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Millenial Creativity

by Leigh Perry / Toni L.P. Kelner

As I sat down to write this, my older daughter Maggie's was in the basement pouring silicon over a clay sculpture of a wolf to create a mold. Once it cures, she'll be mixing up resin to pour into the mold to make a wolf figurine. Then she'll add a custom paint job. Earlier, she was drawing storyboards to add to her portfolio. My younger daughter was at her keyboard practicing a song she wrote, and then moved on to cover "Believer" from Imagine Dragons. Most of the day, she spent drawing on her iPad.

Now I'm not writing this to brag on my daughters. Well, not only to brag on my daughters, though I'm always happy to do that. It just occurs to me that despite the reputation of members of the so-called Millennial Generation, the ones I've run into are some seriously hard-working and creative people.

Don't just look at my girls as examples. When I was at Boskone this weekend, I ran into a 19-year-old woman who'd finished a fantasy novel and was looking for advice for improving it with an eye toward publication. Her twin sister writes poetry.

Then there are Maggie's friends. The three people she's going to be moving in with soon? One is a comic book artist who specializes in coloring, but can produce an entire book himself. Another is finishing up a degree in sequential arts. The third has studied both animation and comics. They all have day jobs, but in their free time, they create comic book anthologies and sell custom artwork at conventions. One of her other friends just got a job as an animator for a PBS station. She's working on prints to sell, too.

Okay, maybe this is a biased sample in terms of creativity--Maggie met them all when she was in art school herself--but their willingness to work hard is pretty representative of her friends. One is getting a teaching degree to go with her geology degree so she can teach, has a day job in retail, takes art commissions over the web, and creates her own fantasy costumes. Another is finishing her degree, waitressing, and doing historical recreations on the Lexington, MA town green. One regularly blogs detailed reviews of anime.

Valerie's friends? From her high school are the drama kids. While finishing their senior year at high school--and applying to colleges--they work backstage on the schools' three shows a year. One of them stage manages both at their school and in community productions. Then there are the kids she knows from live-action role-play. They create their own costumes, design games, write, and draw--all around going to school and sometimes working jobs, as well.

Look, I remember who I was at that age. While I dreamed of being a professional writer, I promise you that I did not work nearly as hard on my craft back then as they do, and none of my friends did, either. Honestly, I don't think I work that hard now.

So next time you see an article or meme about lazy, entitled Millennials, do what I do. Think of these creative young people, cheer them on, and blow a loud raspberry at people who don't know them the way we do.

How I Wound Up Onstage Playing Air Guitar

By Elaine Viets

It's difficult to explain how I wound up onstage playing air guitar with an international touring show in South Florida. (That's me with the blue guitar, behind the singer in yellow.)

It's also difficult to explain the show. ARTrageous calls itself "an interactive art and music experience. Paint jumps to life with amazing speed unveiling larger than life art in just moments. Experience music, dancing and images from Sinatra to Lennon."

Here's a photo of ARTrageous. Better yet, here's a video. https://youtu.be/lvN7ITjW6Qk

The high-powered troupe danced, sang, and painted during the fast-paced show, and the audience became part of it. We sang. We danced on bubble wrap (oooh, the popping pleasure). We played volleyball with beach balls.

Somehow, I wound up on stage with other audience members, and we were all playing air guitar. Okay, not the classic air guitar. This was an inflatable guitar, which makes it truly an air guitar.

Don't ask me to name the song – I just remember having a heck of a good time and smashing my guitar on the speakers. When the music ended, most of the air guitarists were ushered off stage. I'd had my moment in the sun and joined them.

But no – I was asked to be part of the air guitar back up band, and I played until the end of the show.

I'm not ready yet for the Annual Air Guitar World Championship Contest in Oulu, Finland. I know I need to improve my "technical merit," and "mimesmanship" — those are real criteria, by the way. But I agree with the air guitar creed: "Wars will end and all the bad things will go away if everyone just played air guitar."

There's a video of my air guitar performance, but that's not going to be posted – not if I keep making regular monthly payments.

