self-knowledge and discovery, understanding who you are rather than who you pretend to be, and sticking to your guns under enormous pressure. Good stuff.

So I had purpose in attending the meeting - I wanted to meet Jane. And I wanted to begin my involvement with the organization. But I'll tell you, it still took work to get me up and out that morning. I'm not a shy person; I can walk into an event and have 10 new best friends by the end of it - 20 if we're drinking - but Saturday still took some effort. Shockingly, I was (gasp!) nervous about walking into a room of people I didn't know. I was about to insert myself with women who have been doing this writing thing professionally for years, feeling unbelievably inadequate and overwhelmed while trying to take firm steps to make a very personal dream come true and therefore fighting the instinctive compulsion to quash it. Seriously, my belly was hosting an entire arboretum of butterflies.

But it was great and part of that was Jane. She gave 2 fantastic, one-hour workshops on the alpha male and alpha female, how to characterize them and how to write them. I learned a great deal and had a great time doing it. She also shared several personal notes with generous and revealing candor. I love having a look into how other people tick, particularly those who have achieved something I strive for. I appreciate their work even more for having known them. And it's so comforting in a twisted way to know that even successful, published authors struggle with their craft and work hard at what they do.

I had the opportunity to speak with Jane at various times throughout the day including lunch (someone saved me a seat!) She is just fantastic and I was repeatedly struck by how interesting she is, how warm and enthusiastic, how strong and resilient as a woman, an author, and a survivor. How very keen she is to share ideas and mentor the willing, even if only for the 2 hours allotted to today's workshop. Just a really lovely, talented, genuine lady, the type who'd be awesome to have a beer with and just hang out - despite the fact that she's freaking gorgeous. Plus, she's got fabulous blue jewelry - I was nearly tempted me to do a quick smash and grab - and awesome taste in movies. Any woman who puts clips of Daniel Day Lewis' Last of the Mohicans AND Russell Crowe's Gladiator in her workshop is right up my alley. [Man, am I easy. Show me a crumb (ha!) of affection and I’m yours forever.]

tangent: You could hear the whole room groan and sigh during and after the Mohicans clips. There were two, including the infamous "You stay alive!" scene, all rippling flesh and passion. (Apparently, Jane believes in sending her audience into paroxysms of lust mid-workshop just to see if we're paying attention.) Sometimes women just crack me up.

This was just the shot in the arm I needed. I've already registered for the chapter's conference in October and have signed up for meetings with agents and editors to pitch my books during that conference, though I have absolutely no clue what the hell I'm doing. I did this mainly to set a tangible goal for myself, to motivate my lazy ass towards a deadline that must be met or plagues will rain down on me and there will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth, which is never pretty. Saturday's experience helps reinforce that decision and just makes me feel a little less like I'm wallowing in freakish misery.

At least for now.

P.S. Check out Jane at www.janeporter.com. She's definitely worth a gander.

So That's Where I Put My Life

I had such a great weekend, which of course means I'm weary this morning. My boss and I agree that there are some days when we come to work just to rest from our lives. I wrote a lengthy post about my Saturday that night, but I deleted it Sunday morning because it sounded like a fan girl on crack and I don't want to make Jane Porter consider a restraining order right out of the gate. (That'll make sense later.)

I went to my first meeting of the New Jersey Romance Writer's Association on Saturday and had a fantastic time. I'd made a decision to join the national Romance Writer's Association and its New Jersey chapter earlier this year as part of the tax return sponsored Dreams Come True contest conducted in my subconscious (I won). I don't make New Year's resolutions because the surest way to see me fail is to have me set a goal - it's that screw you power struggle between my dark and better angels. But I will set challenges from time to time and this winter the challenge was to instigate a concerted effort to finally submit my writing for publication.

The first challenge was to become part of a writing community that could bolster me. I need a critique group where pages would be produced by shear force of not wanting to be the only sap without new pages (competition and looking bad in front of others are two prime motivators for my lazy ass) as well as a forum able to mentor a personality that can fluctuate from "damn, I'm good" to "my God, I really suck" on a minute by minute basis. And I also need people invested in giving me timely and constructive feedback. My friends and family are great and supportive but they have lives and children and jobs and don't always have the time to read manuscript pages and give critiques. But exposing myself and eventually my writing to people who aren't compelled by love and friendship to automatically offer some kind of praise along with the critique is difficult to me. I have to battle against the instinctive unworthiness that underlies most of my self-aggrandizing. Such exposure is necessary however, especially if I don't want my paper shredder to be my best and only fan ever.

