Author Archives: mohawkvalleygirl

I Don’t Have a Clue

Oh, all right, I’ll admit it.  I did not write a blog post while I was at work today.  In my defense… never mind.  It won’t interest you and/or you will accuse me of whining.  No doubt you will be right.  Well, I have written many posts about not being able to write a post. Let’s see if I can get away with it one more time.

I spent most of my time at work obsessing about the murder mystery I am still working on.  Every time I mention that it is not finished, the person I’m talking to says, “Well, you’d better get going.”  I find that less than inspiring. But that’s what I get for talking about writing instead of writing.

What my script lacks is the compelling clue.  That one thing that lets the audience say, “Ah, THAT is why the killer has to be X!”  I keep thinking of and rejecting ideas.  A cryptic note?  Who writes notes these days!  A cryptic text?  What could the murderer text to the victim?  “I’m going to kill you”?  I guess it would more likely be something like “IMA KL U”.  I never text anybody (I am SO 20th century).

Maybe the victim sent the text.  Only then we would know who it was sent to, wouldn’t we?  Maybe the victim had a good reason to be all 20th century and wrote a note.

And so I continue to ponder.  I’ll have more updates on this as the event comes closer.  Local readers may like to come see it.  I must be careful not to give anything way in this space.  It would constitute an unfair advantage in addition to ruining the surprise.

 

Nothing Wise or Profound

I’m afraid today is Tired Tuesday.  I did start writing one thing while at work today, but is just isn’t going to work out.  You see, a terrible news story is occupying my mind and my emotions.  I knew I wouldn’t come up with anything profound or wise, but I thought I could say something.  It turns out that I can’t.

People always advise you to write about what’s bothering you.  I used to try, but it never helped.  I usually just got more upset as I articulated my problems.  I don’t think I’m that persuasive a writer, but I sure managed to persuade myself.  Go figure.

Years later I read in Ernest Hemingway’s A Movable Feast how he could write about Minnesota (I think) in Paris, but he could not write about Paris while he was there.  I don’t have the exact quote, because it’s been years since I’ve read it.  I must purchase a copy to have.  I read a similar thought in Natalie Goldman’s Writing Down The Bones.  She said you couldn’t write about being in love when you were in the first throes of infatuation:  all you want to write is, “I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love.”  That quote I could look up, because I own that book, but I’m just too, you guessed it, tired.

So even if I was wise and profound (we all know I’m not), I probably could not come up with something wise and profound at this point.  According to Hemingway and Goldberg, I could potentially write about something I felt or experienced years ago.  I’ll try that tomorrow.  I won’t promise wisdom or profundity, of course, but I’ll try not to be lame till Friday.

 

Murder Movie Monday?

Spoiler Alert!  I’m going to completely give away the plot, solution, big reveal and dramatic conclusion of 10 Little Indians also known as And Then There Were None.

I was in the play version of this Agatha Christie classic, having formerly read the book and the play. Steven and I own a DVD of And Then There Were None (1945).  When they did Agatha Christie Day on TCM, I DVR’d 10 Little Indians  (1966) and finally got around to watching it sometime later (full disclosure:  it was not the first time I’ve seen it).  I wrote about it even later than than, then discovered it in my notebook, and we watched our DVD yesterday with the idea that I could write about both movies today.

The original story is set on an island, the classic isolated place to murder people.  The 1966 version changes things up by bringing the characters up a treacherous snow-covered mountain in  a cable car.  The characters are different, too.  The judgmental spinster is replaced by a glamorous actress.  Fabian plays the spoiled, arrogant young man.  In the original, this character is a rich ne’er-do-well.  In the movies he is a singer hired to entertain the guests.

Both movies make use of this handy character, who sits down at the piano and sings the ditty about the 10 Little Indians.  Both movies also have one character murmur to another to hang in there (or words to that effect), he’s almost out of Indians.

