Because Helena is awesome, and getting her writing the backing it needs – not to mention deserves – is an idea/cause/movement I – and the curmudgeonly Druid – wholeheartedly support.
Revealed: Memoirs of a Dilettante, Vol. One
D: Aaaaaaaa!
A: The echoes of the Druid’s angst rippled across the Plain.
D: Really? This is what you’re going to do today?
A: What? It seemed appropriate.
D: Only you would hijack the most incredible cover reveal to mock me.
A: I think Helena would approve.
D: I suppose – no wonder she’s one of your favorite people—
A: And writer – don’t forget one of my favorite writers.
D: Noted. How excited are you that this spring (that’s Spring 2014, ladies and gentlemen) she is coming out with Volume One of Memoirs of a Dilettante?
A: I’ll tell you how, but first, let’s allow Helena’s voice to shine, shall we? Sheesh, always stealing the show, aren’t you, Druid?
D: (Eye roll) Impossible woman.
Memoirs of a Dilettante is a collection of reminiscences, following Helena Hann-Basquiat, a self-proclaimed dilettante who will try anything just to say that she has, and her twenty-something niece, who she has dubbed the Countess Penelope of Arcadia, in their off-beat antics in such places as common as the local McDonald’s or the comic book store, to their travels to Miami for the search for the perfect Cuban sandwich. Interspersed between wacky one-off adventures, Helena tells personal, sometimes painful stories from her past in order to try and make sense of her life as it has played out, tempering everything with an indomitable sense of humour.
Cummerbund Bandersnatch, the Accidental Plagiarist, strippers, rock stars, geeks, freaks, and the Barista With No Name — these are just a few of the characters you’ll meet inside.
Discover Helena’s tales for the first time or all over again, with new notes and annotations for the culturally impaired — or for those who just need to know what the hell was going through her mind at the time!
If you just can’t wait and you want a taste of Helena’s writing, follow her blog: http://www.helenahb.com
If you just can’t get enough Helena, or you want updates on further goings on, release dates and miscellaneous mayhem, follow Helena on Twitter @hhbasquiat
A: See what I mean, D? Excited isn’t quite the word. Ever since I stumbled upon a darling’d comment at the Accidental Cootchie Mama, and had the privilege of reading one of Helena’s “Charming” Friday Fictioneer posts, I’ve been hooked. After that moment, I spent the next couple of days catching up on her work. That ‘hook’ turned into a real appreciation for her style, wit, general outlook and most importantly, the world and characters she created. Her tone ranges from seriously wicked to heart-breakingly honest, and everything in between. I cannot wait to read the coming memoirs.
I am so ridiculously pleased to know Helena, and count her among my people – I owe her so many pancakes (and I think she owes me a box or five of tissues) but all the same, I hope I’m never out of her debt. She has an incredible talent, and she is going to go far. So, check out her site, read her fantastic stories and when you’re done, take a gander at the ebooks her alter-ego, Jessica B. Bell spits out from her dungeon abode!
Living Musically – Heart-Pounding Edition
A: My beautiful romance with my iPod got off to a rocky start this week – or rather, an icy start. On Monday, it was literally too cold for it to work in the car. So instead, I listened to the blast of the heater as it brought the ambient temperature to a barely tolerable 30° F. Of course, on Tuesday, when it was actually colder (-10° F instead of -8° F), it worked just fine. And people wonder why I claim my electronic equipment develops minds of its own with the sole purpose of Gaslighting me.
D: Actually, I don’ t wonder.
A: If you were corporeal, I’d say you were the one doing it.
D: I would be, but alas . . .
A: And yet another argument for thought developing form. . . May I continue with Tuesday?
D: Be my guest.
A: Why thank you. With Tuesday came the whispering of sweet nothings via instrumental – a wooing tactic the iPod used to its advantage all week. It started with The Minstrel Boy, as done by The Corrs. It’s another song I didn’t recall owning, ever. Of course, it should not have surprised me: Irish national music and I have a love affair that goes back . . . well, sixteen years. Our passion (political) faded within the first five, but with distance and understanding, we’ve come to a good, occasionally heart-stirring, place.
Then, The Song of the Lonely Mountain came on.