****************************************************************************

Win SHOP TILL YOU DROP, my first Dead-End Job mystery. Click Contests at www.elaineviets.com

Hippos and Skeletons

by Leigh Perry / Toni L.P. Kelner

Over the Thanksgiving holiday weekend, I drafted my husband Steve and daughter Valerie to help me produce a half promotional/half seasonal/all silly video of a song I'd written. Or rather, I rewrote. I took the tune to "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas" and changed the lyrics to be about Sid the Skeleton from my Family Skeleton series, ending up with "I Want a Sleuthing Skeleton for Christmas." The song and the video are below, but I wanted to explain why I picked this fairly obscure song to mangle.

Three years ago this month, my sister Brenda died. And at the visitation service, as the pastor was speaking about her, my sister Connie's phone went off. The ringtone she'd set for December was "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas."

This is in no way a slam at Connie. She meant no disrespect, and had carefully turned the phone function off, but this was an alarm she'd set for something or another. She was mightily embarrassed, but the fact is, Brenda would have laughed her tail end off at the situation. All of us laughed, or at least smiled. I don't know why Connie picked that song--she was an infant when it was recorded-and though it was a hit in 1953, it's not overly well known these days. But every time I hear that silly song, I think of Brenda and that one funny moment during a very sad week.

I could say that the mingling of death and humor are central to the Family Skeleton books, making the song very appropriate to use, but the fact is, it just makes me happy. I hope my version makes you happy, too.

 

"I Want A Sleuthing Skeleton For Christmas"
by Leigh Perry

I want a sleuthing skeleton for Christmas
Only a bony guy like Sid will do
Don't want perfume
No fancy pottery
I want a skeleton to help me solve a mystery

I want a sleuthing skeleton for Christmas
I don't think Santa Claus will mind, do you?
He won't have to use
A dirty chimney flue
Just walk Sid through the front door
Then we’ll go and hunt for clues

I can see me now when there’s a murder
Creeping up the stairs
To discuss the alibis
And the whos, the wheres, the whys
Solving crime within our attic lair

I want a sleuthing skeleton for Christmas
Only a bony guy like Sid will do
No cop or spy
Or private detective
I’d rather work with an osteo perspective
And Sid the Skeleton, he likes me too!

(Rocking guitar solo)

Some say a skelly should scare me off but hey
I see Sid a-smiling each and every single day

(Rocking guitar solo)

He’ll live inside my house
I’ll buy him an armoire
We’ll solve the crime
Joke all the time
It’s cozy—it’s not noir

I can see me now when there’s a murder
Creeping up the stairs
To discuss the alibis
And the whos, the wheres, the whys
Solving crime within our attic lair

I want a sleuthing skeleton for Christmas
Only a bony guy like Sid will do
No cop or spy
Or private detective
I’d rather work with a osteo perspective

And Sid the Skeleton, he likes me too!

Adel-icious

Unless you've been hibernating under a particularly commodious rock the last few weeks, you have probably seen some mention in social media of British singer Adele. Her latest release, Adele 25, came out this past Friday. In less than a week, it has already become the fastest selling album in history. In less than a week, it is the biggest-selling album of 2015. Experts say it could hit 3 million sales by this Friday.

Though reviews for Adele 25 have been mixed, Adele's fans have been eagerly awaiting her first release in four years, since Adele 21. The first single, "Hello," not to be confused with the Lionel Richie hit of the same name, has also been explosive on the charts.

I was one of those fans who was eagerly awaiting the new album. I've listened to it several times, and I really like it. Overall I don't think it has the full impact of 21, but that would be a tall order for anyone. I had never heard of Adele Adkins until 21 came out, I have to admit, but one listen to 21 hooked me.

I love her voice and the often raw emotion in it, but I admire and respect Adele for standing firm on who she is and what she represents. Unlike anorexic pop princesses like Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber, Adele is a full-figured woman. And she's gorgeous. She has said in interviews that she doesn't spend much time thinking about body image, nor does she feel the pressure to be a "skinny-mini" or wear revealing or "hyper-sexual" clothing. (A lot of the women on the red carpet could take a few lessons from Adele, in my opinion.)

