Jiving in Another Time

I have forever been infatuated by the swing club culture of World War II. During the darkest of times, their seedy facades welcomed those who needed somewhere to let loose and celebrate life.

These bold rebels dressed loudly, danced inappropriately, and even had their own underground jargon, saying things like: “Do you dig this jive?” and “Hey man, you’re comin’ up on the wrong riff!”

In the initial brainstorming for my upcoming novel, Beneath the Satin Gloves, I knew I wanted to immerse myself in this rich, lively environment, somehow incorporating my performance background throughout. As a lifelong dancer, I didn’t want to take the obvious route with my main character, making her a gyrating Swing Kid. Instead, I envisioned her name in lights, the essence of retro glamour, commanding a stage and captivating a crowd.

I am the worst singer in the world. Really…can’t carry a tune in a bucket!

I barely even sing when I’m alone in my own house. Why, do you ask? Because my cats protest. They awake from their deep, daytime slumber, rush over to paw at me, and carry on with strange protesting sounds…“Mommy, shh!”

Without a doubt, I knew my main character had to be a lounge singer. I mentioned in my previous post, Berlin: My Scarred Muse, she is a modern day woman who wakes up in the past. She discovers she is a spying lounge singer, thrown into the middle of war-torn Berlin in 1943.

She is catapulted into a time she previously knew through history books and old movies. Seen through her eyes, the disorientation and awe she experiences is constant throughout the story.

An excerpt from Beneath the Satin Gloves…

Alina looked around in awe at the scene before her. Café Rouge could only be described as a place of utmost warmth and brilliance, overcoming the stark hallway and frigid weather. Everything was tinted in a red and gold haze—plush seating, lazy tablecloths, and opulent curtains created a haven of chic seduction. Early winter nights gave some an excuse to party sooner—the other population simply went to bed.

Although the night was just getting started, a few amateurs were sloshed and sweaty. The opening band was incredible, gold instruments creating genius undulations of sound, blasting the audience with a feast for the ears. A clan of stylishly dressed individuals bombarded the dance floor, dancing with unclean movement highly representative of swing culture.

Men flipped women over their shoulders or between their legs, skirts flew up around heads—it was just another seamless part of the show. Hard stomping, spastic jumping, and shameless gyrating permeated the floor; meanwhile, foul-mouthed dwellers drank and smoked at the wobbly tables. Reflections of the mad room swam in Alina’s effervescent eyes.

It was raunchy. It was beautiful.

So, do you cats dig this excerpt? : )

I’m still wrapping up my novel, but it will be out soon (phew!). In the meantime, please enjoy my favorite scene from the movie Swing Kids.

Berlin: My Scarred Muse

When I traveled to Berlin back in 2009, I was mesmerized and speechless: the in your face street art, the bold and chic architecture, the playful, rebellious nature of its people, and the intentionally abandoned scars from a time in history when she almost fell entirely off the map.

I fell in love with the city at a young age, enthralled by its turbulent history and thriving culture. It was the only locale that came to mind when my husband dared me to write a novel. Although I wanted to write about a multitude of time periods, the World War II junkie in me prevailed, and Beneath the Satin Gloves was born.

It is the biggest challenge I have ever taken on, a delicious adventure.

I’ve always wanted to live in another time, and writing effortlessly granted me that impossible wish. Off and on for the past three years, I lived in the 1940s through the characters and plots in my head.

I love the idea of an intelligent character being uncomfortable, completely out of their element. To add a twist to my book, my main character is actually from present day, and wakes up in the past as a spy in Berlin. Therefore, modern elements and thoughts are incorporated throughout the story.

An excerpt from Beneath the Satin Gloves…

One lazy afternoon, spending quality time with her remote control, she flipped through channels and landed on a travel show discussing the gender qualities of cities. American cities, like Chicago, were masculine, embracing smart business suits, non-stop hustle and bustle, and snappy hamburgers. European cities, like Brussels, were feminine, encompassing tidy dogs, chic cafés, and lazy croissants swimming in artery-blocking cream.

Berlin was both feminine and masculine, eclectic sense of style mixed with undeniable assertiveness. Graffiti covered the walls in one eye-catching portrait after another, expressing creativity and attitude beneath its brazen messages.

It was estimated that ninety percent of Berlin was destroyed during World War II. Walking around that summer, she found bullet holes permanently embedded in different exteriors around the city. She often stopped and touched them, closing her eyes, feeling these scars as if they were her own.

Scars could never diminish Berlin’s spirit. There was no need to cover them up with unnecessary make-up, because they made the city who she was—a survivor.

Many would claim Berlin is not a romantic city, but I beg to differ. In my eyes, romance is defined by complexity, passion, and intrigue.

I am currently in the final editing stages. I would love to hear your feedback! What do you guys think of the excerpt?

ZAP! BAM! POW! Hero or Anti-Hero?

I spent my entire weekend hanging out with my personal hero, Woody Allen, a man who inspires me endlessly. Don’t worry, I haven’t gone off the deep end. I simply connected with him in ways I didn’t know existed.

