Going down the rabbit hole is what we authors call picking up a thread of research that takes us away from our intended purpose. My latest is African-American opera. What got me started was my quest to track down a modern adaptation of Richard Wagner’s Das Rheingold. I learned of an African-American version where James Brown’s first gold record is the gold stolen in the opera. Looking for information on that performance has taken me down many paths in my latest rabbit hole. Before my quest, I’d have had to admit my knowledge of opera depicting aspects of African-American life was limited to the Gershwins’ Porgy and Bess and Scott Joplin’s Tremonisha. I soon became lost in the wonderful facts I discovered about old and new works. And truth be told, I loved being lost.
My rabbit hole was really a gold mine. I struck a rich vein every time I began a new internet search. I’ve learned about modern works like Tulani and Anthony Davis’ X, The Life and Times of Malcolm X that premiered at the American Music Theater Festival in 1985. Last year, the Seattle Opera performed Daniel Schnyder and Bridgette A. Wimberly’s Charlie Parker’s Yardbird, a daring piece that incorporated jazz and opera.
This month I learned about 1949’s Troubled Island by composer William Grant Still. You can learn more about the piece here…
In 1936, Still began the opera set in Haiti’s slave rebellion. He asked poet Langston Hughes to write the libretto. Hughes had collaborated with African American composer James P. Johnson to write a blues opera called De Organizer. The International Ladies Garment Workers Union sponsored performances of the work in 1940. In 1937, Hughes moved to Spain to correspond on the Spanish Civil War. Still’s wife, Verna Arvey, a librettist in her own right, finished Troubled Island‘s libretto. Completed in 1939, it took ten more years before the work was performed by the New York City Opera. This made Troubled Island the first African-American grand opera to be produced by a major opera company.
I was drawn to learn more about William Grant Still, the music of Langston Hughes, Verna Arvey, James P. Johnson, famous sponsors of work by African-American artists. Can you see why research is an underground rabbit warren from which I might have never returned to the story that initiated the search in the first place? I plugged up my ears against the siren call of all these facts and made my way back to the surface. I’ve tucked the information away for another time and other stories.
I’ve yet to find the James-Brown-gold-record version of Das Rheingold but I haven’t given up. If you come across it or any information about it, please let me know. But beware lest you fall into a rabbit hole research trap of your own.
For a chance to win a $10 Amazon gift card, share in the comments if you have a favorite opera or if opera is something you avoid at all costs.
One Breath Away
Sentenced to hang for a crime she didn’t commit, former slave Mary Hamilton was exonerated at literally the last gasp. She returns to Safe Haven, broken and resigned to live alone. She’s never been courted, cuddled or spooned, and now no man could want her, not when sexual satisfaction comes only with the thought of asphyxiation. But then the handsome stranger who saved her shows up, stealing her breath from across the room and promising so much more.
Wealthy, freeborn-Black, Eban Thurman followed Mary to Safe Haven, believing the mysteriously exotic woman is his mate foretold by the stars. He must marry her to reclaim his family farm. But first he must help her heal, and to do that means revealing his own predilection for edgier sex.
Hope ignites along with lust until the past threatens to keep them one breath away from love…
Excerpt from One Breath Away
“Caesar King?”
He removed his hat and extended his hand in greeting. “At your service, Queen.”
She donned her hat and examined him with that regal air.
“Miss Payne, if you please. You may call me Queen after the nuptials.” She finished tying her hat’s long ribbons beneath her chin. “Although, even then, I’d prefer Mrs. King.”
“You don’t say?” He chuckled, taking her measure from head to foot. “Well, Miss Payne it is…for now.”
She filled her face with a frown. “I don’t appreciate being examined like some newly purchased cow, Mr. King.”
He pulled back. Amusement wrestled with annoyance. “I’m making sure you measure up, Miss Payne.”
“Pray to what criteria? I doubt there’s a standard for marriages of convenience.” She shoved her valise against his chest then crossed her arms, causing her lovely bosom to swell.
He inhaled against the pull of desire throbbing in his privates. “The same criteria as you I suspect: my own self-worth and what I deserve.” He dropped the bag at her feet. “So, by that token, I don’t appreciate being treated like some fetch-and-carry boy.”
She lowered her gaze. But for the set of her jaw he’d have taken the gesture for apology.
He leaned forward and whispered, “If you ask me nicely, I’d gladly carry your bag.”
“A gentleman wouldn’t need to be asked.” Her tone dripped with disdain. “A gentleman would simply take it.”