I say brava for Adele. Listen to the voice. Listen to the words. Focus on the music, because that's what's important. As a plus-sized person myself, I admire Adele for being who she is and not worrying about what other people think of her size. Finally, if anyone was ever a femme fatale, Adele with her voice and talent surely is.

Beatlemania in the 1960s: They’re All Wet

By Elaine Viets

What were the major symptoms of Beatlemania?

Fainting? Yes. Screaming? Of course. Crying? Definitely.

Incontinence?

Never.

Recently, men have been lining up to say that Beatles concerts smelled like urine during the Fab Fours’ American tours, some 50 years ago.

This Huffington Post story is typical: "11 Things You Probably Didn't Know About The Beatles, Even If You're A Superfan"

http://tinyurl.com/p8vjuqv

And what fact tops the list?

"The Beatles concerts were said to smell heavily of urine due to overexcited girls," the story said.

What? Says who?

"Multiple people have claimed Beatles shows were known for their urine," the HuffPo claims. "Notably, John B. Lynn, son of the owner of a venue the Beatles played, told the Washington Post that the concert hall smelled like the pee of overexcited girls after the show."

There’s more. The story says, "Bob Geldof told Q Magazine in 2010:

" ‘The Beatles was a case of watching females in excelsis. It's the old cliché, but you couldn't hear them for all the screaming. I remember looking down at the cinema floor and seeing these rivulets of piss in the aisles. The girls were literally pissing themselves with excitement. So what I associate most with the Beatles is the smell of girls’ urine.’ "

Could that possibly be true?

In the mid-60s, most Beatlemania fans were teens, way too young for Depends. And why wasn’t this mentioned in 1964, ’65 or 1966, when the Fab Four were touring the States? The press was hunting for anti-Beatles’ info. By 1966, it seemed like the whole world was PO’d at the Beatles. They were picketed and their records smashed, especially after John Lennon brashly said the Beatles were more popular than Jesus.

Check out this video of the boys in St. Louis. Don’t they look cute and clean-cut? Squeeeee!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MgcLM5ujEOs

I knew one woman who could set the historical record straight: Karen Grace. The St. Louis Superfan went to the Beatles concert at Busch Stadium August 21, 1966.

"My mom bought three tickets," Karen said. "I remember she thought the ticket prices were outrageous – $5.50 each. My brother Rob went with me, and Mom gave the third ticket to a neighbor girl. Now she wishes she’d gone.

"I remember we had to go past the protestors who were picketing the stadium, and the weather was warm and drizzly."

Did you actually hear the music?

"I did, if I plugged my ears with my fingers to drown out the screaming. I’m sure if anyone took my photo they would have gotten the wrong impression. The Beatles were one of the first stadium concerts, and Busch Stadium wasn’t really set up to have lots of loudspeakers, but I could hear the music."

You're also the best Beatles expert I know, Karen. Did Busch Stadium smell like pee from all the excited teen girls?

"Not that I remember," she said. "It was warm and drizzly, so I'm sure we would have noticed it. Granted, we were outside, but my brother, Rob, who was nine at the time, would surely have said something if he saw or smelled any evidence of pee. In fact, he would have made a big deal of it.

"I read this story, and I guess it could be true. Geldof was talking about a concert hall. But I think it’s an urban myth."

Thank you. I’m so relieved.

Stuck in My Ear

By Elaine Viets

"My Maserati does 185

"I lost my license now I don't drive."

For two days, that line from the Joe Walsh song, "Life's Been Good to Me So Far," rattled in my head like a clunker chugging down a gravel road. A dreaded earworm had burrowed into my brain. I couldn’t remember the rest of the song. That one line repeated itself in an endless loop.

I wanted to claw my hair off.

"I heard that if you sing all  the lyrics, the earworm will go away," Don said.

So I found the song on YouTube and sang along with Joe. http://tinyurl.com/7om3gke

My vocal stylings are no threat to Joe Walsh’s career. But when I finished the song all the way through, my husband was right. That earworm curled up and died.

And another one crawled in to take its place.

Now I was wandering around singing "I Can't Drive 55" by Sammy Hagar. Just that one line. Over and over and out of tune.