Incidentally, I had never heard of this macabre poem before reading the book.  The 10 Little Indians I know goes, “One little, two little, three little Indians…”  Nobody gets killed; we just count.  That is the kind of sheltered childhood I led.

A little epergne (I’ve never used that word before; I hope it’s right) in the middle of the table depicts the ten unfortunate Indians.  A mysterious hand breaks one off every time a character is picked off.

Of course the characters behave in the time-honored fashion of movie characters confronted with a mad killer.  They lose their cool, they go off alone, they trust or mistrust each other for the flimsiest of reasons.  This is not a 70s slasher flick, so nobody has sex just before meeting a gruesome end.

In fact, none of the ends are particularly gruesome, which to me is another advantage of old movies.  I find a couple of deaths horrifying by reason of empathy.  For example, how would I feel if I was scaling down a mountain and looked up to see a hand chopping away at the rope holding me.  Yikes!

It’s not all chills and thrills, unfortunately.  Things move too slowly for my tastes.   But perhaps I ask too much.

I guess I did not need the spoiler alert after all, because I feel distinctly disinclined to actually give away the ending.  I will say that I like the movie ending better than the play ending.  And I like the very end of the 1966 flick better than the 1945 version.  Anybody who has seen both versions (or either version), feel free to offer your opinion in the comments.  Don’t worry if you give away the big reveal; we’re still covered by the Spoiler Alert.

 

Was it the Wine?

So there I was, having a completely Wrist to Forehead Sunday, when Steven came home, poured me a glass of wine, and suddenly everything looked a little bit better.  Was it the wine or the husband?  I try not to look too closely into these things (it was the husband).

I am typing rapidly (TRYING to think rapidly, but let’s not ask for miracles) so that we can move on to the movie watching portion of the afternoon.  We plan to watch Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None.  We watched a different version of that one some time ago, and I wrote part of a blog post about it. I thought I could complete the blog post with a compare/contrast kind of thing (preview of coming attractions) for Movie Matinee Monday.

Steven just ordered some food from Carney’s Corners in Herkimer, NY (just to throw in a shout-out to a local business). I suddenly realize how hungry I am, now that I have to wait 20-25 minutes (according to the woman on the phone).  Well, one can’t always have instant gratification.

Additionally, I am working on yet another afghan.  I ran out of pink for the one I was working on so started a new one.  This one will be red, white and blue; and I expect to run out of white.  I really must learn how to make smaller things, so I can use up the odds and ends of yarn one inevitably saves.  I suppose I could do that at any time, since I have purchased numerous books about knitting and crochet. But I don’t think I should do it on Wrist to Forehead Sunday, do you?

 

Back on the Road

I got up this morning with no plans at all, except for the already executed plan to sleep in.  We made it to almost 6:30, and that felt good.  We had been up a few hours.  I had eaten breakfast, written post cards and noodled around on Facebook for a while when I suddenly made the decision to go running.

The decision came about because my sister, Victoria, commented that I would probably like yoga because of the spiritual aspect of it as well as the “just you” time, although she supposed running did that for me “but with fewer distractions”.  I commented back that running was ALL about distractions.  A drill sergeant in Army Basic Training told me that was the secret to running: you just kept finding things to distract yourself from how much it sucked (I further learned that the other secret was to keep going despite the suckiness, but right now we’re talking about distractions).

Isn’t it funny how one minute you’re talking about how much a thing sucks and the next minute you’re hustling up the stairs to get properly dressed and do it.  The fact is that there are great periods of time during which running does not suck.  In fact, it is pretty enjoyable.  I hoped for one of those periods today.

One reason for my hope is that it was warmer than it has been.  It was almost warm enough for shorts and short-sleeves, although I set a lower temperature for that outfit than many others.  I went with leggings and long-sleeves because it was borderline and I have not been running outdoors.  I still wore my toque. I do like my toque.

Before I left the driveway I was questioning the wisdom of my decision.  Quite icy.  The sidewalks did not look much better.  I had taken the precaution of wearing an older pair of sneakers, because I was certain there would be puddles.  It turns out things were still pretty frozen.  It was only about 9:20 a.m.  No matter, I was outside in my toque.  I was running.

