June Jubilee Author/Reader Mix

It's been a very hectic month around here, but still, I'm enjoying the time I can find to participate in Coffee Time Romance's June Jubilee celebration in their forums. Romance writers of several sub-genres are mingling with readers, giving away prizes, and talking about their hobbies.

I'm there, giving away another music and dance soaps gift set as a raffle for anyone who replies to my post. ;-) I'm also involved in the hobbies discussion under music, art, collecting, sewing, and movies (so far).

Drop in if you get the chance and tell them LKHunsaker sent you (the reference will help get your membership approved faster -- they are careful to avoid spammers).

http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/board/forumdisplay.php?f=15

Pirates at the World's End: a pre-review with no spoilers

I'm going to be careful. How I can review this movie without throwing spoilers, I'm not sure, so I think I'll do a better one later after everyone interested has had the chance to see it.
And if you're not interested, you should be.

I have to say I was shocked to find such a horrid review of it on msn last night. It left me wondering if the critic and I saw the same movie! I put it down to one reality of media: many critics think they have to be overly-critical for people to think they are doing their jobs right, or to make themselves sound more intelligent than they are. One of his objections was that we all KNEW Captain Jack didn't actually perish in the last one and would be back again. Forgive the vulgarness of the following comment, but ... DUH!

Pirates of the Caribbean is fantasy action/adventure ... fiction. We know this going in. We know we are not going to see a documentary or a drama that has to make more sense than real life. Of course Captain Jack returns. Who would go see it if he didn't??? The question was ... how does he return and what happens when he does?

The movie's opening tells us, "Hey, we're making a point about history in this film. Pay attention!" There were so many comments about the second of the series not being as good as the first. Why? Because the first was pure fun, with a few one-liners signifying they were trying to make a statement, as well. The second drew more meaning into the plot: things like the East Indie Trading Company and what it was actually doing to the world and to the working people. Things such as what happens when honor and morality break down and who is really on the "wrong" side and IS there actually a "wrong" side or simply an "other" side. Who is more villainous, really? The third adds another question, a very important question, but I won't say it here because it would be a spoiler for some.

The series is full of philosophy and psychology and history and the third one brings that out further. At World's End is nearly 3 hours long, but I found myself not ready for it to end. It's an incredible journey into so many facets of human life that one viewing is only the start. It will take several viewings of this movie to really "get" it all. It also takes a bit of brain power, and in so saying, some will not like it because of that; because it forces us to think if we're really paying attention to it. There are such incredible single lines scattered at the appropriate points that I'm in awe of the writers. It's a work of brilliance, which I'm sure will be largely overlooked. Just as literary fiction, only a handful of the population will sincerely appreciate what it offers.

Pirates of the Caribbean is not only fantasy action-adventure. It is literary fantasy action-adventure.

After three hours of the movie, combined with an hour of waiting in line first to be sure we had good seats, I was ready to buy tickets for the 10:45 show and go right back in. My kids, however, were not willing. Kids. I'll have to fight myself not to go back today. And the next day. And the day after. But I will be going back to see it and taking anyone willing to go with me.

And I'll be at the store the day it comes out on DVD.

The following quote is from a different movie, but it's really appropriate for Pirates, also:

"If we stop breathing, we die.
If we stop fighting our enemies, the world would die."
from Casablanca

Win a Custom Candle&Soaps Gift Basket!

LKHunsaker.com is joining forces with SchoolCornerCrafts.com!

Rehearsal-themed candles and soaps are being created especially for this drawing. Included will be a pillar music notes candle, a treble clef soap, and 3 precious ballerina soaps. The music items will have a rain scent while the soaps will smell of rose (anyone who has read the novel understands the significance of these scents).

All you have to do to enter is to subscribe to the Newsletter:www.lkhunsaker.com/newsletter.htm

The drawing will take place June 3rd and will use writing.com's virtual dice to select a random number. That number will be used to count from the top of the email list of everyone who is subscribed on that date. (Family members of LKHunsaker.com and SchoolCornerCrafts.com are not eligible. A second number will be chosen if it lands on a family member.)

The newsletter is brand new, with the first issue coming out in a few days, and will highlight the arts, mainly the indie arts, and keep you up-to-date with the writings and appearances of LK Hunsaker. It will be sporadic, as needed for updates, and not likely to exceed once a month. It will also never share email addresses with anyone. Go to the link above to subscribe and to unsubscribe.