I’m a big fan of the Red Rocker, not to mention fast cars and driving over the speed limit. In fact, not too long after Sammy first sang about his driving frustration, I was arrested for speeding in Litchfield, Illinois. I’d been going 120 in a 55-mile-an-hour zone. I managed to slow down to 95 when the highway patrol pulled me over. Unlike Sammy, I didn’t go to jail, but Don had to post bail and I went to court.  I have since lived a slow, blameless and uncaught life.

I really had to quit singing that one line, so I watched the Sammy Hagar video   http://tinyurl.com/y9jdbgw until the ear worm was driven away.

Researchers say 98 percent of people are afflicted by ear worms "but earworms are more likely to last longer for women and to irritate them more than they irritate men."

Jean Harris, the headmistress of the fancy Madeira School for girls, killed her lover Dr. Herman Tarnower, author of  "The Complete Scarsdale Medical Diet." Anyone who’s ever been on that diet would say Tarnower deserved killing. But not only was poor Jean in love with the scrawny diet doctor, she suffered from an earworm with the song, "Put the Blame on Mame."  I read this in Wikipedia, so I know it must be true.

Once I read that, I didn’t feel so bad about my other earworm, "We Will Rock You" by

Queen. http://tinyurl.com/yzo3qc At least my earworms are rock classics.

That song is high on the earworm list. Other common earworms are "Who Let the Dogs Out," "YMCA," "Mission Impossible" theme, "The Lion Sleeps Tonight," and that insidious Disney ditty, "It’s a Small World After All."

One poor soul, driven to distraction by a (shudder) Barry Manilow earworm, pleaded for help on the Net. Someone called LunaClick posted The Manilow Cure. http://tinyurl.com/6ll932c

"It is Reg Kehoe and his Marimba Queens playing ‘A Study in Brown’ in the early 1940s, with crazy Frank DeNunzio Sr. on the double bass."

Take a listen – and tell me your worst earworm.

Saving Local Stores: One Brick and Mortar at a Time

by Kris Neri

I’m a pretty independent sort. I don’t follow fads, my novels are published by independent presses and I write about adventurers who march to the beat of their own unconventional drummers. I'm so independent that, with my husband, I own an independent bookstore, The Well Red Coyote in Sedona, Arizona.

The Well Red Coyote is a great store, if I do say so myself — voted Best Bookstore in Sedona for five years in a row, every year we’ve been in business. What we've created is more than merely a store that sells books, but a real community gathering spot. All of the fiction authors who appear in our store present writing workshops, and our nonfiction authors offer seminars on their books’ subjects. We also offer live music concerts, everything from blues and rock, to inspirational and Native American flute. All always free. This imaginative approach has worked well for us — turnouts for our author events are mostly exceptionally good.

Yet even in an offbeat place like Sedona, independence is becoming an endangered species. Despite their vocal support, we're losing some of our old customers to online sellers.

I hear the same story from booksellers all over the country. It isn’t just bookstores that are suffering, either, but independent stores of all kinds. Stores with character and charm, which lend distinction to their communities, are just disappearing. Everywhere.  There are a few of us hanging on out there, mavericks on the road to big-box Sameville. But it’s a struggle, especially in this punitive economy.

The recent loss of so many independent bookstores concerns me the most, not just as a fellow bookseller, but an author. From the author’s perspective, there’s something to be said for every form of bookselling. But most mid-list authors, and those who began in the mid-list, will say their careers depend on the hand selling of independent booksellers around the country.

What will happen to mid-list authors when independent booksellers aren’t around anymore to recommend them to their customers? And, readers, won’t some of you miss that service?

Now there’s a way that customers everywhere can save the beloved stores in their communities. The campaign is called “The 3/50 Project: Saving the Brick and Mortars Our Nation is Built On.” The Project 3/50 asks everyone to think about three businesses in their communities that they would hate to see close. Then it challenges them to spend $50 a month combined in those three businesses. That’s not $50 more than they’re asked to spend, it’s the same $50 they’re spending in corporate-owned stores. It’s money they’ve already allotted in their monthly budgets.

