The 'Pillars of the Earth' Absolutely Amazed Me

Ken Follett (@KMFollett) has always been one of my favorite authors. But recently, I developed an amazing new respect for his writing abilities, so much so that I'm afraid I could never even come close to being as good a writer as he is.

Of course, if I was able to quit my job and write novels full time, which is what I really want to do, I would have an office full of admins, fact checkers and historians to call on as well. And maybe some day I will.

Meanwhile, I picked up Pillars of the Earth at a tag sale and was absolutely floored that the man who wrote The Third Twin and The Man From St. Petersburg wrote this!!!

The historic facts are exceptional. I loved this book so much -- all 983 pages of it -- that today I went to the Norwalk Library and checked out World Without End -- the sequel to PotE -- which actually takes place 200 years later.

Pillars of the Earth takes place in the 1100s. The stories are heartwrenching. Agnes dies during childbirth and because the family is homeless and penniless, the father, knowing they can't feed the child, leaves the newborn on top on his mother's grave where it will either die of starvation or animals will kill it.

If you don't own a horse, you walk. You walk for days and days. The poor are served meals at the priories, which are like monastaries. Then they are allowed to sleep indoors on the floor of a large room. No one drinks water. Everyone, even small children -- drink watered down ale. Grownups with money drink more robust ale and wine.

Throughout this entire book, a cathedral is being made. The cathedral is so huge, and the labor is so manual, that it takes about 30 years to finish. Thomas the builder starts it, but when he is killed in a raid, his stepson Jack grows up to finish the job. The details of each brick and wall and arch were a little monotonous, but I just kept reminding myself about the knowledge in Ken Follett's brain and how amazed I was at the extent of it.

And I, of course, learned things about the 1100s I didn't know. Such as, there's no separation of church and state back then. The church practically runs the state. They own land and collect rent and won't hesitate to evict you it you fall behind on your payments. And soldiers don't get paid by the government like they do today. Back then, a knight had to put together his own team, and he was responsible for buying his own war horse, his own armor (of course), and supplying the same for his men, while paying them a weekly wage. How did a knight get paid? He pillaged! Then he sold what ever he took. If he didn't pillage, he made no money. I always thought they pillaged because they were mean and horrid creatures.

I would have thought that that book would have taken Follett 10 years at least to write. It's a once-in-a-lifetime kind of book -- the kind you say whew, I did it. I can die and go to heaven now. But it actually only took him three years. And he turned around and wrote a 1,000 page sequel!!! And he's still writing 1,000-page books today. He just finished a trilogy of them.

In any case, if you're a reader who loves fiction but also loves history, and isn't afraid of 1,000 pages, this is a good book for you. Enjoy the read and the ride!

Please check out my novel, In Fashion's Web on Amazon.

The Night I Slept on the Ground in New York City

Last night, I was with a group of friends enjoying an evening out. When the conversation turned to interesting memories of times in New York city, this one of mine came to mind.

I was 17 years old and on my way to a Led Zeppelin concert at Madison Square Garden with 5 of my friends. The year was 1975. The group came on 45 minutes late so they announced that they would play 45 late to make up for it.

The concert was phenomenal, of course, but I knew right away it would put us dangerously close to missing the last train at Grand Central Station that would take us back to Connecticut, but we figured we would just walk fast. Well, apparently we didn’t walk fast enough. We arrived right at 1:30 a.m., and the doors were already locked.

We didn’t know what to do, but someone told us we could get a train from Penn Station at 3:05 a.m., so we all trudged the eight blocks back to 34^th Street and waited. Unfortunately, the conductors wouldn’t take our Metro North tickets and wanted us to pay for new tickets. Well, we didn’t have the money for new tickets so we turned around and trudged back to Grand Central Station again.

Fortunately, it was July, and a dry day, so we plopped down on the sidewalk in front of the 42^nd and Lexington Street entrance to Grand Central, where the brown doors – six of them – were angled out facing the street.

We could see we weren’t the only ones who had missed the last train. Underneath the Park Avenue overpass, there were about 10 or 15 more teens on both sides of the street. One in particular that I remember across from us was a girl with long blonde hair in white denim overalls. She stood out because of the brightness of her hair and outfit. Seven years later I would be telling this story at work and a gal that I worked with whose name also happens to be Lynn said that she was the girl in the white overalls!! Such a small world.