Photos of the gift package will be posted when available. In the meantime, go to www.schoolcornercrafts.com to view examples of the custom-made candles and soaps.

Stay tuned for further contests and drawings! Some may only be announced within the newsletter.

Good luck!
LK Hunsaker

Who Are You?

"Attaining inner simplicity is learning to live happily in the present moment. Keep in mind that life is a continuous succession of present moments."
Elaine St. James

As I watch the views for my blog grow, I find myself wondering who is reading my words. This entry isn't about me or my thoughts or my work. It's about you. We all have stories. Share a piece of yours, if you will.

I used to get a newspaper that had short clips of life moments featured for local readers. I loved that more than anything else in the paper. They contained the most truth. I would love to do a version of it here. Write one or two sentences that reflects something about who you are. Many of us are parents, grandparents, writers, managers, laborers, etc. but that doesn't give us a clue about "who" is behind the roles we play.

Who are you?

Post anonymously if you prefer (please keep it PG rated), but give me some idea about the inner soul of those reading these words. I am fascinated by people. You never know if something I read will wind up in a story in some way.

live creatively free

To live creatively free, do what you know how to do now then 'act as if' you know how to do the rest."
Sark

How closely should art force itself to follow reality?

In many ways, art has to be more real than reality. Fiction has to make sense to readers. Life doesn't have to make sense. In fiction, each story has a beginning, a climax, and an ending where everything comes together in some kind of tidy manner. Life isn't so tidy. Things don't make that much sense in our real worlds. The problem comes when the two mix and mingle, such as in historical novels and movies.

300, the film starring Gerard Butler, an actor who is finally getting mainstream recognition after many years of being largely and unfairly ignored, is getting incredible reviews. The story of the few trying to overcome the many has echoes of so many situations we see on a daily basis that it has become irresistable to audiences. Let me say first that I have yet to see it. I will. It's actually one I would wait for the video since, although I love history, I don't watch many war movies of any kind. I do have plans to see it in the theater, though, simply to help support this actor and help push him further into mainstream view. I like that it doesn't have a bunch of huge names in it, also. The focus here seems to be the story line and acting ability instead of name-dropping. I have to appreciate that.

I did read one review of a history buff whose son (also a history buff) went to see it and came back complaining that it was historically inaccurate. I found myself on both sides of the issue. I also love history. I feel it's very important to understand history if we are to understand the present and future. However, I'm also a fiction writer and understand the basic elements stories have to have in order to pull and mesmerize audiences. The intended audience for such a film expects action and splendor and scenery (which kind of scenery may depend on gender) and without it, regardless of how historically accurate it might be, the reviews won't move it past the preview weekend.

The point of a movie, its main theme, is what an audience will remember if it's done well. Does the director's vision for what s/he wants the audience take home allow the right to artistically recreate history? Maybe. What is the point of knowing history? Remembering each detail or learning from its message? I tend to think it's the message that's important. Memorizing each date of each event in high school and college history classes seemed insane to me. They weren't going to be remembered past the test date. However, what I got from the story of it, I kept.

Movies are fiction, unless they are specifically labelled as documentaries. If they make us stop and think, then maybe we'll go do the research ourselves. If we don't research, then we at least get the main point of the story. There is not one historical novel, including those hailed as classics, that does not play with historical fact to make it work within the story. Does it invalidate the history? Of course not. Will it lead readers to do more research on the time period to get more actual facts? Not very often. Most readers and viewers want entertainment. If they can learn a fact or two along with it, that's great, but those who want non-fiction read non-fiction or watch documentaries instead.

By the way, it's hard to tell how much of what we learn in our history books is actual history, as well. It's all slanted by whoever is telling the tale and by the individual teachers injecting their personal opinions. History always has been. Are the facts actual facts? Were they fictionalized in the first place to make them more interesting? Possibly.

Nothing written or spoken is ever done without the viewpoint of the writer or speaker involved. Nothing heard is ever taken in without the viewpoint of the one doing the hearing mixing it with personal opinion. At least in fiction, we are saying outright, "This is not fact. This is a story of my own creation in which I mixed real things with non-real things with imagination with personal opinion with belief with wants with needs...." Will the reader still get something worthwhile out of it? Of course.

