The song remembers when

When you have a child who is completely wrapped up in his/her passion, it's hard not to be dragged into it as well, which is why I'm so engulfed in music these days. Music has always been significant in my life - doesn't everyone have a favorite song or group? But now, thanks to Marcus, I notice the soundtrack to every movie and TV show, I listen to the complexity of the chords, and I try to catalogue the genre.

Before, I just gave it thumbs up, or thumbs down.

A couple of weeks ago, the VHS choir held "Cabaret Night" - an evening of songs in an intimate setting, with desserts and hot drinks at intermission. The students selected the theme, Music from the Soul, and contained songs that meant something to them.

Each song was introduced, by either the soloist or a member of the group, to explain to the audience why it was chosen. I was touched by the selections and their reasons. One girl chose a song because she had moved so much as a child that, once her family settled, she found she had to work at her friendships, to tear down the walls that protected her heart. One girl spoke of her pain when her parents divorced and sang a song about finding your love once in your life. And one boy described liking a girl and not knowing what to say to her.

I started thinking about all the songs that meant something to me in my life. There are a couple of categories of these. One kind is the songs that bring back specific memories. The ones that you always associate with a specific time and place, no matter how many times you hear them.

When I hear Love's Theme from Barry White's Love Unlimited Orchestra, I picture myself in an apartment in Decatur, Illinois, looking out the window at the snow on the ground, waiting for my first husband to come home from work. I can smell dinner cooking. It was a happy time in our marriage, before it all went sour.

The Who's Won't Get Fooled Again makes me visualize Route 48 between Oreana and Decatur; I'm driving to the county fair in my 1972 MG Midget. The top is down and I'm blasting the song on my little AM radio.

The other category of song is the one that gives you the grand Aha! moment. We get Ahas in lots of ways, but there's something about words put to music that pushes the message past your brain into your heart.

My first was when I was seventeen. It's not bragging for me to say that I had been a Good Little Girl growing up. Pleasing my parents meant the world to me, so I got good grades and I stayed out of trouble and I did everything I was asked to do, or at least 90 percent of the time. The problem was that my mother wanted to live vicariously through me, so it wasn't enough. I needed to dress the way she wanted and do the things she wanted and think the way she wanted. As I grew older, I was increasingly discontent, but didn't know why. I was everyone's dream - except mine.

One day I heard Sunshine, by Jonathan Edwards. Sounds like a happy song, but the words are:

Sunshine, go away today
I don't feel much like dancing
Some man's gone and tried to run my life
He don't know what he's asking.

To me, it was an upbeat tune about a guy who's discovered his anger and is excited to be finally standing up for himself. It took a lot of years for me to get where he was, but this song helped me put the finger on what wasn't working in my life.


Songs served me in that capacity for a long time. I didn't know how unhappy I was in my second marriage until I listened to Bruce Springsteen. It wasn't one song, although The River stands out, with its line, "is a dream a lie if it don't come true, or is it something worse?" His early albums touched a yearning for intimacy, for emotional stability, for things my relationship was missing. Until I listened to him, it's not that I was unhappy - it's that I didn't know I was unhappy. I thought I was an ungrateful wife who had everything a girl could want, except a husband with whom she could share herself.

In the past few years, one song reaches out and twists my heart into a knot. The Dixie Chicks' Godspeed is a simple lullaby to a little boy. "Sweet dreams little man," Natalie Maines croons. "Oh, my love will fly to you each night on angel's wings." Not only did I have my own little boy to think about when that song debuted, but my dear friends had just lost their 6-year old son to leukemia. The simple words about Superman in pajamas on the couch, blessing Mommy and Matchbox Cars, were so descriptive of being parent to a little boy - it broke my heart to think that my friends could no longer enjoy their kiddo. It's been six or seven years now, and I still weep when I hear it.

What about you? What songs take you someplace special? Which ones opened your eyes to your life? I'd love to hear your stories.

And now, a word from our sponsor

I need to tell you all what a wonderful time I had last weekend, but I fear I must proselytize first. But don't be afraid - it has a little something to do with books, in a roundabout way.

This past Friday night, my son's choir sang the National Anthem at the L.A. Galaxy's soccer game. It was a very important game; as the Major Soccer League Western Conference Finals, it would be televised on ESPN2.

My son is actually in three choirs at school - this is the VHS Vocal Jazz choir, an audition only group. He auditioned for them as a freshman and didn't get in, then worked his butt off to get in as a sophomore, and has been a part of the group ever since. Here's a video of last year's crew (Sonny Boy is the 2nd soloist):



Many of the kids graduated, so this year is populated by new recruits, all strong singers, and all inexperienced at performing in front of 25,000 people, PLUS knowing it will be televised to who-knows-how-many soccer fans (not to mention friends and family across the country).

