Events Plus Sara Teasdale's Poetry

A couple of upcoming events this fall include some author fairs I've been invited to attend.  First, the Aurora Public Library's "Catch a Bunch of Authors" on Saturday, September 12, 2015, at the new Santori Branch from 2pm - 4pm in Aurora, Illinois.  I will also be at the Oswego Literary Festival, Saturday, October 3, 2015 from 9am - 1pm at the Oswego, Illinois Public Library.  I will be selling and signing copies of my books, Daniel's Esperanza, Funny Pages and Billy's First Dance at both events.  If you're in the Chicagoland area on those dates and are free, stop by and say hello.  Many talented folks attend these festivals.

Just a reminder, if ebooks are your preference, Daniel's Esperanza is now available for Kindle download on Amazon for only $3.99, and Funny Pages for only $4.95. Paperback versions of all three are still for sale, too.

Work continues on my new manuscript, Williamsburg Hill, and my goal is to finish the first draft by the end of October.  We shall see.

As I'm always searching for blog ideas, I thought I'd share some poetry by the late Sara Teasdale. Simple, powerful, moving are words I would use to describe her work. As always, thanks for reading this blog. I appreciate it very much.

I Love You
By Sara Teasdale

When April bends above me
And finds me fast asleep,
Dust need not keep the secret
A live heart died to keep.

When April tells the thrushes,
The meadow-larks will know,
And pipe the three words lightly
To all the winds that blow.

Above his roof the swallows,
In notes like far-blown rain,
Will tell the little sparrow
Beside his window-pane.

O sparrow, little sparrow,
When I am fast asleep,
Then tell my love the secret
That I have died to keep.

Thoughts
By Sara Teasdale

When I am all alone
Envy me most,
Then my thoughts flutter round me
In a glimmering host;

Some dressed in silver,
Some dressed in white,
Each like a taper
Blossoming light;

Most of them merry,
Some of them grave,
Each of them lithe
As willows that wave;

Some bearing violets,
Some bearing bay,
One with a burning rose
Hidden away —

When I am all alone
Envy me then,
For I have better friends
Than women and men.

The Look
By Sara Teasdale

      Strephon kissed me in the spring,

      Robin in the fall,

      But Colin only looked at me

      And never kissed at all.

      Strephon's kiss was lost in jest,

      Robin's lost in play,

      But the kiss in Colin's eyes

      Haunts me night and day.

Hai Karate - Be Careful How You Use It

I grew up during the 1960s and 1970s then attended college in the early 1980s.   Those years were three significantly different decades of historical events, change, rebellion, peace, love, big hair, spandex and bell bottoms.  The eras defined the music and the clothes, the toys, candy and, of course, the commercials.  Thanks to YouTube, antique stores, TV Land, and catalogs from places selling some of the same products from that time, we’re able to relive a little of our childhoods.  The vintage kitsch makes us nostalgic.

For some reason, I receive a mail-order catalog from The Vermont Country Store.  I don’t think I’ve ever ordered anything from them but I do get a kick out of some of the things they sell.  Does anyone remember the aftershave called Hai Karate from the 1960s and 70s?  They sell it.  YouTube triggered my memories of the commercials, too.  Campy and silly with a martial arts theme, each one ended with the slogan, “Be Careful How You Use It”.  It reminded me of the Batman and Dark Shadows television series.

After viewing those ads on YouTube, I then spent about twenty minutes watching a compilation of 60s and 70s commercial clips.  I remembered all but two or three of them.  Some of the catchphrases that brought an “Oh, yeah” from me:  “Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut”, “I Can’t Believe I Ate the Whole Thing”,  “Frito Bandito”, “How Many Licks Does It Take to Get to the Center…”,  “People Start Pollution…”, “Let Noxzema Cream Your Face” (Joe Namath & Farrah Fawcett); “It’s Not Nice to Fool Mother Nature”, “I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing”,  “K-Tel Records”.  I could go on. 

Whenever I wander through antique stores, I always find something that reminds me of my youth.  I used to think that if toys from my childhood made it into a vintage store then I had to be getting old.  Now I just appreciate seeing the occasional Lite-Brite, ViewMaster, Etch A Sketch, Operation and Spirograph games.  Tip-it, Toss Across and Rock ’em Sock ’em Robots (my brother had this one)…I loved playing with all of them.  And I’m referring to the originals, as I know that updated and newer versions are still being sold today.  I guess kids know a good thing when they see it.