A Walk In The Garden

"I try to live what I consider a poetic existence. That means I take responsibility for the air I breathe and the space I take up. I try to be immediate, to be totally present for all my work."
Maya Angelou

As any gardener knows, a simple walk in the garden is never simple. The beauty others see upon viewing the results of her work cannot compare to the thoughts of the gardener while walking along her flowers. She sees not only the hours of work already put in, but also the hours yet to come and the details she is not quite happy with that she wonders how to improve.

In a way, her garden is more beautiful to her than to anyone viewing it in passing. In another way, it can never be quite as beautiful as others see.

Other artists understand her. Painters visit an art gallery and see the work lying behind each piece. They listen to compliments of their own work and burke the thoughts of knowing what could have been done better. Dancers feel the pulling of muscles and strains and fatigue while watching other dancers while the audience sees only the grace and beauty.

Writing is the same. We hold our books in our hands and read reviews, thrilled to see when a reader 'gets' what we are trying to say behind the words, humbled at the request for a signature, and thankful for each sale. At the same time, we don't see only a pretty (or scary or mysterious) cover and many pages full of a story. We see hours upon end of writing and rewriting, editing and pondering, deleting and redoing; and we especially relive the questions that plague us through the whole process. Are we accomplishing the beauty that is in our minds well enough? Will we affect readers enough to make some difference in their worlds?

Our walks through our books are filled with these questions as well as with thoughts of what we want to do better the next time, what weeds we would like to pluck off the printed page to replace with a rose or sunflower or carnation.

In the meantime, we focus on marketing, on finding readers who may enjoy our stories and our characters.

Much of my winter has been spent focusing on marketing. My website now offers a press kit for bookstores, a special offer for reading groups, and a brand new newsletter to offer information on happenings with my writing and in the indie arts. I'm quite glad to announce a new arts feature, as well: An Interview With A Musician. You'll find the first, a chat with Johnny Roxx,renowned guitarist, posted on the indie arts page.

I would also like to publicly say thank you to the two fans who are running Myspace pages for my three main characters from Rehearsal. Liz and Jan, I can't thank you enough for your support and assistance.

You'll find the first three chapters of A Different Drummer in the characters' blogs, one in each blog, beginning here: http://www.myspace.com/duncan_rehearsal
The prologue can be found on my site: http://www.lkhunsaker.com/DifferentDrummer/excerpt.htm

Spring has arrived, and with it, I am not only back to working in my flower garden, but also obsessive about furthering the second book of Rehearsal, entitled The Highest Aim. Does anyone know from which quote the title comes or the author of it?

Also with spring comes spring cleaning. As I'll be changing residences soon, I have been clearing out things I don't want to have to unpack and store in the new house. The fewer things to move the better, in most cases. So I am also going to start offering a "moving sale" on the copies of A Different Drummer I have in stock. I hope to publish The Highest Aim this fall and would like to make room to stock that one next.

Watch either Myspace (http://www.myspace.com/lkhunsaker) or my newsletter (http://www.lkhunsaker.com/newsletter) for details.

Wishing you all a poetic existence,
LK Hunsaker

Abridged Arts

"People had longer attention spans.... The works have been abridged to make it easy, more accessible for the TV generation."
Mikhail Baryshnikov


I clicked on a link tonight that asked how many were planning to watch the Grammy Awards. Welcoming the chance to say, "No, thank you, I have better things to do," I was pleasantly surprised that the majority of voters agreed.

I love music. I used to watch all of the music award shows years ago in order to get a chance to see some of my favorite singers and musicians. And then came the MTV/VH1/CMT generation where we could watch them anytime we decided. I did watch videos for a while. Rarely able to attend concerts, I used them as a substitute, having them on as often as my radio, or nearly. Now they are all over the internet. Is it any surprise award shows have lost their charm considering the availability of picking and choosing who we want to watch instead of whomever the powers to be decide to invite?

As a curiosity, I did click the link that told me who was nomimated for the top three awards. After wondering if I had the right list, I could see why so few are interested in watching. Has music declined that far? There was not one act I care to listen to on the radio, much less waste 3 hours of precious time seeing who comes out "ahead."