D: Oh, by the gods – not this one, again.
A: Hush. You love it. I know you do. It wins by default, by the way—
D: Of course it does.
A: Oi! I’ll have you know I didn’t like this song when I first heard it, and I’m still not as fond of the movie version as I am of the one found on the Extended Edition soundtrack.
D: So you’re two-timing The Song of the Lonely Mountain? You hussy.
A: No – it’s more like if one were dating one in a pair of twins. They’re identical-ish, but you just like one over the other (and hopefully can tell them apart, because those hijinks and shenanigans could be dangerous. Fun, but dangerous).
D: You are hopeless.
A: I know. But I’m single, so I’m totally allowed.
D: I’m not sure your logic—
A: My blog, my logic – work with me here, Druid. Anyway, Lonely Mountain won me over, starting at 1:08 into the song.
Wednesday was unremarkable. I think I had a Jamie Lidell and a Paolo Nutini to make me smile, but by Thursday, the iPod started to get a little fresh. It put on Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana
. . . and Take it Off, by the Genteels.
D: Oh boy.
A: I know, right? Frisky monks and just plain old friskiness. So, I had a lot of reasons to smile this week. And then Friday rolled around.
D: Let me guess: it was a disaster.
A: If by disaster you mean the most perfect Valentine’s playlist that an iPod randomizing 2k songs could produce, then yes, a fabulous, wonderful, I smiled the entire way into work and not just when I have the freeway to myself to go as fast as I please, disaster.
D: You could have just said ‘no, it wasn’t a disaster, D.’
A: Well, that’s no fun. So here it is, the winning day:
1. Crying, Bjork
2. Careless Love, Harry Connick, Jr. . . for which I couldn’t find a YouTube video – so here is Ray Charles singing it.
Note: It wasn’t until Harry came on that I started to grin – the first one could have been a one-off, right? But with Careless Love, I started thinking, well, this is a good Valentine’s mix – not romantic, but certainly fun for the staunchly single.
Beautiful and bittersweet – right up my alley. And then, Eddie Izzard came on, waxing lyrical about the word “Bastard.” Be still my heart.
5. Bastards and Makeup
6. Shoot the Moon, Norah Jones
7. I Think I Love You, Partridge Family
By this time, I’m nearly at work. A traffic light is out, cars are backed up but I’m grinning like a loon because a) I like this song and b) I’m seeing a trend, and I love it.
A: That one was for you, D
D: Yeah, sure it was.
A: And finally. . .
9. #1 Crush, Garbage
Yes, folks, the iPod really does love me. Of course, it died right after #1 Crush – is being restored as I type – but it was worth it. It died for love.
D: Song of the Lonely Mountain still wins though, right?
A: Oh yeah. By a mile.
D: (Eye roll) Hopeless.
A: Yup! Good night folks – may you find love where you least expect it, and in the smallest of things! Happy Valentine’s Day.
On Tour: Beyond Darkness: Shattered by Sarah M. Cradit
The long anticipated novella sequel to The Storm and the Darkness is now available across most major online retailers!
Coming Soon: Itunes, Sony, Diesel
Anasofiya Deschanel fled to Maine to escape her mistakes. She learned quickly, and violently, you cannot run from what’s inside you.
Following a series of unfortunate events, Ana finds herself drowning in the consequences of actions which left her heart cruelly divided between the St. Andrews brothers. Jon’s embrace of darkness soon turns to dangerous cruelty, while Finn’s kind heart offers a promise of love she does not feel she deserves. Between all three of them lies a secret with the potential to change everything.
When the truth comes crashing down, Ana is forced to face the same demons she once ran from. As she learns more about who she is, and the situation she’s created, these realizations drive her to a desperate decision that will change everyone’s lives, forever.
Character Teasers
The House of Crimson and Clover
The Sullivans, a family of hard-working Irish lawyers, came from nothing and built a life they can be proud of. The Deschanels amassed incredible wealth by siding with the North during the Civil War, betraying their people. Both New Orleans families have a dark and rich history, painted with secrets, treachery, and colorful, supernatural abilities.
The House of Crimson and Clover unravels the mysteries surrounding both families, pulling us further into their tangled, enigmatic lives.
