Monuments to the Dead and Injustice

Found this on Yahoo - it's the stele for a gladiator from the Black Sea region of Turkey who ended up dead as the result of the "cunning and treachery" of the referee, the summa radis, I believe is the term. Not only is it remarkably clear and unscarred by 1800 years of natural elements, but it also tells a story. The dead gladiator defeated his opponent and stepping back, waited for the verdict from the crowd as to the fate of the other fighter. However, evidently the ref ruled that the man on his butt lost his footing, so he got his weapons back, the fight started over, and the stele marks what was a bad deal for the first winner of the fight. He lost the second go-round.

This monument to injustice survived 1800 years. Do we know anything else about these men? No. Still, doesn't the story resonate even today? Bad calls in sports still happen, but lives aren't lost as a result. Maybe champtionships are lost, and that's a bummer, but a tragedy? Maybe for diehard fans.

Still, think about the bad call in battle, one that costs men their lives. (Pickett's Charge, anyone?) The wrong decision from a biased judge. (*caveat, none of the ones I know.*). The deliberate falsification of evidence. Malfeasance by elected officials that impacts a whole community. We can all think of injustices that happen on a small, local level in this world. Yet will anyone know those story thousands of years from now?

This one lone stele commemorates a death that shouldn't have happened, calls the ref a liar to his face, and manages to engage us artistically as well. That's the sort of monument we don't see anymore.

On the other hand, what if the call was the right one, and the stele is sour grapes? We'll never know.

How does she look?

I normally eat my noon time sandwich on the patio, but it was looking ominous today. So I sat down to watch the episode of RUBY (love her) on DVR, and instead, I got How Do I Look? Why oh why do all the women on this show who are supposedly fashionistas look as frumpy, or worse than, the women in need of new wardrobes? Trashy is another good word. The whole point of the show is that looks and clothes define the person. Usually there's an emotional component to the "bad" dresser. Yuck. What a stretch. And talk about cruel! Some of the so-called friends are totally unfiltered.

The worst part is, the final product isn't so wonderful, at least the ones I've seen. Why do women allow themselves to be tortured like this? You don't see men going through the clothes grinder on TV. Judging others is almost a national past time, and it's not something wonderful.

Be who you are, now that's a show I'd watch. Be the best you want to be. And above all, be happy.

Dump the "friends" who tear you down, before you do anything else.

New Web Site

I wanted something different, not the typical writer site. While I wasn't sure exactly what that entails, I knew what I didn't want. Fortunately for me, I know a creative type who happens to be good with computers as well. Guess holding her in my lap before she could talk while she played Sesame Street games on the PC has paid off. Yeppers, one of my offspring took the home page photo (real black and white film!), and the other spent hours writing code. Give it a look at www.tracydunham.com and see what you think.

On another note, I read something that said second drafts, rewrites, are usually worse than the first draft. Since I depend on those rewrites to straighten out the most obvious messes I've gotten the book into, I must disagree. However, I do think it's easy to lose that first draft enthusiasm, the eager tumble of words, in over-polishing. It's a fine line, for sure. Second, third, or more drafts are my norm. A book is an ever-evolving creature.

Like all of us.

Getting it Right

Gardening is a whole lot like work at the beginning. I should know - I spent this afternoon (no humidity, yeah!) digging up scraggly pansies and replacing them. Couldn't find the exact shade of salmon vinca I wanted, made do with something else, and am still not satisfied. I'll work at finding what I want, and until I do, I won't give up.

It felt a whole lot like I was starting a new book. Searching for the exact opening sentence. The right words to make the book "sound" right. Going through racks and racks of plants, hunting and pecking for the precisely correct color. Openings are so important - they can make or break you. Just like a flower garden in the front yard sets the tone for the rest of the plantings.

As I drive down a two-laned road near my house, I marvel at those homeowners who have bedecked their roadsides with a jubilation of colorful plants. Riots of color. I get their pride, their color schemes, how hard they've worked to make that first glimpse of their properties just so. Other houses have bedraggled entrances, weeds sky high. The yards may be neatly trimmed, but that first impression is one of neglect and laissez faire. Too bad.

Those first three pages of a novel are, like the gardens I see near my house, crucial to how you'll perceive the rest of the story. Make them killer. Grab the readers' "eyes," and they'll keep going for the rest of the ride.

Goofing Off

The Saturday list was more than a page long. Life has intervened this week, and regular chores, plus those little add-ons that zap hours like melting ice cream in hundred degree heat, have been pushed aside. Even the garden can't lure me, not in this heat. All the stuff I hate about summer, the heat, the humidity, take the joy out of playing in the garden as well. So any excuse will do to avoid the mundane, unless it's dire.

Today we decided to play. An antique car show. Lunch out. Some frivolous shopping. Chinese for dinner. A thunderstorm that drenched us. All in all, a lovely day. It's hard to step out of the regular world and into a different one, but it's something that we need to do to restore our batteries.

Heroes must move from the ordinary into the extraordinary world. That's when the adventure begins, the story starts, and we hang on for the ride. Make it a good one.

Firebirds and Conflagrations

An elderly neighbor possesses a real treasure in her carport. Every day as I walk the hound past it, I wonder about the white Pontiac Firebird sitting on squishy tires, mildew marring its sides. The proud firebird on the hood is hidden under years of dirt. I know she drove it to work twenty years ago, but it hasn't moved since. Her vanity license plate, with her initials, is still in the bracket.

She's a sweet faced, white-haired little elderly lady who seldom leaves the house these days. I can't help but wonder at how she came to own this hot, fast car, and why. Did she start out on the local short track, driving Pontiacs? Or did she just always want to drive a car that made grown men drool? Although it's over twenty years old now, that Firebird still has "it."

Whatever the reason, I know my neighbor has a story that's probably more exciting than anything I have imagined. One day, I'll ask her.

On another note: We just saw the movie INCENDIES. All I can say is, wow. If you want fun, don't go. If you want to understand some of the recent history of Lebanon and delve into a heart breaker of a mystery, see it. Just make sure you're prepared for a tense, scary, tragic ride. I won't give away its ending, but you'll see it coming.

Just hold on tight.

City of Ashes

Just finished reading Cassandra Clare's CITY OF ASHES. While it has some witty bits of dialogue, it is, at its heart, about teenagers whose parents have checked out on them. Clary's mother is in a self-induced coma, Jace's father abandoned him as a child, and then his adoptive mother hands him over to a sadistic, pathological official who proceeds to torture him. Yep, the adults in this book do not come off well. Oh, and a 300 year old warlock is in love with another teenager, Alec. Yewww. Didn't any editor pick up on the pedophilia? And didn't anyone give a hoot about the incestuous attraction between Clary and her brother, Jace? It's addressed, but not satisfactorily. Clary lusts after her sibling with totally adult feelings. Another big Yuck.

The dystopian world Clare has created is filled with demons and danger, and our teenage heroes are targets for the worst of both. I guess this book resonates with teenagers who feel they're alone in the world, fighting for their very survival. But it scares me that this series is a bestseller. What does it say about our society when kids grab onto story lines like pedophilia and incest and make them popular?

I remember reading Lloyd Alexander's award winning THE HIGH KING when it first came out umpteen million years ago, and thinking "what is this?" To feel better, the hero took a pill and voila, all better. A reflection of society? I fear so.

Can the same be said of Clare's series? I fear so even more.