I took the nearly unprecedented step (get it, running, step?) of running in the road.  I’ve addressed this issue before. I do not like running in the road myself and I do not approve of it in others (yes, yes, I know, my approval is not necessary for anybody, so you needn’t get all hoity-toity and self-justifying).  At least I was on the left side facing traffic.  Perhaps traffic would not be too harsh at 9:20 on a Saturday morning.

And it wasn’t too bad, even on German Street.  I ran all the way down to the traffic light next to the high school.  I had originally had some thought of running up the hill by Valley Health and into the residential area beyond (what I call the suburbs).  After all, there were no sidewalks in that area, so I did not have to feel self-conscious about breaking my own rule.  Then I decided I would did not want to take such a long run.  After all, I am easing back into it.  The only runs I have taken in the past few weeks have been in place on the mini-tramp.

I was happy to get off German and into the quieter streets.  Here traffic was light enough that I could run closer to the center of the road, which was the place where I was least likely to encounter any ice.  It was kind of annoying when a car would be coming and I would have to get over to the edge of the road where there would be ice, a puddle, or an icy puddle.  However, I did not meet with any mishaps.

At a few points I noticed stretches of sidewalk that were perfectly clear.  I felt a little bad about that.  I really do prefer to run on the sidewalk.  Then again, it seemed silly to switch back and forth.  Then again, a little detour often burns more calories.  I saw a clearish patch and ran up a driveway to the sidewalk.  So far so good.  Then my foot slipped and I said, “To hell with that,” and got back on the road.

It was not a super long run, but I felt it was long enough to count as a run.  I also took a cool-down walk almost all the way around the block.  As I walked, I felt elated.  I did not think I had run hard enough or long enough to get any of those endorphins I keep hearing about, but a joyous voice in my head declared, “This was a GOOD idea!”  As I cut through the parking lot of the apartment building on the end of my street (remember, I said almost all the way around the block), I realized that running in the road had been a good idea too.  If I had tried even a shuffley jog there I would have landed on my tuckus or a less padded  part.

I felt pretty bad-ass after my run.  I felt, as I often do, “Yeah, I’m back.”  I hope I stay back this time.  For me, it’s a good idea to keep running.

 

Lame Post Before Drama

My life for the foreseeable future is going to be DRAMA!  No, I’m not going to be continually having Wrist-to-Forehead whatever day it is (although I suppose it could happen).  I mean my life is going to be theatre, Theatre, THEATRE!   (Yes, I must spell it with with “re”.)  I led with the first sentence for the sake of being, obviously, dramatic.  Who could blame me?

First, however, I shall make my weekly Friday Lame Post.

Earlier today I met with a lady from the Morningstar Methodist Church regarding a murder mystery dinner theatre fundraiser they are presenting in conjunction with Ilion Little Theatre.  Guess who’s writing and directing?  No, I’m not starring as well, although I expect I shall play a small but pivotal role.  It is very exciting for me.  I haven’t done a murder mystery in a long time, although we did them quite frequently in the North Country during the 1990s.

I shall write more blog posts on that project as I continue to work on it.

Additionally, auditions approach for Leading Ladies, Ilion Little Theatre’s spring production, which I am directing.  I must talk with the fellow who promised to build my set and with the lady who agreed to work on costumes.  I must pick out scenes for actors to read at auditions.  I must come up with a sheet for auditioners to fill out, including contact information, availability, etc etc.  And that is only a few of the things I have to think about.

Again, more blog posts will be forthcoming.

I think the first, most important thing I ought to do is to get my act together.  Yeah, I know, good luck with that.   That would be worth a blog post!  In the meantime, happy Friday, everybody.