So we slept for a couple of hours, and at 5:30, were starting to wake up to take the first train home when a large, plump police officer came by and said, “All right everybody up and empty your pockets.”

Apparently, he could smell pot. It was coming from two boys that were near us but not with us. He made all of us get up just the same. One of my friends had 2 joints in a baggie. He crushed them with his feet. Another had a small pipe and he confiscated it. He threatened to arrest us all but didn’t. Then he said, “I may not be able to stop you from smoking pot, but you’ll never smoke in this town again.”

It was all we could do not to laugh. It sounded like he was trying to act tough but he wasn’t succeeding. Was he imitating Clint Eastwood in Dirty Harry? Or some other famous movie star? It was such a bad attempt, it was hard to tell.

Between the amazing concert, sleeping on the street and our run-in with the police, it was a night none of us will ever forget.

Please check out my novel, In Fashion's Web on Amazon.

I Have Mad Respect for the Old TV Show The Waltons

I never watched The Waltons when it was on the air from 1971 to 1981. But now that the reruns are on the Hallmark Channel, which I love watching, I can’t wait to get home at night to watch more episodes.I was surprised to see that the show touches on many serious issues and brings history to life.

At first, the large wholesome family was a nice departure from the horrors in the daily news and on other shows like Law and Order, Criminal Minds and CSI. I love all those crime shows, but I just got so tired of the blood and the gore of it all. The Waltons became my escape.

I started watching The Waltons and it was refreshing, with their yes sirs and yes ma’ams and brothers and sisters who are kind to each other. And the fresh air and countryside are a nice departure from the city I’m used to.

Created by Earl Hamner, Jr., the story and the location – Walton’s Mountain in the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia – are completely fictional, but the show is based on a book he wrote called Spencer’s Mountain about a family in rural Virginia. There’s one General Store, a couple of spinster sisters who make daddy’s moonshine recipe behind closed doors.

The time period covers the Great Depression and World War II. I never expected the subject matter to be so important or progressive. All four Walton sons join the Army or Navy. 

Maryellen’s husband is killed in Pearl Harbor. John-Boy Walton is shot down over Germany but recovers. Jason helps liberate France. And Ben Walton is captured by the Japanese and becomes a prisoner of war. Meanwhile, a black neighbor is turned away at a restaurant. The issues they cover on the show are amazingly progressive and painful.

As I’m writing this, Ben has made an American flag out of clothing stolen from the Japanese’ laundry, which the POWs have to wash daily. He hangs it on the flagpole where the Japanese flag belongs, and ends up in solitary confinement as punishment. “I don’t care, it was worth it!” he says stubbornly as he’s thrown in the brig.

You see women going to work as Rosy Riveters in the factories. And the food and gas are bought with rationing stamps. It really brings to life the things that our grandparents went through and that we can only imagine. I think it’s better than history books in teaching kids about the past and I think they ought to have to watch it in school.

As I wait until tomorrow to find out whether Ben gets out of the Japanese concentration camp alive I know what’s coming – the bombings in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I can’t wait until this war is over and The Waltons can all be together again.

Please check out my novel, In Fashion's Web on Amazon.

I Bleed Country Music

I've loved country music since I was at least 12. That's when John Denver was very popular. His songs Take Me Home Country Roads and Rocky Mountain High were on the radio, and my mother had an 8-track of of one of his albums. I remember when I turned 16 I loved buying albums and I bought two of his, including his Greatest Hits. And we used to sing Sunshine on My Shoulders at church, during the folk mass.

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine on my shoulders makes me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high

That was the same time that Glen Campbell was making guest appearances on the Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour on television. After a year, he got his own show, the Glen Campbell show. At school, we had the Scholastic Book of the Month club, and in 8th grade, I remember I bought Glen Campbell's biography. Oh how I cried when he hit rock bottom in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and sold his guitar for $25.

Around the same time, we had this neighbor Frank who was a truck driver, and he had about 30 or 40 country albums, what he called "truck-driving music," guys like Red Sovine, and I used to love to listen to it. Sometimes, I would go over there when his daughters, my friends Ronnie and Eva, weren't home. I would say, "Frank, can I listen to your records?" and he'd let me in. I'd sit on the floor of his living room and play record after record, while he was downstairs in the basement with his tools and his workbench.