And I've missed publishing so much, missed being around groups of people who just get the whole love affair with books. I spend my days with creative marketers and medical jargon and a character arc just doesn't easily work into a conversation. It's also a relief to be around people with whom I don't feel I have to apologize for reading romance, for enjoying a well-earned HEA (happily ever after) or even just an ambiguous one. Ergo, membership in RWA, a venue that would not only encourage me to write and submit but provide the means of doing it amongst a community of like-minded people.

Not too surprisingly, I have stumbled already in this endeavor with life interrupting the best laid plans and since it's my life, you can rest assured that these interruptions were cataclysmic and life-threatening. I missed my first intended meeting where the speaker was actually a former colleague of mine who I haven't see in some time. But I finally made a meeting yesterday. Oddly enough, I was nervous going in, odd because I'm not usually cowed by a group of people when arenas and lions aren't involved.

I made the most of it, signing up to join a critique group and also signing up to be a part of a small committee 'cause it sounds interesting and it'll be good if only just to get my feet wet and meet some of the board members and continue that all important networking. The women there were, on the whole, terrific people who were immediately inclusive and welcoming and supportive. I like the vibe I got at the meeting, the overall mutually supportive atmosphere and the ready humor. There were red roses for two authors who'd had their first sale, carnations for those who had submitted something in the last month (rewards for trying! my kind of place), and newbies like myself were noticed and introduced to the group at large.

And then the workshop by author Jane Porter was awesome. But that'll be the non-psycho fan girl post later this week.

That would be enough for a weekend. But on Sunday I finally made it back to church. No, the altar did not suddenly burst into flame. My mother's prolonged illness has taken up most of my free time in the last three months and Sundays became time for hospital and/or rehab bedside vigils, or for deep, regenerative sleep cycles, or for cramming out freelance copy for an overdue deadline. It was great to be back, great to see people I love who I haven't seen in upwards of three months, selfishly great to have been missed, great to be encouraged and reinvigorated by the outpouring of support and joy, great to SING and have it not be while hanging over a hospital bed holding my delirious mother and warding off Death at two in the morning in the ICU. I swear I could feel cells in my body regenerating with each note, with every measure and phrase. The electric boogaloo from being connected again - from just singing. Plus there was the added treat of a men's quartet made up of some of my favorite people, doing an old-time gospel hour song that rocked the house. The boys were back in town all right.

After church was more time with fabulous people at a barbecue/pool party complete with massive thunderstorms. Only my friend Carol could handle upwards of 70 people plus their young children with three kids under 5 of her own and a newborn baby literally at her breast all with only two days warning. She just amazes me. As I could swim probably before I could walk, I took full advantage of the pool and spent some time just floating amidst the water games in my own little world (it can be real pretty there) just detoxing from life.

It was just great to feel a part of things again, to see old friends, to meet new ones, to take nascent steps towards achieving a dream.

Hello my life. Good to see you again.

A Haiku of Thanks

I don't know why, but I'm always surprised by my friends. Not that they're not fantastic - they are, after all, my friends - but that they deem me worthy of being fantastic towards.

A few weeks ago during the Edict of Pain that was my back, whose limitations included being distinctively less able to help with my mother's never-ending bronchitis and asthma attacks along with her own back difficulties, my friend Jenn Schmidt made us a meal of her famous crock-pot meatloaf. She called us the night she was cooking it to solicit side-dish requests and then unexpectedly included a peach cobbler for dessert. I was duly informed that she had to get up at 3:30 in the morning to turn on the pot or stir it or some other sort of cooking thing, no doubt barefoot, in the snow, uphill, both ways! This Great Effort was all to help spare me one evening of the (at the time) painful task of being upright long enough to prepare and cook a meal for Mom and I, as pathetic as my meals may be.

Now Jenn (two Ns please) and her husband Phil are the best kind of people. Funny, sharp, musical, insightful, down-to-earth, faithful, inspiring, and just a really good time. They have five kids - FIVE - stretching from 16 to 3 and had the inspired brilliance to name their eldest, Keyrsten.

Jenn also doesn't run screaming at some of my more zany antics, like randomly calling out names at Kerysten's high school Christmas concert, which went along the lines of "All right LaKeisha! You go!" (I maintain that I was simply blending in with the natives who were similarly encouraging their schoolmates.) She's sneaky, is our Jenn, because she seems this shy and introverted person, but get to know her and she will have you in stitches.

I decided I had to do homage to Jenn for her fabulously tasty and intimidatingly dense crock-pot meatloaf (no vegetables too!!) and the friendship and kindness that drove her to offer and cook it. Being me, I can't just do it simply, but have to add a little pizazz, so I've decided to praise her in haiku because, well, why not?

Ergo - A Haiku of Thanks

Meatloaf cooked for us
Great help when back was painful
Tasty blessed relief

Added sweet dessert
The domestic goddess Jenn
Wicked funny too