I associate many of the items in the Vermont Country Store catalog with my grandmother.  I remember butter mints and pecan divinities, peppermint puffs and peppermint straw candy as things she always had on hand.  My grandmother loved to drink TAB (until she discovered Diet Pepsi) and she wore White Shoulders perfume.  I learned about Dippity-Do at her house because my aunts used it; and I recall accidentally spraying myself with a bottle of Wind Song cologne and gagging over the smell.  Mosser glass, percolators and soft-bonnet hair dryers.  Clarks Teaberry Gum, princess phones and mood lipstick.  Wella Balsam, Breck Girl and Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific shampoos.  It’s amazing what a little vintage reminder will do to a person.

Finally, candy (at least the kind I ate and not the kind my grandmother had on hand).  Milk Duds and Sugar Daddy were two of my favorites from back then and it’s amazing that people of my generation have any teeth left.  Who can forget wax lips, bubblegum cigars and fake candy cigarettes (Camel and Lucky Strike come to mind)?  Perhaps not the best choices for youth back in the day, but those were the times.  And I still love Almond Joy and Goobers (yes, I do) but I rarely eat candy nowadays, so it’s a treat if I ever indulge.

I suppose I should give credit where credit is due for this blog post.  I’m always searching for things I can write about and share here.  A Facebook friend inadvertently triggered this one by expressing surprise when finding Prell shampoo at a local CVS Pharmacy.  That caused this little trip down memory lane.  It is appreciated. 

Madame X

A photograph of the original

John Singer Sargent, born to American parents in Florence, Italy (1856), was considered the leading portrait painter of his era.  In 1884, he exhibited in Paris what would eventually be considered a masterpiece; at the time, Paris society hated the painting and his reputation suffered.  He fled to London. 

Sargent named the portrait "Madame X" and the only thing that exists of the original as it hung in the Paris salon is a photograph.  The artist repainted the original (with right shoulder strap in place), which now hangs in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.

The painting was viewed as scandalous, but seems very mild compared to today's standards for modesty and indecency.  I've written a flash fiction piece based on this...a very short story that I, too, call Madame X.  Thanks for reading, and if you're interested in more short stories, I've shared a few on this blog.  Just check out the links to the right.  As always, copyright applies (©Veronica Randolph Batterson).

Madame X

By Veronica Randolph Batterson

(©Veronica Randolph Batterson)

Virginie Amélie Avegno Gautreau.  Elle est un opportuniste. 

He fidgeted with his hands, pulling at the collar of his shirt as if doing so would loosen the tightness around his neck.  The room was warm and sweat formed at his hairline, the rivulets running down his face and into his eyes.  He patted his forehead with a handkerchief and thought he would be ill.  Soon there would be an audience.

Madame Pierre Gautreau, the artist’s dream, agreed to his request; she consented to sit for him.  A vision.  And he had painted her as such.   Sensual, regal, beautiful and unusual, her powdered skin and its lavender hue stood pasty and stark against the black dress.  The velvet bodice cut low over her breasts and held in place with two slim, jeweled straps.  He had been nervous at first.  Reflecting, perhaps that had lent to his displeasure and uncertainty of the painting.

Monsieur Sargent?  Will this work?

With her left hand she had gripped the velvet skirt while clutching the edge of a side table with the right one.  Her patrician profile exuded nobility; she was untouchable.  In an instant, it happened.  The slightest movement that changed everything.  The jeweled shoulder strap dropped suggestively from her right shoulder.  How do I look?  The little slip was painted into the portrait. 

Salle 31. 1884.

He waited for the unveiling as Paris society ambled into the salon, unforgiving and judgmental.  Champagne flowed amidst fluttery ladies on the arms of stodgy gentlemen.  A violinist performed but he could barely hear the music, so loud was the beat of his own heart.   He thought of leaving.  There his Madame X stood at eye level.  The Gautreau that everyone flocked to view.

John Singer Sargent.

The artist who painted a scandalous portrait of a difficile woman; it hadn’t been as he had hoped.  He knew the outcome of his folly and Amélie had known what she was doing, toying with him.  Feigning innocence.  Indolent.  How foolish he had been for following instincts instead of reason.  Now he would pay with his reputation.

Arriviste.  Ceci est scandaleux!

The gasps caught his attention.  Vulgaire.  Choquant.  Indécent.  The whispers grew as one voice, loud, biting and cruel.  They shouted his recklessness and relished his mistake, declaring the end for him in Paris while clucking at his foolishness.  L’artiste a échoué!  There was spiteful glee in his failure.  He was humiliated.  Some were repulsed by the pallor of her skin; most were shocked by the revealing décolletage.  Trop sensuelle.

