Fabulous Blog Ribbon

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Thank you, Cheryl Fassett, fellow blogger and writer extraordinaire, for honoring me with a Fabulous Blog Ribbon. After a mixed summer of highs and lows, you made my entry to fall, my favorite season, a grander one.

Check out her blog Catching Fireflies where she captures creativity, magic and inspiration.

I’m a little late thanking Cheryl due to a cracked rib. I had no idea they hurt so much and could slow me down to half speed. But being recognized by one of my favorite bloggers is enough to sprinkle fairy dust over my writer’s world.

For those unfamiliar with blog awards, they come with a set of “rules,” but I would rather call them guidelines and give out awards without asking for anything back, in this case answering questions and passing the award to five fellow bloggers.

Call me conflicted, but sometimes these things remind me of a chain letter when they’re actually meant to help bloggers expand readership and feel good about the time and energy they put into their blogs. I know what it takes to keep up a blog, keep up with life, and keep up with other people's postings, and therefore I am reluctant to add one more “to do” to the list of these extraordinary bloggers. I hope you visit their pages to see why I love them so much.

Here are the guidelines for receiving this Fabulous Blog Ribbon:
  1. Thank the blogger who gave it to you and share the link back to the awarding blog.
  2. Name 5 fabulous moments in your life.
  3. Name 5 things that you love.
  4. Name 5 things you hate.
  5. Pass the award to 5 deserving bloggers.

So, without further ado…

Five Fabulous Moments in My Life

• The birth of my son, Jason
• Finding my sweetheart, Dan, and being with him for 36 years
• Discovering my life as a writer—over and over and over again
• Being in Paris the first time
• Seeing Fleetwood Mac in concert for the first time

Five Seven Things I Love

• My friends and family, with all my heart
• Writing, writing, writing
• Paris
• Books by my favorite authors and discovering new ones
• Music, mostly rock ‘n’ roll, jazz, funk, French pop, folk
• Dancing
• Art in all forms

Five Things I Hate

• Crazymakers
• The word hate
• War
• Dishonesty and greed
• Not giving art & culture in our society and government programs the recognition it deserves

Five Bloggers Who Deserve a Fabulous Blog Ribbon*

• Barbara Sullivan for her extraordinary wisdom and big heart in The Solace of LoweredExpectations
• Kirsten Steen and her exquisite blog Write-on-Thyme for keeping me in touch with our beloved Paris (plus having such gorgeous music on her blog, too!)
• New to the blogosphere in March, Karla Droste with open heart and adventurous spirit takes us on her life-changing journey in Re-inventing Karla
• DianeProkop keeps my reading pile high, not just in height, but in the quality of her book reviews and recommendations
• Supremely gifted artist and creative, Beth I. Robinson, who keeps me laughing and gives me the gift of being inside the head of a working artist (p.s. check out one of my favorite pieces of hers at her website)

* Ribbon recipients: please accept this Fabulous Blog Ribbon, enjoy freely, post the ribbon, know that I give this ribbon to you with no expectation of you having to do anything more than enjoy it for all the hard work you put into your blog.

As for something to entertain you further, I offer this bit of writerly eroticism:

Thanks for tuning in!

And yes, for those who asked, my cracked rib is healing nicely. Thanks for being concerned!

Keep creativity in your heart and soul,

Val

COMING UP:

Where I Work: a photographic peek into my writing spaces

A Confession: What happened after my six readers responded to the Beta version of my novel

Runnin’ for Me Life: Tsunami! Part 1

Me alter-ego, Writer Val, tells this true tale:

           The June day was what the Brits call brilliant. Blue sky with powder puff clouds, sparkling ripples of ocean waves, an almost-deserted long stretch of beach. My face had that just-right sun-kissed pink from sitting against a driftwood log for a half hour, reading John Daniel’s Rogue River Journal, after finishing a day of writing. Once again, I was luxuriating in a writers’ week at Colonyhouse, the Oregon Writers Colony house at Rockaway Beach, Oregon.

            After the beach, I ate a simple dinner and then decided to call home. Fellow writer Grace Castle was fixing a salad as I walked outside to call my husband. At eight o’clock, the June evening was still sunny and warm, and I faced a tranquil ocean. Dan and I were talking about our son’s job when a siren sounded, one that made my arm hairs stand up.

            “Can you hear that?”

            Dan said, “Yeah. Maybe there’s a tsunami coming.” He was half joking.

            When the siren shut off, I said, “Whew. That must have been a test.”