I posted this in my daily journal and another writer replied it's the same in the writing world. "Poets" who so apparently haven't studied the artistry and technique of poetry are publishing their works. Essays are nothing but rants without real thought other than fleeting anger. Journalists who have forgotten or never bothered to learn the concept of integrity of the written word abound in print and online. Where is the artistry in the arts?

I am an advocate of the indie arts. I'm an indie artist. The internet has become an incredible tool for those outside main genre publishing, in both music and writing. Readers and listeners now have many more choices than one of the niches that big companies pick up and put out there. Artists now have a free venue with which to promote themselves. It is a wonderful thing.

On the other hand, it has also given some a false sense of "art." The number of works being pushed out into public view without being ready is alarming. I receive many, many friend requests from indie bands on Myspace. I don't mind getting them, and I always go give them a listen. Many I add because they do have talent and I like their sound. Most now, I refuse, either because it isn't my style or because I flat-out can't fathom why someone told them they were ready to publish their music.

The same applies to writing. I can go to a writer's site or read their emails on a writing list and know they can't possibly be someone I want to read. Yet, they are promoting books they've published, likely without professional editing. Some writers can get away without professional editing, as long as they have someone else reading their work to find things a writer cannot see in her own work. Some are attuned to grammar and only need an extra eye and suggestions about the plot or characters. Some have incredible stories and a nice way with words and only need grammar assistance. Some have neither, and yet, because they "wrote a book," they decide it needs to be published.

Poetry books are being published without the "poet" realizing it takes more than rhyme and a certain number of lines to be actual poetry. There's an artistry missing that cannot be faked.

There is artistry missing in much of the arts.

In this TV generation, we are full of the glitz and glamour of things without bothering with quality. Our actors don't have to know how to act. They only have to know how to put on a show and flash their smiles. Our politicians don't have to be well-trained in how to command or lead. They have to be charming and look good on our screens. Our singers don't have to know about the intricacies of music. They have to be actors who can make those clueless about music vote for them. Our writers don't have to train themselves on the techniques of plot, characterization, climax, endings, sentence structure, or poetic use of words. They have to know how to create book trailers to catch attention with "book videos."

Of course there are exceptions. There are many indies doing glorious jobs and I love that they have the means to let their work be known. I only wish the artistry would come before the promotion instead of our arts becoming so abridged.

stripped enough

"Dancers are stripped enough onstage. You don't have to know more about them than they've given you already."
Mikhail Baryshnikov

Is imitation really the sincerest form of flattery?

I can see how it is, in a way, but isn't being inspired by someone enough to want to be just as individually unique as that person even better?

I have many favorite authors, such as Marilynne Robinson, Hemingway, John Irving, John Jakes, and so on, but when someone asks who my work resembles, I'm at a loss. Nora Roberts comes to mind, but her characters aren't particularly deep. I appreciate the style of the "Johns" ;-) but mine isn't at all like theirs, other than being literary. Marilynne Robinson is someone I aspire to come close to approaching as far as the gorgeous, flowing, lyrical prose that seemlessly blends with her beautiful, flawed characters, but I don't attempt to imitate her style and never expect to have that nearly unattainable quality. She is a true inspiration, and managed to achieve it with her first novel after focusing so long on non-fiction.

Currently reading The Awakening by Kate Chopin, I can see why it's such a classic. The story is so true for so many and the writing is calm and easy. It doesn't have the depth of character that I insist on having in order to call it a favorite, and it's slow enough that it doesn't keep me pulled in except occasionally. That is, of course, a quirk of my own that I am so easily bored and distracted, and others wouldn't agree.

I do have to say I would be flattered if another writer even wanted to imitate my style, but I would rather they didn't. Is that vain? No, it's art. Learning from others is an incredible way to improve, just as the master painters once copied paintings of their predecessors. The ones who stood out, however, were those who took that training and used it to create their own style.

Many authors worry about "finding" their voice. *shrug* Why search for something already inside? It's there; let it flow naturally and that is your voice. It's unique, and that's your hook.

**
I missed last week's entry because I've been furiously working on marketing, to include revamping my website, adding a press kit for bookstores, and coming up with promotional ideas, including a brand new animated banner for fans to use on their myspace pages or elsewhere. There will also soon be freebies on my site.

One thing I am excited about is the addition of "A Conversation With A Musician" that is now up and running. The first interview is posted: Johnny Roxx. Johnny has been featured in several major music magazines. Check out his interview!