He had exhibited at the Palais de Industrie for six years and was the preferred portrait artist of Paris.  The mocking confirmed it was over.   How could this happen, such fickleness?   Dejected, he felt he must retrieve the portrait before the Gautreau family obtained and destroyed it.  Then he would flee to London.  

Au revoir, Monsieur Sargent. 

He left.  Bitter, disappointed and angry.  To start over.  Optimiste.

©Veronica Randolph Batterson

 

Auctions and Upcoming Events

League of Chicago Theatres Gala Auction

Often I get asked to donate one of my books or photographs to benefit charitable auctions and non-profit events.  From a recent League of Chicago Theatres Gala to an upcoming Association for Individual Development fall auction, I'm always happy to help.  Prints of my photographs can be found at www.veronica-batterson.artistwebsites.com.  If anyone reading this post is in search of auction donations, take a look at my work, then contact me if you're interested.  I'd be happy to provide an autographed copy of one of my books, as well.  Daniel's Esperanza, Billy's First Dance and Funny Pages are sold on Amazon, as well as other sites.  For donations, however, the books would come directly from me.  Comment here if you're interested, or send me a message via my website www.veronicabatterson.com or the Fine Art America site.

A couple of upcoming events: I'll be attending the Grand Opening/Ribbon Cutting Ceremony for the new Santori Library in Aurora, IL on June 14.  The event runs from 1-5 p.m.  Also, another Author Fair in September: Aurora Public Library's "Catch a Bunch of Authors", September 12, 2015 from 2-4 p.m.  More information will be provided as the date gets closer.

I've been working on the manuscript for the new book and I like the way it's going. I hope to get another short story posted here soon.  Thanks to all who continue to read these posts.  It's always appreciated. Sharing some screen shots of new prints from the Fine Art America site.

Mother's Day a Year Ago...Luka Bloom and the Blackhawks

What a difference a year makes.  When Mother’s Day of 2014 approached, I was one month away from seeing my younger daughter get married; the first weekend of May, I hosted a bridal shower for her.  I’d been working on my latest book for three years, and dealt with two literary agents who kept the manuscript for an entire year between the two of them.  I truly felt at least one of them would be interested in representation based on the feedback and vibes I was getting.  When they passed on the project, I endured the blow of rejection once again.  Trying a different publishing route, in May I began working with a cover designer that didn’t pan out.  Enter another designer and deadlines with the publisher I eventually chose.  The book was published in August.  Also in August: moving said daughter and new son-in-law to Colorado.

It’s fair to say with all of the above and the wedding planning that had taken well over a year’s time, I wasn’t myself.  I was exhausted, run down, not sleeping and couldn’t get farther than the day’s lists of things I had to do.  My health and immune system went a little under the weather, too.  An EKG revealed I needed to have an echocardiogram and wear a 24-hour Holter monitor to determine the source of heart palpitations and an irregular heartbeat.  My thyroid levels were out of sorts.  Months of blood work and adjusted doses of medication followed.  All is well now but stress and worry do affect your health.

With all of that going on, I think Mother’s Day was an “anything you ask for” kind of holiday last year…a Saturday and Sunday event.  On the day itself, my husband and I went to a Chicago Blackhawks playoff game and, incidentally, they played the same team in the second round that they’re playing now.  Saturday was spent at the Old Town School of Folk Music, attending a concert by the Irish singer and songwriter, Luka Bloom.

I can’t remember how I started listening to Luka Bloom’s music, but I’ve been a fan of his for quite some time.  He’s described as a contemporary folk artist and I think his sound is beautiful, haunting and unique; his lyrics read as poetry. When I discovered he was touring the United States and Chicago was one of the stops, I knew I had to get tickets, as I wasn’t sure if he would tour the US again in the near future.  It was my first concert of his and it was as good as I’d expected it to be.

If I had to recommend some of his music, a few of my favorites (originals and covers) include Lighthouse, Diamond Mountain, Everyman, Listen to the River, Exploring the Blue, See You Soon, Dreams In America, Me and My Guitar, Throw Your Arms Around Me, If I Were A Carpenter and The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.  The latter two are, I’ll admit, the most romantic cover versions I’ve ever heard of the two.  Probably many women of my generation who are Luka Bloom fans would agree. 

So Mother’s Day will be a little quieter this year for me.  However, this time next year, daughter number one will be walking down the aisle.  I hope to at least have the first draft of the book I’m working on finished by then, but I’m making no promises.  However, if it all comes together, I’d better start making plans…I’ll probably need to recuperate again.

 Happy Mother's Day to all.