            We picked up the conversation where we left off, but half a minute later, the siren sounded again and this time stayed on.

            “I need to hang up. This is serious.”

            Inside, Grace was about to eat her salad.

            “The siren. What do you think?” I asked.

            Outside, nothing had changed. No cars. No people fleeing. Grace said, “If it’s an emergency, we’ll find out soon enough.”

            The sharp wail continued and sent me scurrying to the coffee table and the new tsunami brochures. Nowhere did the brochure say, “When you hear an ear-splitting alarm, run for the hills.” My reptilian brain said “Flee!” but my rational side said, “Don’t be wimp. It’s just a drill.”

            I called three numbers listed on the pamphlet and reached, “If you know your party’s extension. …”

            Grace calmly ate her salad. “If it’s not a drill, someone will come by and tell us over a loud speaker.”

            At that exact moment, an emergency vehicle drove by, lights flashing, speaker system on. “Evacuate your homes! Tsunami warning! This is not a drill!”

            Evacuate? Tsunami? Television images of the Asian tsunami flipped across my brain.

            Grace and I grabbed laptops, tennis shoes, purses, blankets, and jackets. “We’ll take my car,” I said as we ran down to the road where the cars were parked. I had water in my trunk.

            As I pulled away, I tried to remember where I saw evacuation signs. Which road would take us up the mountain? Before we turned onto Rt. 101, the emergency vehicle made another sweep of the area, and I flagged it down. “What road do we take?”

            “Turn left onto Sixth.”

            We did. Cars were leaving Sixth. It was a dead end. From a car passing us going in the opposite direction, someone yelled, “Third Street.” We turned around.

            The siren continued to shriek. When we reached Third Street, the town seemed to be funneling up the road.

            Up ahead, people left their vehicles in a church parking lot to walk up the hill. No one was giving directions on what to do. I wanted to go higher, but we came to a crawl as people walked in front of us. I decided to park along the road between the church and the fire station as no one seemed to be driving to the top of the hill. Grace and I put on our sneakers, grabbed coats, blankets and shoes. We decided to leave our laptops in the car. But what about the water? The family in the car in front of us was making similar decisions on what to take while one of their girls sobbed uncontrollably in her father’s arms.

            Grace and I couldn’t lug the water, so we locked up, and joined the fleeing townspeople. One man had a cat wrapped inside his jacket. An elderly couple, both frail and white of hair, trudged silently beside us, the woman following the man. Neither carried anything. Someone had a radio handset so I asked what he was hearing. “We can’t hear anything. The frequencies are jammed, overloaded.” A man behind us said a Northern California earthquake was expected to cause a tsunami forty to forty-five feet high. I noticed a uniformed woman speaking on a radio and walked over. “How high are we right here?”

            “About forty feet.”

            I looked back at the ocean. Not high enough. I began tallying up everything we needed and didn’t have: water, flashlights, protein bars, warm enough clothes, waterproof matches, water purification tablets, first aid kit, candles, everything I keep at home.

            My cell phone rang. “Where are you?” It was Dan. “I can’t believe I … … … Kristy just called from Portland … … … was being evacuated.” I told him what was happening and tried to reassure him we’d be okay, but the reception died. Grace tried to call out on her cell, but no signal. I thought of loved ones speaking to people in the Twin Towers before they were cut off forever. Grace and I put our phones away and kept walking.

            We continued our climb and learned from others that the whole coast from California to Vancouver, B.C. was being evacuated. “Where was the quake?” I asked. Northern California, someone said, Eureka, no Yreka, no Brookings. On the border of California and Oregon. The tsunami was supposed to hit our coast around 9:26 p.m. I checked my watch. Only 8:23.

            “This is what you could call an adventure,” Grace said.

            “If we survive, it’s an adventure,” I said. “If we die, it’s a disaster.”

* * * * *

            Ai, me beauties, it’s not over. The tale continues next week. And even then, it's not the end. There's another story that raises the arm hairs.

          Until then, me maties, stay strong and bless the sea,

          Captain Val

COMING UP!

Runnin’ for Me Life:  Tsunami! Part II

More News & Confirmed Gossip from the Writing World

A Fast Getaway in the Middle of the Night

And … an unusual interview with cartoonist Jan Eliot of “Stone Soup”

Oh, Google, My Name Is ...

            Back when I was a young lass, just getting’ me feet wet, testing the waters of art and writing, an aunt sent me mother an article from Ballet News or some such magazine. The article was a review of a book about ballet, written by Valerie Brooks. Mum thought it had to be me because 1) that was me name, and 2) I love ballet and had taken ballet lessons from the time I was four. ‘Tis a sad day when ye ha’ to disappoint a mother.