I don't remember any of the songs or the singers now, except for ol' Red, but I remember they really captured my heart.

As I got older, I continued to enjoy country music. In the 90s I was very into the women of country -- Faith Hill, Martina McBride, Leann Womack, Jo Dee Messina, Leanne Rhimes, the Dixie Chicks.

The first time I ever got up and sang in public was at my Aunt Maymee's nursing home -- I sang Crazy by Patsy Cline. A few years later when I started going around the karaoke circuit, Crazy was part of my repertoire.

Today, I'm privileged to enjoy country radio over the Internet. I can listen to our local Nash FM, 94.7, out of Newark, or I can listen to the Big 98, WSIX, out of Nashville, or even Camel Country 108 out of Phoenix. I fell in love with Camel Country 108 when my mom was sick. One day I was driving her car to the hospital when I turned on the radio and was surprised to hear that my mother had the dial tuned to a country station. I listened for several months after I got home before I discovered WSIX in Nashville, the heart of country music, with Bobby Bones and Amy Page. I hope to meet them one day!

And of course, I can't forget CMT, country.com and YouTube, with all the videos I could ever want.

It's amazing how country music has changed. Some of the songs on the radio, like Dan and Shea's Nothing Like You and (hottie) Michael Ray's Kiss You in the Morning don't sound like country to me at all. But then I hear people like Darius Rucker, Lady Antebellum, Little Big Town, Carrie Underwood and Florida Georgia Line, and I feel good about where country music is going.

You'd think that someone who bleeds country music has been to Nashville six times over. Ironically. I've never been any farther than waiting at the airport for a connection flight. But visiting Nashville is definitely my dream and I hope to get their soon.

Please check out my novel, In Fashion's Web on Amazon.

Congratulations to Country Singer Brantley Gilbert and His New Bride

Brantley Gilbert probably woke up on his wedding day last week and immediately thought, "bring it on!" In case you are a reader who is not 'countrified', those three words are pivotal to Gilbert's current smash hit, 'One Hell of an Amen.'

Gilbert, who has a voice I like to call Southern Whisper, married Amy Cochran, his long-time girlfriend at his Georgia home, according to E! online. Cochran inspired many of Gilbert's songs, including "More Than Miles" and "You Don't Know Her Like I Do."

The relationship hasn't always been upbeat, Gilbert recalled. In a previous interview with E, Gilbert said he met Cochran 10 years ago in church, but the relationship was on and off for five years. "I made some poor decisions which led to break up," he told E. They broke up for five years, but then they got back together.

"She's been in my soul since the day I met her...she has and will continue to inspire song after song in my life," Gilbert according to E.

Gilbert's newest album, Halfway to Heaven, has launched three hits so far: Bottom's Up, Small Town Throwdown and his latest single, One Hell of an Amen.

The latter song, a very catchy tune, is a story about 'fighting the good fight', Gilbert said in a video on his website. "Any time you go out fighting for your life or fighting for your country, that's one hell of an amen."

Gilbert will be touring throughout the U.S. during summer, then steps down in Canada in September and October.

Connect with Gilbert on Facebook and Twitter.

My congratulations go out to the happy couple.

Please check out my novel, In Fashion's Web on Amazon.

Bloodstream: Whoa… Where Did This Come From?

Was anyone else as overcome by Ed Sheeran’s Billboard Music Awards performance as I was?

I mean, where did all that raw emotion and aggression come from? I liked it, but I was shocked by the complete departure from the softer stuff he has been putting out.

First of all, Bloodstream, written by Ed and the British bass and drum band Rudimental, sounded like it stepped right out of the LSD era of the 1960s. As I watched Ed play, all I could think of was Jimmy Hendrix at Woodstock.

And what exactly is he singing about? Shooting heroin? Having your heart broken? Both? Or something more?

To find the answer, I first went to Lyrics.com to review the lyrics:

I've been spinning now for time
Couple women by my side
I got sinning on my mind
Sipping on red wine
I've been sitting here for ages
Ripping out the pages
How'd I get so faded?
How'd I get so faded?

Hard to say for sure, but it sounds like the character in the song is getting drunk and may be planning or have already had a threesome. That’s vague, but what is very clear is that the character feels guilty. The first line, to me, says he’s been thinking, trying to sort things out.