While the series is meant to be treated as one long narrative, each book can stand alone and be enjoyed without having read the other books. I’ve created pages for each of the books in the series, with story descriptions and other info.
Recommended Reading Order:
Series Prequel- St. Charles at Dusk
Book 1- The Storm and the Darkness
Book 1.5- Beyond Darkness: Shattered
Book 2- The Illusions of Eventide
Book 2.5- Beyond Eventide: Bound
(More on the horizon…)
Also, read what reviewers are saying about The House of Crimson & Clover
On Tour: Dreams of Love by Pamela Beckford
Description: Poetry is an expression from deep within the soul. It can be therapeutic and healing. It can bring out all the best or the worst in life. Her poetry comes from the heart, not the head. It is an outpouring of emotion and she exposes it to reader in the pages.
Various poetry forms are explored: free verse, tanka (5-7-5-7-7), doidotsu (7-7-7-5) and etheree (1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10).
Dreams of Love
Dreams of you and me
Together in ev’ry way
Your lips pressed to mine
Assuring me of your love
Dreams of love eternally
Purchase here!
Pamela began writing poetry in just the last year. She is a nonprofit executive by day and spends her hours trying to be sure that everyone has a chance for a good life. Pamela is passionate about her job and it spills over into her writing. Dreams of Love is her debut poetry collection. Pamela feels that poetry can be very personal but invites you into her soul as you read her poems.
Visit the Author!
The Sea
We live by the sea. It is just beyond us, really – a few kilometers away, over hill and heath – but it’s always there. Always breathing, always glaring or shimmering, depending on its mood.
That’s what she would say. That it had moods.
You can just see it from the kitchen window. It is a small thing, that window: square, flanked by bleached muslin and crowded with delicacies she would unearth from the water. Yet, often I would find her, standing there, elbow-deep in suds, just staring out at the sea.
And then one day, she wasn’t.
Madeline was like no other woman I had ever known. Eyes the color of sea glass and rich dark hair down to her waist, she was not so much exotic as simply the essence of everything beautiful in my heart. We courted and married in a scandalously short amount of time, but it didn’t matter. We were alone in the world, and had only ourselves to make happy. Yet, even then, I wondered.
In the darkest part of the night, I would feel her moving silently against her pillow, twisting the sheets. Tiny breaths would betray the angst that chased her through the night. Dreams haunted her, she said. Snatches of the day, of the life she’d led before followed her in sleep – sweet or painful, they were ghosts.
Now, I think I’m the ghost. I came home after a long two days in the city to find our little cottage empty. I called to her. Nothing. Something did not feel right – nothing was askew, and yet I knew: she’d gone.
I wandered down to the sea. I had help. Along the path she always took were trinkets I’d given her – nothing priceless, just things she kept stashed amid the beautiful flotsam she picked up along the beach. There was the string of beads made of driftwood from some distant shore. I found the silk scarf I gave her for Valentine’s next. Dyed in muted hues of blue, green and grey, she wept when she saw it – and never wore it. It reminded her too much of home, she said. It was draped over a bit of bramble marking the turn to the dunes.
I would dream of this. Of her gone. That she’d found it. Those were the dreams that haunted my sleep, that made me wake up in a sweat. That she found her skin and returned home.
And she had.
My Selkie. My sweet Madeline. Gone. Back to the sea, back to the life she had once traded for me. The sun dipped below the dunes and the sky was streaked in red when I saw it – saw her: a sleek head bobbing in the water. She stayed there, just out of reach, until the last of the light died. And as she dipped beneath the waves, I heard her voice, echoing within my heart, telling me one last time, goodbye.
For Papi Z’s Lucky 13 Prompt: “I found the silk scarf I gave her for Valentine’s next” 500 word flash fiction.
D: Well, aren’t you cheerful.
A: What? I thought you would appreciate a bit of the old tales.
D: Oh, I do – it’s just not something I would expect from you, that’s all.
A: Not everything is Mel Brooks send-ups or snark, D.
D: . . . It isn’t?
A: (Eye roll) In other Valentine’s News . . .
D: Oh, wait! I got this! Marie and John have put together a Top-Ten List for what not to do on Valentine’s Day.