            No, ‘twas not me, I had to tell her. ‘Twas not me article.

            I thought no more about it until years later when I began to call meself a writer. “You have the perfect name for a writer,” many said. Aye, I thought so, too.

            I thought no more of it. ‘Twas me name. A good hearty name. Valerie, French for valorous, strong. Brooks, traced back in our ancestry to the Normans when they conquered England in 1066. Thanks, mum! Thanks, Dad!

            I wrote for ten years without losing a sail. I had published and illustrated the first textbook for women in non-traditional careers. I’d been editor of a literary magazine. Then I began seriously writing fiction.

            Ah-har, I’d get to use me name soon!

            So I sailed to the internet to claim it on a URL.

            What? Bloody hell! Some dirty thieving pirate stole me name! Me heart sunk. I was forced to use me middle initial. Valerie J. Brooks.

            Who would know that?

            Then a fishbait troublemaker took it on Twitter, only this time, the name Valerie Brooks was followed by “freak” and some cartoonish #$%&. Wait ‘till I get me hands on that …

            Ah, but ‘twasn’t enough of a floggin’.

            Me son was tellin’ a friend o’ his about me writin’. His friend wants to be a writer, too, so he gives her my name and says to look me up for a chat. Blimey! She stops by me son’s house and says, “I ordered your mom’s book.”  Me? I ha’ no bloody books yet. What infernal nonsense be this? She shows him the book.

            Tantric Awakening: a Woman’s Initiation into the Path of Ecstasy

            And no mistake. Was written by Valerie Brooks.

            Well, I can’t say I wouldn’t mind writin’ a book like that, but …

            another one by me name?

            Arrrrgh!

             So I be thinkin’, okay, you’re not the only one. No need to sink your ship and be done wi’ it. When your novel comes out, maybe you should be V. J. Brooks, you know, like those who try to cover their gender?

            I be no lily-livered female, and you know it. I’m a pirate, for Neptune’s sake! I’m proud to be female.

            But, alas, it not be done there.

            Another curst pirate moves into me territory with me name. She even goes to my dentist and wanted to meet me! Harkee me, the rogue!

            Nay, I say. Be enough of a curse I be asked now whenever buying boots, or books, or paper, “Which one are you?”

            ‘Tis enough to make me blood boil.

            Then one day, a call comes. “Hello, this is Springfield Cleaners. We have your wedding dress and want to know if you’re coming to pick it up.”

            Be this a jest?

            Nay. Seems the dress has been there for months and “Valerie Brooks” has not claimed it. I say, “Look, lad, I’m not the Valerie Brooks you’re lookin’ for.” I give ‘im me dentist’s number to find her.

            And if this doesn’t make me yell, “Enough!” a recent Google alert for me name (oh, yes, we writers do that) pops up with this:

Find valerie brooks on WhitePages. There are 223 people named valerie brooks through regions like Baltimore, MD, Chicago, IL, Dallas, TX, Detroit, MI, ...

            ‘Tis a sad thing not to be able to own me own name. A writer needs their name to be recognized. Hemingway. Margaret Atwood. Virginia Woolfe. Herman Melville. What chance there be they ha’ me troubles. Ah, well, someday I be publishin’ and maybe I be using me full name. I dare some dung-souled imposter to show up with that!

Until next time, when I be interviewing the fair and lovely Jessica Maxwell, fair winds and followin’ seas to ye,

Captain Valerie Joy Brooks

To find out what your Pirate Name is click here!

NEW! To listen to an audio excerpt of my memoir "Liberté" from France, a Love Story, click on the mp3 player to the right!

Coming Up!

Finally, my interview with the fair and lovely Jessica Maxwell

Residency Adventures: Photos and Inside Tales from a Writer's Residency

More News & Confirmed Gossip from the Writing' World

The Deep: Captain Val's Answers to Last Week's Questions

Gobsmacked: Celebrating Me Birthday Month with a Giveaway!

            For the month of May, I’ll be givin’ away a signed copy of my France, a Love Story, along with a surprise: a signed copy of a book by another author who … I'll just keep ye guessin’.

            Here’s me instructions: leave a comment on me blog, and your name goes into the end-of-the month drawin’. The more comments, the better your chances. If you subscribe by email, send your name and comment to valinparis (at) earthlink (period) net. If ye wish me to post yer comment to me Captain’s Log, tell me, and it’s done!