Same thing with ‘I’ve been sitting here for ages, Ripping out the pages.’ He sounds regretful, like he’s trying to turn the clock back and take back something he’s done.

Also, both lines refer to the passing of time. Is he (the character) tired of the constant all-night parties that musicians get caught up in? It sounds like he’s at the bottom of a very bad place, a place that he wants to get out of, but may not feel strong enough to do it himself.

Next, it sounds like he’s hurt one of the women, but then I start to think that he’s taken some kind of poison to commit suicide with these lines:

This is how it ends, I feel the chemicals burn in my bloodstream
Fading out again, I feel the chemicals burn in my bloodstream
So tell me when it kicks in
So tell me when it kicks in

As the song crescendos in the end, it sounds like the guy is dying. What ever it is that he’s done – whether he killed one of the women in the room or perhaps he just can’t find a way out of the dark place he’s in, he feels there is no other way out, no way he can escape what he’s done or obtain forgiveness. This is what I see when I read the words.

And the song is so intense, I feel like Ed should be completely wiped when he’s done playing it. Like he should collapse on the stage. Probably the only thing from preventing him from collapsing is his viral young age and constant touring schedule that keeps him fit.

This is my interpretation. Next, I will search the Internet to see if Ed has explained the song to any of the media and we’ll see how close I was to the real meaning behind the song.

Please check out my novel, In Fashion's Web on Amazon.

Destiny: As Good a Book as Thornbirds or Evergreen

I love a good novel. And I’ve read dozens of them. But every once in a while, a book comes along that really moves me, that gets to my soul and I know that I will never forget it.

Recently, I read such a book. It’s title is Destiny, and it was written by Sally Beauman, a British woman. As a fellow writer, I have such respect for the depth of her characters, the way their lives wove together and their paths crossed.

Even more than that, I’m impressed by the history. The book was written in 1987 but much of the book takes places during World War II. Also, a great deal of it takes place in France in addition to England with supporting story lines in both California and Alabama.

Destiny was ever bit as good as Thornbirds and Evergreen and I recommend that any woman who loves to read get themselves to their local library or on to Amazon and read this book.

The first third of the book primarily centers around two brothers, Jean-Paul and Edward. There is a lot of sex, prostitution, lying, cheating, drinking, loneliness and pain and suffering. The usual stuff.

The middle third of this 838-page tome is like a coming of age for the boys. They graduate, go out into the world and find their way in life, with both good and bad at every turn.

In the final third of the book, there is a settling down, but that doesn’t prevent the characters from suffering pain. If anything, they suffer more.

I really enjoyed being able to visualize the beauty of both France and England. The details make it easy for the story to come to life.

In the end, I didn’t want this book to end. The characters, especially Edward and Helene, are unforgettable. I highly recommend it to all.

Please check out my novel, In Fashion's Web on Amazon.

"Lake News" Is a Story of Love and Justice

I finished my first Barbara Delinsky novel today and it was fantastic. When you read a 500-page book in four days while holding down a full-time job, taking a night class and handling a series of other responsibilities, you know it was good.

Lake News is the story of Lily Blake, a singer and pianist who lives in Boston. Her life is going well when out of nowhere, she is blindsided by a media scandal that not only is not true, but ruins here life and her reputation.

With her tail between her legs and feeling completely helpless, she moves back to the small village of Lake Henry, New Hampshire, where she is from.

Over a period of two weeks, she works tirelessly to build a new life for herself again, all the while trying to clear her name and here reputation.

Thanks to the help of a friend who runs the local weekly newspaper, she finds both justice and love simultaneously. Justice and revenge are one of my favorite themes for both books and movies, so anything that ends that way definitely captures my attention (think: Diary of a Mad Black Woman, one of my favorite movies.).

Barbara Delinsky has a talent for details. You not only can feel Lily's frustration, pain and humilation from being blamed for something she didn't do and then being harassed by paparazzi for it, but the scenes in and around Lake Henry just make you want to take a deep breath, like you can feel the fresh air in your bones.

Having written more than 60 novels, I'm surprised that I haven't heard of Delinsky before, but I definitely look forward to reading more of her work. You can find out more about Barbara Delinsky, who lives in Massachusetts, at www.barbaradelinsky.com.

Please check out my novel, In Fashion's Web on Amazon.