A: You sound really excited about that, D.
D: Well, Mairead and I didn’t have to maneuver around this type of thing when we were courting. We were, you know, pagan. Saints of any name didn’t have much sway with us, unless they were gods before the church made them saints (Bridget, here’s lookin’ at you, kid).
A: Nice, D. And now?
D: Well, it’s a whole new world, and from what I understand from reading ahead in the story you’ve crafted about my future – totally from whole cloth too, might I add – Mairead is nearly ready to forgive me. I need all the help I can get.
A: Indeed, you do – if I recall correctly, Mairead was rather adept with a knife . . . and knows her way around a variety of herbal remedies.
D: Don’t be giving her ideas, woman!
A: Oh, no, of course not. For the non-Valentine’s among you, this post, 5 Horrible Valentine’s Day Cards, at The Queen Creative is perfect!
D: You loved those, didn’t you?
A: I did. I really really did. I actually want to send a few of those.
D: I fear for you.
A: Gee, thanks D. And that, my friends, is it. Have a great evening and thank you so much for reading!
Can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?
We’ve gone to play, everything’s A-Okay,
Friendly neighbors there,
That’s where we meet…
D: Seriously, A?
A: Oh so seriously, D.
D: Only you, woman. Only you.
A: Indeed! Join us over at Green Embers Recommends for our two-cents (or 5) on our very own celebrity crushes . . . on Sesame Street!
Living Musically
2014 is going to be my year, not of living dangerously, but musically.
I have a fair amount of music. Granted, much of it comes from soundtracks. I can’t seem to help myself. Perhaps it’s my way of reliving the movie, or as I used to do as a child, scripting my life and having my very own soundrack. Whatever the reason, I’m staring down 2336 songs, and that’s just what I allow on the iPod. There are perhaps another 1000 that don’t see the light of day except between October and December because they’re holiday songs . . . or Il Divo.
Of that 2336, I listen to about 100 regularly. A glance at my “recently played” and “most played” reads like a funeral gone majestic. With some calls for revolution thrown in for kicks.
So, here’s my challenge to myself (something similar to a New Years Resolution, but fun): queue the iPod to “all songs,” shuffled, on the way into work. That averages about 9 songs, which is great, given how many work days are left in the year. Admittedly, that is an imperfect calculation because I suck at math, but you get the idea. Each Friday, I’m going to feature the song of the week, one song of the many that I’ve rediscovered or has given something resembling meaning to my day.
I’m only doing this on the way in to work, mind. The day always starts out so hopeful, but on the way home there are going to be days I just want to listen to Florence + The Machine or Misty Mountains on repeat, challenge be damned.
This week’s favorites:
Oh, What a World, Rufus Wainwright – I forgot how much I enjoyed this song, and Rufus, and this song.
Craic was 90 on the Isle of Man, Christy Moore – I didn’t even know I had this song until it came on this morning.
The Pitch, Moulin Rouge – Because Jim Broadbent makes me smile.
Always Look on the Bright Side of Life, Monty Python – Because at 6:15 in the morning, scraping the car in -4 temperatures, hearing crazy Brits sing is probably the best thing to get you through the day.
Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar), The Doors – I loved it long before I heard it in At World’s End, but now that association make it even more fun.
And the winner:
Oh, What a World, Rufus Wainwright
In other News
D: So, I get no say in this year of living musically?
A: No.
D: Not even—
A: No.
D: Sheesh, tough crowd this morning.
A: Crowd? It’s just you and me, D.
D: And the guys in your head bantering about the non-sparkly vampires, per Papi’s Prompt.
A: (Coming to a Dialogue blog near you on Saturday) . . . that still doesn’t count. Anyway . . .
D: Don’t look at me like that, woman. I’m not going to interrupt again. Now who’s slowing down the show?
A: Right. So, the wonderful Helena Hann-Basquiat, and her wicked alter-ego, Jessica B. Bell have some fantastic news: The Best Medicine and Three Cigarettes are now available on Amazon for .99 each. Check them out, buy them, devour them, review them.
D: Not only that but, Pamela at Poetry by Pamela has published a collection of her love poems, Dreams of Love. Congratulations, Pamela!