Lighthouse                                                                                                                                   
by Luka Bloom

I see the red boat coming
Beyond out in the bay
Cutting through salt water
The end of a working day
Bringing in cargo
Of words I’m meant to hear
Words of loving kindness
To soften hate and fear

May I be happy
May I be well
May I be happy
May I be well

I can see the lighthouse
It’s coming to night view
Providing safe passage
For me and for you
You’ve shouldered your crosses
And brought them to this shore
Lay down your burdens
They’ll rule you no more

May you be happy
May you be well
May you be happy
May you be well

Everyman
by Luka Bloom

There is a quiet spirit in the world
Sleeping tonight
We’ll worry no more
You’ve let go the fight

Everyman takes his own load
Down the line
Everyman walks his own road
To the end of time

A faraway look in your eyes
Out beyond the door
Many tried to reach you
Bring you home to the shore

Everyman takes his own load
Down the line
Everyman walks his own road
To the end of time

There’s a quiet spirit in the world
You brought a smile to my face
A butterfly leaves the room
In its wake your grace

Everyman sees his own road
Into the light
Everyman lets his own load go
One last night

Sleep in peace tonight
Sleep in peace new life
Sleep in peace tonight
Sleep in peace goodnight

First Draft, Research and Updates

I've started writing the first draft of the next book (I'm assuming it will be) and research has slowed its progress. Part of the novel takes place in the nineteenth century so something as minor as period clothing and common names used at that time are important. The small stuff matters.

Updating and staying involved with social media accounts are all-consuming, too, and take a little time away from the work. Kudos to those who can do it all well, but I'm not one of them. If you follow me or become one of my friends via Twitter (@VRBatterson) or my Goodreads account, for example, please be patient with me. I'm working hard so updates and interactions will come.

Also, please check out my artist website on Fine Art America. I add new photos there periodically and they offer great products. If you purchase any art of mine, please let me know. Take a look at Veronica Batterson - Artist Websites.

Don't forget my books, Daniel's Esperanza, Funny Pages and Billy's First Dance - all available on Amazon, BarnesandNoble.com, BooksAMillion.com and many other websites. Any bookstore can order them. Continue to check in here on the blog, as well, for short stories, musings and further updates.

As always, thank you.

With Spring Comes a Bit of Homesickness

It’s the same every year.  April rolls around and I start itching to plant things.  A true sign of the growing season where I live is the white tent pitched in the parking lot of the local Jewel grocery store, with promises of geraniums, snapdragons, other annuals, rosebushes and perennials for sale.  Flower bed and landscaping heaven for the likes of me.  But in my neck of the woods, I never plant anything until May has arrived and it’s often necessary to cover things at night for a while.

Call me a native southerner, a transplanted southerner or originally from the south, but twenty-one years have passed since I lived in that part of the country. This is a time of year that I long for being there; I get homesick for it in the spring.  I’m envious of my southern friends and family who are enjoying the beauty of spring, and their ability to plant things long before I will.  The warmth, the endless color and the extreme pleasure of just being outside and drinking in all of nature’s beauty are things that I can’t describe with words.  The world comes to life.  Photographs don’t do it justice.  It’s necessary to be there, feel it, to experience it.  And I miss it in the spring.

Probably a lot of it has to do with nostalgia.  So much of this time of year reminds me of my grandmother.  I associate magnolia trees and dogwoods with her, their blooms a feast for the eyes.  There were honeysuckle vines in her yard and I remember sucking the nectar from the blooms during the late spring when I was a child.  Easter was celebrated with and around my grandmother…Sunday dinner was at her house with Easter egg hunts afterward.  It’s a time of year that I miss her most.  Perhaps that’s why I ache for the southern springtime.

As winter nods its head and goes to sleep, I will long for a certain time of my life that has passed, but moving away allowed me to appreciate the other seasons.  While northern springs don’t seem as long, colorful or as warm as those in the south, autumn in the north is spectacular.  And it’s something you won’t find in the southern states.  The duration of color and cool but comfortable temperatures are things to experience.  I learned to love winter and its snow (often a lot of it); and I certainly appreciate summer when humidity levels aren’t making you wilt or pass out.  If I could pick one place to live, its seasons would be a combination of all the above…the perfect climate, at least in my opinion.  I’m not sure there is such a place. 

So I will continue to watch for that white tent.  It’s not there yet, but I noticed this morning the area is roped off, with bags of mulch and potting soil waiting for its arrival.  It’ll be my cue that it’s okay to at least start browsing and buying, even if it is too early to plant.  There is the garage after all, when the chill remains in the air and plants have to come inside.

Then I’ll continue reading about spring (with longing) from all of my southern Facebook friends, while being content with tulip-filled vases inside my house.