The plan is to have a new musician/band each month, all indies (although they may have been signed earlier), and to extend it to other types of indie artists. If you know an indie artist with an established record who would consent to an interview, let me know. I have several in mind, but will take suggestions.

Punxsutawney Phil didn't see his shadow, and I'm quite happy about that. On toward spring....

in its own right

"For me, a landscape does not exist in its own right, since its appearance changes at every moment; but the surrounding atmosphere brings it to life - the light and the air which vary continually. For me, it is only the surrounding atmosphere which gives subjects their true value."

Claude Monet


If you're ever in doubt, ask your friends.

I have read much information about writing: the process, techniques, advice, opinions, marketing, publishing ... so much that it tends to blur in my brain. Sometimes, though, something I read stands out.

The other day I read a writer's blog that discussed certain niches that each fellow blogger used to pull in readers, consciously or not. It picked up a thread of something else I read earlier of the opinion that writers should pick one niche and stay with that. I wasn't so sure. I think it depends on the writer. There are those who can 'float' into different territories and those who are best staying with familiar territory, or possibly, they stay with familiar territory by choice only.

It made me wonder, though, if my blogs had a certain hook that pulls readers. My writing.com blog is the one full of daily rambles and is markedly eclectic. I pondered for two or three days about what my hook was and if I had one. I decided I wasn't sure. So ... I asked ... in my blog. I simply wanted to know what my hook was or if anyone else could find what I couldn't.

I haven't begun to reply to the responses because I was rather overwhelmed.

Doubt is a constant companion to writers, and artists in general. I found a definite cure for it Friday by asking friends/readers directly what they thought. I won't embarass myself by repeating answers but apparently, I do have a hook, or maybe two or three.

This is something not only artist-types should keep in mind as we trudge through the world sometimes wondering why we are, but that all of us should. We can feel we don't make a difference, that we're boring or ineffective or unimportant in the grand scheme of things. However, we are quite wrong. There is not one of us that doesn't have an affect on those around us. There are people who care even when we don't realize.

As January rolls through and winter (in this part of the world, anyway) takes a firmer grip with fewer hours of sunlight and longer cold spells, it is easy for us to see the blah of things. If you need an uplift, ask your friends. Ask them directly, either in person or in a blog or an email or however you prefer to communicate. If you are lacking in companionship, join a group and get involved. Most people want to help others. Most are kind souls. It's not really so hard to figure that out when we throw ourselves into the midst of things.

We have snow today; our first snowfall of the season. While I look out the window at the gray, I focus on the gentle gracefulness of water frozen into beautiful white crystals floating down to coat the still-green grass (and my already growing daffodils). It marks the upcoming new beginning when nature will come out of its slumber and revive us with a vigor we only feel in early spring and with rainbows of flowers and shrubs and blooming trees. Now that winter has truly begun, I can see its end and its end results.

Nature's hook is its being; its overwhelming ability to affect all of us without trying by simply doing what it does. We are all part of that.

A Rehearsal Sampler

This is only a sample of my work ... the beginning of Rehearsal: A Different Drummer.

To find a larger sample, see my website.

(Can you tell I have nothing on my mind worth blogging about?)


artwork: Duncan by LK Hunsaker (all rights reserved)

Spring, 1972


“Hey sweetie, wanna dance?”

Duncan raised his arm to wipe sweat rolling under his chin onto his sleeve and threw her a glance, not bothering to turn the bar stool in her direction. Shagged brown hair topped her average-height frame, not much shorter than he was, he supposed. Modern, including her willingness to approach him in such a direct manner. “Thank you, bu’ I am workin’.” He looked back to check on his ordered beer, smoke choking his mouth and throat.

She moved closer. “Not at the moment, you’re not.”

Returning his eyes, he noted a tenacity in her expression and body language. A quality he liked, to a certain extent. “Well, y’ are right. At the moment, I am tryin’ t’ cool off a bit. Then I am goin’ back t’ work.” A trickle of sweat began rolling down the side of his face from underneath the damp hair falling over his forehead, and Duncan leaned his head forward to pull the bottom of his T-shirt up, rubbing it across his face and letting it fall again. Then he shoved the hair out of his way, irritated at himself about forgetting to bring an elastic to pull the back of it off his neck. It was sticking against the wet skin.