I discovered a fascinating tribute to his work, Woody Allen: A Documentary. It chronicles his life beautifully with compelling interviews and clips throughout. Even today, the man uses a typewriter he bought when he was 16, cutting and pasting with—wait for it—scissors and a stapler.

ZAP!  I think no matter who you are, whether you like him or not, whether you like his films or not, you have to respect him as one of the greatest innovators of our time.

As an aspiring writer, I look up to him, and I see a little bit of myself in him.

  • He uses his natural rhythm as a musician to his advantage, creating a sense of flow and timing in his writing. As a dancer, I aim to do the same.
  • Speaking of aim, he’s a Sagittarius, as am I.
  • He’s a tireless go-getter, and as such, is rarely satisfied.
  • He will do and say anything he wants.
  • He’s often misunderstood.

My hubby and I saw To Rome With Love Saturday night. This alone is a testament of my love for Allen’s work as I do not spend money on overpriced movie theater tickets for anyone else. The last time we went was a year ago for Midnight in Paris, a true gem.

I’m not going to review To Rome, because I’m not a critic and everyone has a right to their own opinion. All I’m going to say is that once again he delivered another ballsy, whimsical experience. I was not only entertained, I somehow felt different when I left.

BAM!  That equates artistic genius.

I’m part of a new generation of Woody enthusiasts. Before I saw any of his films, I thought he was a peculiar looking fellow with a Brooklyn accent. I found my rightful place as one of his quirky, adoring fans somewhere between Match Point and Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

These are two of my favorite stories of all time. Not flicks…stories.

POW!  To many, Woody Allen is an anti-hero, the guy people love to hate. But, I see him differently, as a genuine hero.

  • He doesn’t rely on a cape to get things done, he just does them.
  • He uses his intellectual superpowers for good.
  • He takes chances, and sometimes he fails.
  • He sacrifices in the name of passion.
  • He saves the world with his voice, reminding us that life is far from boring…it’s extraordinary.

My favorite Woody quotes…

“If you’re not failing every now and again, it’s a sign you’re not doing anything very innovative.”

“The talent for being happy is appreciating and liking what you have, instead of what you don’t have.”

Dancers: Quirkier than you think

Playing the Snow Queen in The Nutcracker, my solitary duty was to entice the audience, whisking them out of the daily grind and into an ethereal world—graceful, beautiful, and effortless.

No stress, no blunders. Everything was simple and perfect.

And, here’s what the audience didn’t know…I couldn’t see anything!

Typically, it snows at the end of the “Waltz of the Snowflakes”. And, even though the stage is merely littered with bits of scrap paper, the cheap thrill is bizarrely breathtaking.

But the dancers have a different view altogether. Simply put, it’s a hazard.

During every performance I was blind, courtesy of snowflakes caught in my fake eyelashes. Every time I leaped off into the wings, I blew snow out of my mouth. It was comparable to dancing on an obstacle course, pointe shoes slipping and sliding on the messy floor like there was no tomorrow.

As a result, I muttered many choice words through gritted teeth.

Yet, the audience didn’t notice a thing, and exited the theater with dreamy expressions, Tchaikovsky and tutus forever embedded in their minds.

I fulfilled my duty as a performer. Sure it was dangerous and challenging, but I  cherished every last second.

Dancers are athletes, who know how to act. They make the impossible, attractively possible.

I often forget how enthralling the dancer species truly is, because I have always been one. So, I took a moment to step out of my dancing shoes to analyze quirky characteristics of the dancer, and share a few crazy things you may not know.

  • They’re shy  You probably don’t believe me, but I’m guilty as charged. I can dance for thousands, but I loathe speaking in front of people. I believe this is where the snobby misconception comes into play, others mistaking bashfulness for conceit.
  • Their posture is baffling  Due to my good posture, I almost failed my driving test when I was younger. The DMV tester guy made me pull over and instructed me to take deep breaths; he warned that he was about to fail me for being too tense, because of the way I was sitting. Uncomfortably, I slouched in order to pass.
  • They avoid pedicures  Dancers are hard on their feet, and probably need pedicures more than the average Joe. But, they don’t want to lose their calluses, which act as an important shield against bare floors and pointe shoes.
  • They create in teeny-tiny spaces  That masterful artistry you see on the stage was probably created in somebody’s shoebox apartment. Dancers don’t usually have the luxury of studio space, and make miracles happen in absurd amounts of square footage.
  • They’re always rehearsing  A dancer needs to remember and master, so they run through choreography constantly. They dance at work, the dinner table, the grocery store—you name it! Last week, I was dancing at the dentist.
  • They don’t know how to stop dancing  I’m not allowed to play sports, because I’m a distraction. Why? Because I point my toes when I sprint, I perform a high kick with the soccer ball, I pirouette to dodge something, and I do split leaps over the other players.

Dancers are some of the hardest working artists out there, juggling day jobs, rehearsal schedules, and teaching gigs.

They get paid the least and have the shortest careers, but dancers sacrifice for the greatest reason of all…they love what they do.