 

My Computer Thinks “Profferer” Is Not a Word

There are a few things in life you can pretty much count on.  Not invariably, of course, but most of the time.  If you open and close scissors near a person’s hair, they will probably get nervous.  If you say, “Sometimes you feel like a nut,” the other person will probably say, “Sometimes you don’t.”  If I have to be somewhere in the evening and want to get my blog post done first, I will probably not write anything ahead of time while on break at work.

Welcome to Non-Sequitur Thursday.

So yesterday I wrote a post about writing and today I write a post about not writing.  Is that so bad?  I suppose some people will think it is while others cut me a break.  File that under another one of those things in life you can count on.

I must soon head out to pick up my husband Steven (I specify the relationship for the benefit of new readers, if any) and head to the monthly dinner meeting of Ilion Little Theatre.  Of course I’m hungry NOW, so I just ate a few pretzels and drank a glass of milk.  I find it difficult to write on an empty stomach.  I know, I know, I’m not doing so hot after the snack either.

When I got home from work about an hour and a half ago, I walked down to Steven’s place of employment and got his vehicle, which I then drove home.  It was not too cold until a bitter wind began to blow.  Also, the sidewalks were rather treacherous with uneven ice,  some of it deceptively covered with snow.  Some profferers of advice to writers insist that adverbs are horrid words and must be avoided assiduously (see what I did there?).  I disagree.

As I approach 300 words, I think it is clear that I am not going to come up with anything particularly noteworthy to say.  However, I just thought of a headline.  Tune in tomorrow, when Mohawk Valley Girl will once again explain that she did not write anything while on break at work.

 

On with the Murder Mystery!

It looks as if the murder mystery dinner theatre I’ve been working on is going to happen.  That is good news, since I finally know who the murderer is.  I was working on it today instead of writing a blog post.  So instead of my usual Wuss-out Wednesday, I thought I would write a little about how I create these murder mysteries and call it a Mid-week Mental Meanderings.

I often start with the setting.  Obviously the setting is the dinner the play takes place at, but why are we all there?  Just a dinner party?  A hoity-toity fundraiser for some some charity beloved by rich folk?  Rich folk are often involved.  For one reason, it gives us actors a chance to wear our most fabulous outfits.  For another reason, it’s fun to make fun of rich people.  I often have a few false starts, but that’s OK.  No mental effort is ever wasted.

What finally got me started on this one was a glimmer of a character.  I wanted to include a woman who was somebody’s aunt and preferred to be called by her full name:  Awnt Theodora.  That is not a misspelling; she pronounces it “awnt.”  Naturally there must also be a character who insists on calling her Ant Teddy (again, that is not a misspelling).  This is the sort of thing that goes over much better in a play than in a book.  In the play, we’ll all just say “ant” or “awnt.”  I won’t have to explain anything.

I decided Theodora and her niece must be hoity-toity rich people of the Old Money variety.  The character who keep mispronouncing her name would be the niece’s fiance from the wrong side of the tracks, perhaps the son of a nouveau riche cattle rancher.  The reason for the dinner could be their engagement party.

And so it began.  Soon I had the number of characters I wanted and I began to add the details.  Who dislikes whom and why?  What secrets are people hiding?  This part is a lot of fun.  The rest of the process is pretty fun, too, only it’s not as easy.  I have to make choices and figure things out.  There is a lot of brain work, a lot of sitting and thinking, a lot of writing and crossing out, and quite a bit of blank-page staring.

I fear that to go through the whole process will be longer than, well longer than I feel like writing right now.  However, I think what I have so far will be an OK post for today.  I’ll write more about the Murder Mystery Process in future posts.  And I have made a discovery: writing about writing is even more fun than writing about not writing.

 

But It Was a Truly Excellent Sandwich

It is Tired Tuesday, folks.  I went to work with the firm intention of writing my blog post on break, in order to avoid such a thing, and instead, well, I read a play.  In my defense, it was Leading Ladies by Ken Ludwig, the play I am soon to direct for Ilion Little Theatre.  I MUST be prepared!