Accepting the mug that finally came across the bar, he took a large swallow, enjoying the coolness of the glass against his hand and the stream of liquid pouring through his body.
The girl cuddled into his shoulder, a musky scent accenting her warmth. “Are you ever here when you’re not working?” Fingers with painted nails touched the bare skin of his arm.

Ignoring a snigger from the bartender, a new employee Duncan didn’t like much, he again raised the mug to his lips, allowing time to consider an answer, to let the weak American beer quench the dryness of his throat. “Now and then.” The chill of the glass distracted him from the girl’s flesh pushing against his.

She broke through, sliding both hands around his fingers and the heavy mug, pulling it from him. “So maybe you’ll dance with me another night?”

Looking up to question her, he watched as she sipped his beer, keeping her eyes on his. Narrow eyes. Lashes painted longer than natural matching thick black lines extending from the corners; the brushed-on green of her lids attempting to extend the brownish-green of her pupils. It didn’t work well.

She rubbed a finger around the edge of the mug. Offering.

Duncan studied her. She wasn’t bad-looking. Fake, but not snobbish. And who was he to be too particular? “Maybe.”

She grinned, pushing the drink back toward him.

“Keep it.”

He watched her move away, flaunting the beer to her table of friends, repeating the conversation, he figured, making it more than it was. Duncan never understood the infatuation girls had with guys in local bands. Hell, this wasn’t even a good local band. His mates were okay guys, as far as it went, but barely third-rate musicians. It didn’t seem to matter. They were just background noise for the pick-up lines and the attempts at relaxation by intoxication in the dark out-of-the-way bar.

And dark was helpful. It disguised the niched plank floor and scratches in the old wood tables with only patches of varnish left as pointless protection. Duncan could imagine his mother cringing about him playing at the little dive, though it was better than many he’d played. For the most part, it was kept clean, though likely not clean enough for her. He was just as glad she didn’t know how he was living – day to day, city to city, jumping from one third-rate band to another while doing whatever other cash jobs he could find.

Ordering another beer, he watched the small crowd, studying the ones he recognized as regulars and the few he didn’t. Mostly, he played to the same group every weekend. It was only a paycheck. There wasn’t one, he imagined, who would even know if he played a wrong chord now and then. They weren’t listening, not more than enough to go through the motions of dancing, or swaying somewhat to the beat. Their drummer was at least decent. They kept a good beat going.

A movement from the table of Thiel College students caught his attention; they were always easy to spot, dressed too well for the bar full of locals and holding their chins higher than necessary. One of them actually rose to retrieve his drink from the bar instead of barking an order at the girls serving. Duncan watched him: the only male at the table without a cigarette hanging from his mouth or fingers. Worst part of playing in bars; the damn cloud of nicotine.
The guy was heading in his direction. Duncan turned back, waiting to catch the bartender. “Is tha’ beer comin’ tonight?”

“Make that two. And a wine spritzer. After his, of course.” The guy stood beside him.

Wine spritzer. For the girl at the table sitting sideways in the chair with her legs crossed and her shoulders straight, Duncan guessed.

“How long have you been playing?”

Glancing up to make sure the college guy was talking to him, he answered … barely. “A while.” He looked away again.

“Obviously. I meant, how many years?”

“Why?” Duncan raised his hands in a questioning gesture at the new bartender. He would have to go back and play before he ever got it, at this pace.

The intruder took advantage of the stool next to him being vacated, and planted himself as if he actually belonged in the bar, raising his voice to talk over the recorded music played between sets. “You’re wasting your talent here. You’re a hell of a guitarist.”

Duncan looked over, unable to completely dismiss the compliment, since it wasn’t from a girl this time. He sincerely doubted this guy was hitting on him. “You play?”

“Not much since I started school, but when I can.”

He nodded slightly and turned away again. Another beginner looking for pointers. Well, he had better things to do than to waste time on a college student who wanted to learn just enough to pick up girls.

“So, why are you here?”

Duncan’s back straightened. What made this guy think it was any of his business? Holding his thoughts, he stood. He would rather hang with the band, though he didn’t care much for their company, than to be harrassed by some stranger.

The college student stood up beside him and Duncan swung around. “Man, wha’ do you want?”

(Literary romance for ages 16 and up.)