Bonus! Every captain needs followers and here’s how to serve yer captain. Bring a mate on board Gobsmacked by having them sign up to receive me blog. For every mate you bring aboard, your name goes into the drawing three times. I’m using the pirate’s code of honor for this. Just tell me you signed ‘em up. No cheatin’ now or it’s the gangplank!

The Deep: Captain Val's Answers to Last Week's Questions

Last week, I wrote ‘bout how a writer’s job resumé offers nothin’ but a skeleton of their experience. Writers ha’ to dig deep into personal experience to understand human nature and create living, breathing, believable characters. Some authors might disagree, but they don’t sail on my ship.

That’s why I suggest asking more personal questions of authors at readings. Depending on the nature of the book (‘cause you want to ask pertinent questions, not superficial, sensationalistic ones), the questions can be related to what the novel or memoir brings to the surface for you emotionally.

Here’s where I dive in deep water. Remember the questions I posed from last week?

“Ha’ ye ever been close to dying?”

“Ha’ ye ever taken a dark road and been lost?”

“What terrifies you and why?”

As promised, I’ll ask ‘em of meself and tell ye how they relate to life and work. A’right?

Ha’ ye ever been close to dying?

Job experience in me twenties:  drive-in restaurant waitress, telephone switchboard operator, movie theater ticket sales person, keypunch operator for a woolen mill (Ah, that dates me!)

Life experience and answer to the question:

Aye. At age twenty-three, I was beaten and had a knife put to me throat by a bi-polar, alcoholic Vietnam Vet who I was divorcin’ at the time. I’ve used that fear and aspects of the experience in me writin’. I’ve also used the characteristics that kept me alive—strength, determination, resilience, and street smarts. I learned first hand about PTSD, what war does, how it effects families, what violence looks and feels like, and can empathize with those who continually face the threat of violence and death during war and at home.

Ha’ ye ever taken a dark road and been lost?

Job experience during my thirties:  artist, editor of a literary arts magazine, graphic artist, cultural resource coordinator for the arts

Life experience and answer to the question:

No. I’ be lost a time or two, but ha’ ne’er taken a dark road. Even when I was wi’ me ex-husband, we had a child, traveled, and moved to Oregon from the East Coast. My son and Oregon were my greatest gifts from the ex, and I troll those waters, too, for me writing. The dark always yields to the light.

What terrifies you and why?

Job experience from forties onward: strategic planner at a community college; graphic designer and illustrator; writer

Life experience and answer to the question:

Nothing terrifies me, not after the experiences of my twenties, after the death of my best friend in high school, the suicide of my father, the terror of my ex. I follow me passion, have a terrific family, live in paradise, have the love of a great man, and if anything would frighten me, it would be the thought of losing any of my family, especially outliving the young ‘uns. But I don’t live there. I do however explore the possibilities, using those fears in the current work in progress “Parallel Crossings” where the five-year-old daughter of the main character is kidnapped by her ex-husband, and the girl is never found. That’s how I work the whole bloody thing into a story.

Guest author Erika Dreifus answers one of me questions

To show you scallywags what happens with authors when you ask questions like the ones above, I contacted Erika Dreifus, author of the brilliant debut short-story collection Quiet Americans. The connected stories about the Jewish experience during and after the Holocaust are so different and rich with characters who feel so real, I had to ask Erika the following question. Her answer follows.

Have you ever had a personal tragedy that gives you a strong empathy for your characters and what they had to endure?

“I think that the opposite situation may be true, that the immense good fortune and privilege with which I have been blessed are what have attracted me to the characters, themes, and events in Quiet Americans. It is because I find it so difficult to envision coping with the challenges that are woven into the stories that I have tried so diligently to do exactly that: envision. Then, too, the fact that certain characters and circumstances are so closely modeled on my beloved grandparents and what they did, in fact, have to endure does add a strong dose of personal connection to the mix.”

* * * * *

So there ye ha’ it! All told, if ye do one thing this month to celebrate me birthday, go to an author’s meet and greet, reading, or signing. No bones about it. They put their whole life into their work, and we benefit.

From the Gobsmacked ship to yours, a hearty hi-ho!

Captain Val

Captain Val's review of Erika Dreifus' QUIET AMERICANS

Coming Up!

May Giveaway!

“Platform, Flatform”

“A View of My Writers Room Wall: What Inspires Me”

“Oh, Google, My Name is …”

… and soon an interview with Jessica Maxwell of Roll Around Heaven