“I do many things, Miss Payne.” He pushed up the brim of his hat and grinned, fired up by the hazel flame sparking in her eyes. “Pretending to be a gentleman doesn’t number among them.”
Being a writer—no, being a successful writer—isn’t only about getting words on pages. I wish it worked that way, but in the real world, or at least for the independently published authors…
We write a book
We scrounge for cover art to hand to the cover artist
We look for decent editors (or in my case since I am an editor, good beta readers to find my errors)
We pay or learn to format our books ourselves
We upload the books on all the platforms where people buy books
And then…we try to figure out how to get people to notice our book amid the millions of books available on all those platforms.
And that’s where you can really fall down that rabbit hole and waste an inordinate amount of time while you try to figure out what works.
I have a website. That’s a must for authors—the first order of business for any author.
I have a blog. Now, authors say blogs are dead, but I think mine does okay. See the number of folks on the left who get this daily post mailed straight to their inbox? I choose to continue this blog because it serves as my “face” to the real world out there. I talk about what’s real in my life. I talk about my books. I invite other authors to come to talk about their lives and their books. It’s a friendly place. But as an author, I have to do so much more.
Facebook, Instagram, Twitter… Gah. How can I be in all places at all times? Simply put, I can’t. And I do not want to pay someone to manage my social media, even though I’ve seen some authors who have the right support do very, very well. You see, I tried it, but it was work managing that support and I don’t really want anything more on my plate. I’ll do the occasional Facebook and Amazon ad and call it done.
And then my dd offered to do something for me.
She noticed all those lovely, luscious book memes on Instagram and Facebook and wondered why I wasn’t doing them. I told her flat out I didn’t have the time or the talent. Since she’s got online school to supervise every day and has to sit in the livingroom or dining room with the kids anyway, and it doesn’t take up every second of her time, she said she’d give it a shot. It looked like fun to her. Fun?! Of course, I worried about what those ads might look like because her taste and mine are not the same, and she doesn’t read romance, doesn’t get the genre at all.
But hey. She wanted to help.
So, for a little over a month now, I give her a cover and maybe a snippet about the book or a piece of an Amazon customer’s review and off she goes.
I told her donuts and the color pink feature in my latest release, Preacher…
And I thought, That’s alright. At least people will stop and look.
And then she saw my cover for my next release, Hardman, and asked whether I had more art with this guy because she said he was hot! This one’s simple. Stark. Sexy. I like it!
And she’s only gotten better. I wanted her to go back and do memes for books I already have out there but folks might have forgotten exist or had no idea they existed…
I had this Texas Cowboy story about a wild-child judge’s daughter who gets caught going Lady Godiva on a motorcycle by a pair of Dom deputies… She found this art!
The story that followed was about a schoolteacher voyeur spying on a deputy’s playroom. This one’s just too cute!
When she put all the Texas Cowboys together, she did this and I snorted with laughter.
My favorites so far? I love, love the biker girl and voyeur girl, but I love this one too!
And has it helped? I really think so. When I look at my sales on Amazon, there are more of my older titles selling, so I’m going to keep her employed for the longterm doing my memes. She’s becoming a goddess (and a godsend—just one more thing I don’t have to worry about)!
What do you think? And which is your favorite image from the ones I provided. Comment for a chance to win a backlisted title of your choice!
“All of us have moments in our lives that test our courage. Taking children into a house with a white carpet is one of them.”
~ Erma Bombek
I love that quote. Isn’t it soooo true? When my sister lived in Texas, she had a property in the country—and a white-as-hell carpet. You know where my kid spilled the grape juice, right?
I’m thinking about kids because school is back in full swing after Snowmageddon. Online, for our house. But there are Zoom meeting alarms set, homework to supervise. We’ll be busy.
The snow is melting. Yesterday, we had huge slabs of ice slide off the roof. It was dicey getting out the doors. There’s snow in patches, and “The Great Mudding” has begun. Towels are on the floor in front of every entrance for folks to clean off their shoes before coming inside.
I’m busy working on two sets of edits, plus charging back into my Work-in-Progress, Hardman—along with 20 items on my daily To Do list. Gah.
So, to the contest…
Tell me about your family’s “tests of courage” for a chance to win a download of your choice from my backlist of books!Â
Tell me a story. Just a short one will do. Doesn’t have to be good or long. Funny is always appreciated, too. Comment for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card!