As the choir booster club president, I helped with tickets, chauffeured the kids to the game, and helped out where the choir director needed me. As a repayment, I got to go down on the soccer field and watch the sound check. (Side note: That field is ENORMOUS.)

I told kids not to expect too much from the televised aspect of their performance. Having watched plenty of sports events with my hubby, I know the cameras do not caress the singer's face for the whole song. They pan the crowd, the players, and sometimes even the flag.

I also know how distressing a TV appearance can be. When I was a flying angel at the Crystal Cathedral's Glory of Christmas, the local news interviewed me. I raced home to see my snippet and was appalled. I realize I have fairly large teeth, but they seemed to leap out of my mouth at the camera with every word I spoke. Actually, it reminded me of someone...

But I digress.

Back at the soccer field, the kids were excited. They were nervous. When it came time to sing, they were magnificent. Their voices rose, strong and reverent, as fireworks went off behind them. It was a great moment.

It also wasn't televised. ESPN2 decided to cut to commercial, rather than show the singing of the National Anthem.

I wasn't disappointed, except to feel badly for the kids who had told Grandma to tune in at 8:00 p.m. But it nagged at me, for another reason.

This game was on November 13th, two days after Veteran's Day. Two days after we've trotted out our Sunday finest to honor the men and women who fought for their country and lived to tell the tale. Two days after our neighborhoods hoisted their flags and held ceremonies.

Two days later and a national TV channel (owned by Disney, I believe) cannot be bothered to display a couple of minutes of patriotism if it means one less commercial spot. For all their millions, they'd still rather have the money.

No, I'm not surprised, but color me disgusted.

What does this have to do with books? It has a lot to do with the marketing, I think. If I were in the MLS public relations department, I'd be demanding that the National Anthem be televised at any MLS broadcast. Why?

Because soccer is not perceived as an American sport. It's regional, at best, for kids. We live in California, so my son played it, from the time he was six until this year. By contrast, it wasn't really an offering for my brother's kids in Illinois - they were more about baseball and basketball. If the Major Soccer League wants to increase its visibility, its attendance at games, its viewers on TV, and ultimately its revenues, it needs to hook into the American consciousness.

One way I'd think they could do this is to market soccer as an American sport. The subliminal message of hearing the National Anthem prior to a soccer game is just one way to start turning the public's mind around, as in, "Hey, Martha, guess what? Americans play soccer!"

Oh, and maybe stop hiring these guys. They may be good, but the country will rally behind home-grown talent before they warm up to the European blood.

So the good thing about Friday night was, I began to think about marketing on more levels. I use the internet, both in direct selling and social networking. At bookstores and festivals, etc, I can hand sell books fairly easily. But what am I missing? What little piece of my novel could be used to sell books? What can I use to reach a more global market?

What about you? If you're an author, what are you using to market your books? If you're a reader, what kind of marketing makes you go out and buy? Even better, what kind of campaign makes you run away?

Grrrr.

I thought today's post had nothing to do with writing, but maybe I'm mistaken.

I know, alert the media.

This weekend, I worked a car wash to raise funds for my son's choir. I'm the booster club president this year, so I kind of supervised things and made decisions and counted the money. Although the kids worked hard, they seemed to have fun and it was great to see them bonding, especially at the start of the school year.

For me, it was kind of like a book signing or other festival, where I'm talking to potential customers, schmoozing and laughing and having a good time. I sometimes wonder how I still manage to think of myself as a shy person, when as soon as I'm in a crowd, my mouth just starts flapping.

Many wonderful people came to get their cars washed. Some gave us more than our advertised price ($5 for cars, $7 for the big stuff). One man walked over and gave us five dollars as a donation. A few of the customers were alumni of our high school (Valencia H.S. in Placentia - Go Tigers!), and one lady has twins at VHS in their sophomore year. They were gracious, chatty, and eager to help us earn a little money.

And then this guy showed up.

"Your kids aren't very friendly," he said. "No one's greeted me."

"We'll greet you," I told him. I looked down the parking lot at the kids. "They seem to be a little occupied with washing cars."

He took a five dollar bill out of his wallet and I looked at his vehicle. It was an SUV, about the size of my hubby's Ford Escape.

"SUVs are seven dollars," I said.

He held onto his bill. "Well, then never mind. I can get my car washed for five somewhere else. It's not big enough for seven dollars."