The Project 3/50 tells us that if only half the employed population spent $50 each month in locally owned businesses, it would generate more than $42.6 billion in revenue. That’s billion, with a B. For every $100 spent in locally owned independent stores, $68 returns to the community through taxes, payroll and other expenditures. If you spend that in a national chain, only $43 remains locally. Spend it online, and absolutely nothing comes home. And online sellers usually pay no local sales tax, which most communities need to support schools and other local services.

It only takes one person to get the ball rolling in every community. I know which three stores I want to help save in my town. How about you?

 

How Bill Fitzhugh Saved My Sanity

by Mary

It happened like this. I was surfing along, checking author websites to get ideas for my own, and I remembered Bill Fitzhugh's as being a particularly good one. You know Bill, the guy who writes great comic novels like Pest Control and Highway 61 Resurfaced. I can't even type that last one with a straight face. A hilarious mystery and possibly the funniest book title of all time.

Anyway, something new was on his website, a page about his gig as a disk jockey on XM Satellite Radio. He has his own show, Hand-Mixed Vinyl, where he plays album tracks like many creative late-night DJs used to do. He cuts and switches and nips and tucks songs into one another to make interesting medleys. In other words, he has fun. Bill concocts the Hand-Mixed Vinyl show in his own Way Back Studio where he, and possibly Sherman and Mr Peabody, transport listeners back in time to the good-old days of radio, love beads and real guitar players.

There's one catch. You've got to have a satellite radio to hear it. Gotta buy one, then pay twelve dollars a month for the satellite service. The miser in me didn't much like that. Sure, they have about 200 channels of all types of music, sports, talk, etc. but that wasn't what got me.

As I looked over their show list online, one stopped me dead in my tracks. Bob Dylan hosting his own weekly radio show? Say, what? I began checking XM's other offerings more closely. I screeched to a halt again in the classical section and did a double take. Besides a regular classical station, they have another one called Vox, devoted to vocal recordings of all kinds including my very favorite, medieval church music. Oooh. Aaahh. I stared. I thought about my bank account. I salivated and whimpered like a dog. Man, I dig those crazy Latin-singing celibates. Zzzzing. Thank you, Paypal.

My radio arrived soon after. I've been wearing it out ever since. Fitzhugh's show is smooth and brings back great memories. Tom Petty has a show called Buried Treasures, also mainly album cuts you might not have heard in a long time. The great thing about XM is that they have a channel to fit every mood. The sound quality is superb and DJ chatter isn't chatter. First, there's very little of it, but what's there is informative and is delivered by smart folks who know their stuff. Lately I've been listening to the AudioVisions new age-y channel whose tag line is 'A Place Filled With Peace.' I don't know about you, but that kind of place comes in handy for me, especially after a news broadcast.

And then there's Dylan's Theme Time Radio Hour. It alone is worth the costs of radio and service. He's such a natural. He puts lots of love and thought into each musical choice and in his comments on the theme of the week. It won't surprise anyone that the DJ patter between songs is entertaining, thought-provoking, sometimes poetic, always with a beautiful wit. The music ranges from the early days of recording to the present.

My favorite theme so far has been the one about Baseball. In addition to songs, he played a recording of the poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti reading his 'Baseball Canto,' a humorous musing on race, the Giants, Willie Mays, Tito Fuentes and the national anthem. What a joy. These shows make me feel like a kid sneaking a transistor radio under the bed to hear a midnight broadcast of John R. or Wolfman Jack. Dylan has that same kind of magic, melding together the records, their histories, and giving them an extra little spin with funny, insightful comments. The shows all make you smile, make your soul jump out of your body and fly around a while. They're that special.

Of course, the medieval church guys do that for me, too, but I realize I may be in the minority on that one. But it's the same thing. Your soul still jumps out and flies around, only not in the here and now, but rather in a cathedral or cloister in the there and then. I recommend both. All the thrills of bungee jumping without the fear of imminent death, heart attacks, your skull bouncing a mere three feet above sharp rocks, or cords used one too many times.

I'm so thankful to XM for providing music that lifts me up. It makes a big difference in my day. And thanks to Bill Fitzhugh for pointing me in the right direction. I feel human again.

For more about Bill's radio show and books, here's the link: http://www.billfitzhugh.com