After work I thought to put together a creative dinner utilizing leftovers.  Then I could do a cooking post.  Oh, that seemed like so much trouble.  Instead I asked Steven if there was enough cheese for grilled cheese sandwiches.  I knew he had purchased tomato soup the last time he shopped.  Not only was there enough cheese, my wonderful husband agreed to cook.

Oh, that was the best grilled cheese sandwich I ever ate in my life.  The cheddar was extra sharp, the bread was perfectly toasted.  I dipped it into the soup.  I don’t think anything ever made me quite as happy as eating that sandwich.  Yes, I am indulging in hyperbole.

It would have been nice if the soup and sandwich had revivified me (I know, “revived” is probably the more proper word to use, but I wanted to use the other) so that I could have written a more better blog post (YES, “more better” is bad grammar; it amuses me).  As I often observe, one can’t have everything.  Hope to see you all on Wuss-out Wednesday.

 

I Would Have Liked a Monster

Steven graciously agreed to watch a selection from our Best of the Worst DVD collection purely so I could write about it.  Full disclosure:  he agreed and we watched it last month.  This write-up has been languishing in my notebook, awaiting just such a Monday.

Spoiler Alert!  I’m just going to tell you the whole plot, but you needn’t worry that I will give away all the twists, because there aren’t any.

Unknown World (1951) opens with a Newsreel to give us all the background we need.  It is a perfectly legitimate method for glossing over necessary exposition, but it is not a very believable newsreel.  There is at least one scene where the cameras would not have been there filming.   I guess there is no real point in carping about that.  The main problem is not suspension of disbelief; it is suspension of impatience while waiting for the movie to get on with things.

The plot concerns fear of nuclear holocaust, a popular theme of the time.  A group of scientists is convinced that it is only a matter of time before the surface of the earth is destroyed.  Their solution is to travel deep underground and find another place to live.  The newsreel is largely concerned with their efforts to fund the project.

The newsreel also introduces the scientists in the group, including the token women and the fairly handsome man I pegged as her Love Interest.  The scientists were really indistinguishable one from the other (except for the female, of course).  I think they were supposed to have different personalities, but they only showed intermittent flashes of actual character.

As the newsreel ends, we see that the scientists are viewing it with the maverick scion — really more of a spoiled brat son —  of some super wealthy guy who they are hoping will finance the stalled project.   Spoiled Brat readily agrees to spend Dad’s money on the venture with the proviso that he accompany the expedition.  He is vaguely dashing and pretty much an arrogant douche, leading me to wonder if I had been wrong about the love interest.  You know how fictional women LOVE the arrogant type (some real women, too, I suppose).

Off they go in this weird spaceship-looking thing that can run on land and sea.  I flashed on Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, but the ship doesn’t fly (although I can’t help thinking that a couple of musical numbers with Dick Van Dyke would have livened up the proceedings).  They enter the earth through a dead volcano and head down.

It is dull going.  They drive for a while, stop, get out and walk, then drive some more.  Nobody should be surprised to hear that I stopped paying attention.  A few of the party die, including Spoiled Brat, but nobody goes in a spectacularly dramatic fashion.  They never start to bicker as you would expect from a group stuck in a cramped space with no cable or beer.  Maybe they weren’t sure who to fight with, because of that lack of distinguishable character thing.

At one point a member of the team expresses a desire to return to the surface.  In a very civilized fashion, they vote.  The Go Ons win by one vote, and nobody rebels and tries to go back anyways!  I voted with the Go Backs, but of course my vote didn’t count.  What disappointed me most was the absence of monsters.  I think if you’re going to invent this magical tunnel to the center of the earth, you ought to throw in at least a couple of monsters.

I was a little concerned that Steven would regret his generosity in agreeing to watch a cheesy movie with me.  However, we managed to keep ourselves reasonable entertained with editorial comments.  My best line came at the end of the movie.  the survivors have miraculously returned to the surface.  Apparently they take a detour from the path down, because they splash up in the middle of the ocean.  There is a beautiful tropical island with palm trees.

“It’s probably Gilligan’s Island,” I said.