My smile froze as I considered my options:

1. Explain to him that this is a fund raiser to help our children survive a school year where budget cuts have forced us to raise money so our teacher can make copies and what kind of louse begrudges a charity two extra dollars?

2. End our tug-of-war over the bill and encourage him to go find his Five Dollar Shangri-La.

3. Shut up and take the money.

The pity of it is, at the end of the day, it was five dollars more than we had, so I took the last course. I gave in, wished him well (to his face), and called him a jackass (behind his back). The good news is, he didn't complain about the quality of the wash.

Out of the entire wonderful, blessed, happy day, that man still leaves a nasty film on my memory. The only way I can clean it off is to write about it, which makes this post all about the writing. From exorcising our demons to expressing our joy, if we can pour our emotions on the page, it keeps us from exploding.

Maybe that guy will end up in the next novel - as one of my victims…

Bend me, shape me, any way you want me

Printer's Row Lit Fest is happening this weekend in Chicago. I had never heard of this until I began my journey with Freezer Burn. My book is, theoretically, available for sale; I sold 17 copies at the LA Times Festival of Books, and I could be selling it in Chicago this weekend.






Except that I can't go, which truly sucks because I love Chicago.

Fortunately, I have a wonderful publisher, Karen Syed, who is taking copies of Freezer Burn with her, along with some promo materials and clear labels with my signature to affix for those who want an autograph.

So why can't I just hop on a plane and travel 2000 miles? Because today is my son's spring choir concert. The end of the year concert is a big deal at Valencia High School. Any senior (in one of the choirs) who wants to sing a solo is given the opportunity. Yes, it means there are a few clunkers, and YES, the show is about a million hours long, but it's lovely and fun and poignant and a Don't Miss.

On Monday, I will escort the VHS Just Jazz vocal group to my former employer, Raytheon, to sing at a Diversity Luncheon, then I'll scramble about to get the choir's end-of-the-year banquet set up. It's been a tough year for the choir; the Guvernator slashed and burned through school budgets, wounding the arts severely, and the economy kept most parents from writing as many donation checks as in years past. The banquet this year is a potluck, and we're happy to get that.

So there's the beginning of my dilemma. Next year, my son is a senior in high school. I will be the president of the VHS Choir Booster Club. And I will have a book to sell.

See this picture?

That's me on the left. To the right, you'll notice every woman's unholy trinity – family, home, career. For the next year, I'll be waking up to these questions every morning:

1. What events in my son's life am I willing to sacrifice in order to increase my book sales?
2. What promotional and sales opportunities am I willing to sacrifice in order to be there for my son?
3. Where does my relationship with my husband fit into all this?
4. Where can I find a good housecleaner?

If I could, this is how I'd resolve my problem:

Before it turns into this:

Thoughts, anyone?

Missing: I once was lost but now I'm found!

I feel like I spent last week in a weird bubble - the bubble of leading the VHS Choir dinner theater. No, I wasn't in charge of the music, but I was in charge of everything else. We did two nights and managed to get people seated, fed, and entertained. Unfortunately, I didn't do anything else (with the exception of writing my column), which is why I can't find the floor of my family room from the clutter and I've got two weeks' worth of laundry looming.

But I'm back now, and I'm going to take a day to relax a little before I jump into taming the chaos, partly because I feel like I've been rode hard and put away wet, but mostly because today's my birthday.

Yes, feel free to raise a glass - you can toast anything you want. If we ever meet, just tell me you wished me well. I share this birthday with one of my favorite writers EVAH, the lovely and talented Erma Bombeck. Erma would have been 82 today, had she lived. She passed away April 22, 1996 from complications due to a kidney transplant.

My kidneys seem to be still firing on all cylinders, and I'm not quite as old. How old am I? Hold your left hand up about a foot from your face, palm forward, fingers separated. Now hold your right hand up to mirror your left hand. Now wiggle your hands back and forth while keeping your arms quiet. What have you got? Jazz hands! Also two-fives. Double nickels. The speed limit on some freeways.

That's right. I'm "jazz hands" old.

So time is ticking, people! I've got to get more written, more published, more sold! Freezer Burn will be released this fall, but in the meantime, Echelon Press has published an anthology, MISSING, to benefit the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. I have a story in the mix, "Cleaning up at the Franks," starring my P.I., Peri Minneopa. If you'd like to meet Peri early and support an organization dedicated to finding lost children, order your copy by clicking here.

Before I go, do you have an author or other artist with whom you feel an extra bond, whether it's a shared birthday, or a hometown, or even a food allergy? I'd love to hear from others who feel that special attraction to an artist's work, only to find out later that they share a common bond.

I'd love to stay and chat, but I got stuff ta do!