Merry Christmas Double Glo

I took a memoir writing class in the fall at the Darien Library. I didn't know whether I would ever write a memoir, I just thought it would be fun to learn a new writing skill. Turns out, everyone had to write one piece and present it during the final class. I ended up writing something about my mother. Here it is. I hope you like it.

Lynn Russo Whylly

“Merry Christmas Double Glo”

I was sitting at a red light on Washington Boulevard in Stamford when I saw it. The sign for the cross street – Henry Street – loomed large in front of me. It was the first time I passed through that part of town in almost 40 years, and it caught me off guard, giving me chills.

     I turned my head and stretched as far to the right as I could to get a good look at building – it was long, and brick, with windows that went on forever. Of course, the building was completely renovated now, but from the outside, it still looked like the Christmas decoration factory I remembered – the place where my mother, Nancy, was the switchboard operator for the last 13 years of my childhood.

     My mind flashed back to a day when my brothers, sister and I had visited my mom at work. Diane was 12. I was 10. Jimmy was eight and Tommy was seven. It was the sixties and I remember I was wearing straight-legged knitted stretch pants with stirrups under the feet. They sound hideous now, but back then, they were all the rage and I had a pair in every color of the rainbow.

     As soon as we walked through the front door I could see my mother, off in the corner behind the small glass enclosure. Her tiny cubicle looked lonely and barren in that big empty lobby with its pale green walls and high ceiling. Sitting behind the black switchboard with the headset covering her ears and the microphone in front of her mouth, I watched over and over again as she pulled wires out and up, plugging them in little holes, criss-crossing one over the other to connect callers to their requested parties.

     She had that stereotypical nasal voice of a telephone operator when she answered the phone. “Paper Novelty, one moment. Hold plee-ehs.” “I’ll try that number for you now.” “Paper Novelty, one moment.” “Paper Novelty, I’m sorry, he’s not available right now, may I take a message? Thank you.” “Paper Novelty, hold plee-ehs….”

     Her pointed, cat-like glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She was wearing her favorite belt – a wide black one pulled tight around her tiny waist, overlapping her dark green blouse and black skirt. Her black hair was pulled to one side. Her long thin legs and black high heels were crossed under the desk.

     During the Christmas season, she would answer the phone differently, saying “Merry Christmas Double Glo.” Double Glo was the nickname for the company logo that appeared on all the packages of decorations. An oval droplet with points at the top and bottom, the top half was green and had eyes and a smiling mouth; the bottom half was white. After Paper Novelty closed its doors in 1975 and my mother went on to work somewhere else, I kept up the tradition by calling her every Christmas season and saying, “Merry Christmas Double Glo.”  

     She decorated her tree well into my adulthood with vintage Paper Novelty ornaments and I loved seeing it every year. White angels for the treetop. Doves sprinkled with gold dust. Teardrops, pointsettias, honeycomb bells, and tinsel. Lots and lots of tinsel. The hooks came in little green and red boxes with Double Glo’s smiling face on them. Now, the ornaments are gone, and as a tribute to my mother I use the box as an ornament, hanging it on our tree using an original Paper Novelty hook.

     My memory shifts to January 2011; times have really changed. My mother is lying in bed in the intensive care unit at Scottsdale Shea Hospital in Arizona. We’re all there, two on each side of her bed. Her eyes are wide open but the ventilator prevents her from speaking. Behind closed doors, it took my brothers, sister and me several agonizing hours to accept the terms of her living will, and to take her off the ventilator.  

     As the holidays get closer, everything reminds me of her. Driving past the street where she used to work. Shopping for the holidays and remembering when the whole family was together at her house. Setting up my Christmas village and my manger, each individual piece a gift from her.

     A horn beeps and I snap back to reality. The light is green and I have to move, but I  strain my neck to see the old building one more time. My heart aches to look at it. “Ohhhh,” I say out loud, feeling the pain. “Oh ma, I wish you could see this.”

      My eyes well up with tears and I want to let them flow, but I’m on my way to a job interview at Pitney Bowes headquarters on Elmcroft Road. I can’t go with puffy eyes and a face blotched from tears, so I take a deep breath and blink a few times, gently dabbing at my eyes with my shirt.

Then I tuck the memory away for another day, another time. Merry Christmas, Mom, Merry Christmas Double Glo.

Please check out my novel, In Fashion's Web on Amazon.