I’m writing this as my dd and the 16-year-old are cleaning my rooms. I guess yesterday’s whine was read. 🙂
Which is very freeing for me. You know, being surrounded by “accidental” clutter is very exhausting. I’m not sure why. I love my “deliberate” clutter—my Russian lacquer boxes, my super-hero Funko-Pop figures, my fortune-telling teacups, my antique vanity table powder jars, etc. That clutter gives me pleasure. The clutter of water cups, unread magazines, the 7-year-old’s toys (because she spends an excessive amount of time down here with me (love her!)), clothes that need to be put into drawers—all that makes me uneasy and restless—and in normal times would inspire me to straighten…on occasion…but these aren’t normal times. My ass hurts. Bending gives me terrible twinges. And you know I’m going to be using this excuse (an excuse even it’s real pain) for as long as I can.
By the end of today, the only thing I’ll need to handle myself is my very cluttery desk. I should take a picture of my desktop, but you’d forever have that image in your mind, so just…no. Suffice it to say that I have unopened mail, toys that need fixing (again, for the precious 7-year-old who thinks I can save anything), art supplies that need to find a home, notebooks, and printed short stories (that I STILL need to read)…amid my “acceptable” clutter of perfume bottles (because a whiff of something wonderful wakes me up and clarifies my thinking), hand creams (because stiff fingers need massaging), colored pens in numerous coffee cups (because listing doesn’t work unless there’s a color code!), and those cheap dollar-store toys that wiggle and swing when the LED light is on (just because).
Okay…all right…I’ll share.
Don’t judge me! The picture doesn’t include my teetering stack of magazines and mail, but you get the picture. Actually, most of this mess “belongs” on my desk. The pens, the messy paint palettes, the dirty paint rag…
So, does my messy desk inspire hives or glee? Answer for a chance to win a download of your choice!
Me with my busted tailbone means a really short blog today. Even the donut pillow isn’t giving me much relief! And yes, my poor family has to hear about it, constantly. 🙂
Ugh. My desk is covered with paint palettes, unopened mail, an opened package of fabric glue, which I need to put away, a couple of empty water glasses. I wonder if I can make my daughter feel bad about the mess I don’t want to clean up. Yeah, like she doesn’t have a nasty house with mud trails from the kids coming inside after playing in the melting snow. Goodness, I even found a little stuffed dog the seven-year-old parked on my desk. Must mean it has a hole I’m supposed to sew up. Doesn’t she know I don’t want to do anything?
How soon can I go back to bed?
That’s how my day is going to be. Me sitting for a minute, whining about the mess around me, then moving gingerly back to the bed to ease onto the mattress. Wonder what wonderful thing I can watch to while away the day and forget about the fact the cats are leaving their hair all over the end of my bed. Do you think it would be a stretch to ask my dd to change my bedding? I guess I won’t ask. I’m not very skilled at guilting her into doing things. She says I have “good years” left, so I better to put them to “good” use. Yeah, she’s my girl.
This is what I aspire to do today—if only I could sit…
Isn’t that the greatest picture of a couch potato ever?
So, any advice for the woman who isn’t comfortable sitting, lying, or walking? My dd has cut me off from the good pharmaceuticals.
I’ve been busy sharing photos of Snowmageddon on Facebook and Instagram these past few days. We had a “once in a lifetime” weather event, per the weathermen. We’ve had these cold temperatures before, we’ve also had this much snow, but we’ve never had two snowstorms hover over us for so long, which is what’s causing all the problems with accumulation. All schooling this week was virtual, which was no biggie for my kids since they’ve been virtual since COVID hit. There’s been no mail delivery since Monday because the roads are impassable. We’ve been dripping every faucet non-stop. We had the hot-water pipe into the kitchen freeze up, but on Wednesday it warmed up just enough the pipe unfroze, so now we’re running both the hot and cold water to make sure it didn’t refreeze. Looks like no pipe damage. Woot!
My SIL, dd, and the kids have had a blast. My SIL tied a river innertube to the tractor and “sledded” the kids around the yard. He cleared the driveway and built them an outside “igloo”. There have been snowball fights—everything they’ve seen on TV and never experienced before because we NEVER get this kind of weather. Never this accumulation for sure.
I haven’t had as much fun. Early on Wednesday, I sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast. The little one’s coat was hung over the back, so she came rushing in because she was heading outside to play. I rose partway to help her free the coat, but didn’t realize that when she tugged it away, she pulled the entire chair with it. I sat and fell, my tailbone, and then the back of my head, slapping the floor. My head’s okay other than a bruise. My tailbone? Let’s just say hydrocodone and tramadol are my best friends…
Puzzle-Contest
Solve the puzzle then tell me about your “relationship” with snow for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card!