A: Indeed, Congratulations, Pamela – the book looks beautiful, and I know your poetry is lovely. Elsewhere, Green has an incredibly funny post on the joys (or is that dangers?) of being a singleton on the internet. How he deals with them is hilarious.
D: How do you deal with that kind of thing?
A: I don’t – I have yet to be accosted by fake people on the interwebs.
D: That’s just sad.
A: Right? Instead I’m accosted by fake people in my head.
D: Wow, that’s rough. . . hey, wait–
A: And on that note, I hope everyone has a fantastic day! Happy Friday!
Docile
Picture Courtesy Google Images, labeled for commercial reuse.
The Zombie looked to the left and immediately regretted it. There was Jenny, from Human Resources.
She was after him, he just knew it.
Not after him, like he’d broken the rules . . . again . . . but after him, like she dug the skin-peeling, gangrene-smelling, reanimated corpse look.
Bill-Z in Accounting said she had a dominance thing. She liked the fact that Zombies – or Zs – were docile.
Then what was she doing, going after him? He was docile, sure. It was tough to avoid the medical cocktail that made Zs productive members of the workforce, but there was never a company rule he met that he didn’t want to break.
It wasn’t his fault. The man he’d been before the Change had nearly taken down the firm dodging the SEC, the NSA, and the FBI, to name a few. But man, it had been fun, and the money he’d made. . . .
Nah, those days were gone. Joining the ranks of the Z was meant to “forgive” the faults of one’s humanity.
And forgiveness meant he was now fodder for Jenny in Human Resources. Because he was docile. Right?
No. Bill-Z in Accounting was docile.
“She liked to tell me I’d been a bad boy,” Bill-Z told him once while they lingered over the manufactured meat product cooler. “And I just never could. I’m not a bad boy, Zeke.”
So, that was Jenny’s game. The punishment factor. Yeah, he’d been a bad boy, once upon a time. He had been a fast-talking corporate shark with a yen for pretty young things – man or woman, it didn’t matter, just so long as everyone was having a good time.
And everyone had a good time with Zeke. Even now, he could still throw down. Sometimes. Usually it was his left arm, but it always got a laugh out of someone.
Every once in a while, he thought the stiffs up north had a point: to be a Z was to be enslaved. We didn’t start out docile, they said. The docs had to cure the overwhelming hunger for living flesh and the need to feast on brains.
Of course, a new Z rarely got a chance to say no to the cure – it was done within the first three minutes of the Change. Those that weren’t seen to . . . well, they were up north, talkin’ hot but keepin’ chill.
How’s that for a resistance movement slogan?
Huh. Up north.
Maybe.
But maybe he could have one last fling before he ditched this land of endless cubicles.
He looked back at Jenny and winked.
Yeah baby. I’ve been a real bad boy.
***
D: There is a modern phrase your people use, which I think describes your response to Papi Z’s prompt, “The Zombie looked to his left and. . . “ beautifully.
A: Pray tell.
D: You are sick in the head, woman.
A: Since I talk to you on a regular basis, I’m pretty sure everyone already knows.
D: I understand. But sometimes saying it keeps the night-terrors at bay.
A: (Eye-roll) Whatever helps you sleep at night, D. Personally, I kind of like Zeke.
D: I can’t believe you gave him that name. I can’t believe you invited a zombie into your head as a character. He’s stinking up the place, A.
A: Oh, cut him some slack – he hasn’t made it up north yet, and Jenny did give him a run for his money.
D: Words cannot describe how vile that is.
A: Well, while you’re speechless, I’m going to share some tidbits with the good people. You okay with that.
D: (retching noises).
A: Oh, that’s just gross, D. Anyone would think you haven’t seen someone’s arm come off before. Geeze.
Anyway, Charles is organizing a February Giveaway and has a donation request for the published authors out there.
D: And SK Nicholls is giving an autographed paperback copy of her book, Red Clay and Roses away at Goodreads.
A: The Community Storyboard has some amazing news: IT’S BACK!! Ready and raring to go with new guidelines, the Community Storyboard is once again accepting submissions. Check it out!
D: Speaking of wonderful places, with wonderful people, Ionia, at Readful Things, featured A and I as bloggers of the week last week. It was so unexpected, and so delightful, both of us are still smiling about it.
A: He’s not wrong (for once). Thank you Ionia! We love you! We also love The Year Long Story project at Line by Line, which she has put together with Julian.
D: Not to mention her ponderings at Ionia’s Thought Catalogue. which is a window into, as she says, the crap that doesn’t fit into her main blog. Gotta love a woman who’s so honest!
A: Speaking of honest, and delightful – the woman who may or may not be the most reliable narrator (but no one cares because her narration among the most amazing I have ever read) is out with a new Jessica B. Bell story, Eat My Pussy.
D: . . .
A: Stop snickering, D. Seriously, how old are you?
D: Chronologically or bodily?
A: . . .
D: That was rhetorical, wasn’t it?
A: Yeah. Anyway, go read Helena’s story, AND the continuation of the Bayou Bonhomme serial, and when you are done with those (believe me, you’ll gobble them up) check out the fact that Volume 1 of her memoirs are about to debut. Last I checked, she was looking for cover reveal volunteers! I’m so excited for her, D!
D: Me to. And not just because she titles some of her stories—
A: That’s enough, D.
D: Killjoy.
A: Takes one to know one.
D: Point taken.
A: And, case rested. That’s all for tonight, folks! Thank you for reading and have a wonderful evening!
It Lives!
D: Picture it, if you will – a bent figure emerges from a nest of blankets and coffee cups. It stumbles. Its legs are weak and it is nearly overcome by the debris that surrounds it.
It is A.
She went into the weekend an uncertain warrior, and has emerged. . .
Victorious!
5 signs you’ve taken writerly hibernation too far:
1. You’ve been sitting at your desk so long, the cats start to think of it as sacred space, and start sacrificing their mouse-toys to your benevolence.
2. The furnace dies, lights start winking out throughout the house and you’re pretty sure it may be the end of days in glacier form outside your door, but damn, this is a good bit and you just can’t stop now.
3. You shun email and any other form of communication for so long that you’re thinking a ‘scorched earth’ policy might not be so bad – that can work in cyberspace, right? Right?!
4. You realize it’s a good thing you made a casserole or two before you closed the door on human interaction, otherwise your child might have been SOL when it came to dinner.
D: True story. TC came wandering by at some hour past dark declaring himself hungry. His mother’s reaction (which, remarkably was not to tell him to invade turkey)? Mumbling something resembling: Yeah, food. Just a sec. Five hours later he’s had dinner, desert and whatever else he could rustle up in the fridge, and A is still buried beneath her blankets clacking away at the laptop.
A: I was at a good part.
D: The beauty of this list is that the entire weekend was a ‘good part.’
A: I know. I’m excited.
D: Aside from the fact that I think you killed me –
A: Oi! Spoilers, Druid. And I did not. I’m still editing that bit.
5. A song that is not harmonious with the predominantly soundtrack-like playlist you’ve developed for your writing somehow pops up. Under normal circumstances, you love this song. However, during witerly hibernation, your reaction is to break into tears because you were so close, and jab at the iPod until something far more pleasing appears.
D:This may be accompanied by muttering and swearing, and it may cause your child to raise his eyebrows and back slowly out of the room.
A: He did not – only when he started singing along with one of the songs, which may or may not have induced me to snarl at him, was there any attempt to tiptoe around the writer.
D: And then someone accused you of listening to a dirge.
A: Well, it was a bit intense.
D: A bit?
A: Okay, so OD-ing on The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug soundtrack, and Florence + The Machines for three days straight may have been overkill (if you aren’t me and you don’t have a penchant for dirge-like music to begin with).
D: And then you went and added the Henry V soundtrack to the mix.
A: At least I left Braveheart out.
D: Thank the gods for small mercies – I’m not sure smearing yourself with woad and shouting “Freedom” would be all that conducive to your efforts.
A: Actually…
D: That’s an experiment for a different list, A.
A: Killjoy.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to listen to Thorin wax deeply lyrical about misty mountains cold and figure out just which Irish ‘otherworld’ D has managed to lose himself in! Good night, folks and thank you so much for reading!
The D/A Dialogues 
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