fiction – Page 6 – Britt Skrabanek

Dream a Little Dream On a Streetcar

Last Friday evening I waited with a jittery bunch of passengers for the North-South line streetcar to arrive in the middle of downtown.

Some, like me, were part of the late bunch who had just finished work. But most were out on the town, traipsing amongst the vast array of quality restaurants and watering holes.

I was in a mood.

After work I was wiped out and wanted nothing more than to get home, wind down with a cold beer, and hang out with Mr. H and the cats.

As the streetcar approached, it looked packed. It was warm that night, and being smashed up against strangers was the last thing I wanted to do.

Then, I began to hear a familiar tune.

Stars shining bright above you
Night breezes seem to whisper “I love you”

(Okay, I’m losing it. Am I hearing Ella Fitzgerald on the freaking streetcar?)

Birds singing in the sycamore trees
Dream a little dream of me

Yes, I was.

The streetcar doors opened to reveal a full-on jazz trio—two guys and a gal—clad in 1940s duds. She was the lead singer, one guy played the guitar and sang with her, while the other manned an upright bass.

We all squished into what I could only describe as a party train from another time. Fortunately, there were plenty of others around to console my fear of insanity. Historical fiction writing can blur the lines of reality and make-believe in my head sometimes.

It turns out that I happened upon another thing that makes the city of Portland that much more awesome.

Streetcar Mobile Musicfest celebrates the city by featuring local musicians on downtown streetcars at various times of the year. The live music is included with your streetcar fare, which is a whopping buck one way.

Lucky me had the privilege to see Boy & Bean. They were talented and mesmerizing.

To say that this was a magical experience doesn’t even do it justice.

The music transformed the public transportation experience entirely. Usually everyone tunes out on the streetcar, listening to music, fiddling with their smartphones, or sitting with their arms crossed and staring out the window.

That night everyone tuned in.

Riders were smiling, clapping, photographing, filming, and swaying in the seats and aisles.

There was an old couple next to me dancing and singing the whole time. The woman and I looked at each other with foolishly happy tears in our eyes. From two completely generations, we grinned and moved together, connected by a few beautiful minutes on a crowded downtown streetcar.

It would not have been hard to spend hours there, enjoying the vibe with all of those strangers as the city lights sailed by. Of course, I almost missed my stop and jumped up just in time.

I reluctantly exited the streetcar and walked home in a different mood than when I got on, jiving inside.

The Bra Game Gets a Description

I don’t think I’ve ever come across anything more thrilling and terrifying than writing a book description.

You create a fictitious world from the ground up, live and breathe it for years, painstakingly edit until you’re sick of looking at it, then you have to sum it all up with efficient charisma.

So, last week I finally sat my procrastinating ass down to write The Bra Game’s description and made a sweet little home for my baby on the blog.

After some careful consideration, I have decided that my original—ahem, impatient—spring release date is a no-go. Our cross-country move to Portland was a bit of an obstacle for the project. Though I trucked on with edits, I still have some buttoning up to do.

I want to deliver a quality piece of work to you all, and that takes time. With that being said, I am pushing the release to early summer. Since The Bra Game (new title…NOLA FRAN EVIE) boasts a retro summertime feel, it should fit in swell with summer reads.

The cover is currently in the shop, so I am using this temporary 1950s-esque selfie until then.

Without further ado, I present to you the description. Ta-da!

They were unladylike rebels, abandoning rolling pins for baseball bats to join the All-American Girls Baseball League. They changed history, and that changed them. After the league disintegrates in 1954 Nola, Fran, and Evie accidentally reunite on a popcorn-scented summer day where it all began, on Wrigley Field. Nearly forty years later Jacks Demonte makes a startling discovery…a trail of clues tucked away in a vintage handbag. Forever fated to the bra game, the extraordinary lives of these women intersect with her own as she falls deeper into a heroic past.

Inside these bra players lies a fierce beauty, an unconventional destiny beyond the kitchen. The American dream of sparkling cars and pastel suburbia is mocked by the turbulent reality of nuclear threats and civil rights. Nola, Fran, and Evie team up once again, connecting in truth to fight for a pivotal cause these brave dames can only win together.

So, what do we think?

Yin-Yang and Pop Tarts

Last Friday I was cooped up all morning in my pajamas, a mad writer in the final stages of novel editing. My eyes were burning and I was barely on speaking terms with the English language.

As it was due time to see the light of day, I rode Silvie the bike through bustling downtown Portland and found some surprising tranquility.

There are things about Lan Su Chinese Garden that would normally keep me far, far away. It’s located in the city’s touristy Chinatown and you have to fork over nearly 10 bucks to get in the front door.

But, I gave it a go.

I decided to geek out and take the walking tour.

The tour guide with the cheesy Yin-Yang baseball cap almost made me change my mind, but he had me with his calm demeanor. He even told us we could leave at any time, or wander away and come back.

There were covered walkways throughout, but the rain was a soft drizzle so none of us cared about getting wet. Rumor has it that a heavier rain at Lan Su is nothing short of magical as the rain slips off the ornate roofs to create a beaded curtain effect.

It was incredible to learn the meaning of everything encompassing us—the stories and poetry, the Yin and Yang from floor to ceiling.

Bridges were designed in a zig-zag pattern to encourage the walker to slow down and absorb their surroundings.

At a leisurely pace I marveled at this island of serenity surrounded by noise and grime, lapsing into a walking meditation. Then I began to be awe-inspired by the Yin-Yang connection beyond the walls, in the way the city itself contrasted starkly with the garden.

To finish my sweet adventure I stopped into the tea house within the garden for sustenance. Before you enter there is a sign requesting guests to silence their cell phones. Um…awesome.

For my first ever formal tea experience, I chose the Golden Monkey black tea accompanied by pecan cookies.

Exquisite music struck up next to me and suddenly I noticed the man serenading us.

I purposely abandoned my Kindle in my bag, sat back and enjoyed. There was no need to do anything else but that.

When I left the garden with sweets and tea lingering on my breath, my skin still damp from the rain, and a drunken grin on my face…it all changed. The traffic jarred my senses, and so did the man who yelled at me the second I was on the sidewalk.

“Hey! What’s in that helmet? Huh? What’s in that helmet?”

A homeless man, startling the poor tourist families passing by, had a thing for my bright green bike helmet. I crossed the street and hurried over to my bike. He made a beeline for me.

Sure, it’s noon in the middle of a city. But when an unstable man approaches me, I’m on high alert. I’ve been an urban bike commuter for the past six years. As such, I have two survival plans…

Plan #1: Unlock the bike with a quickness, then ride like hell.

Plan #2: Whack the attacker with my bike lock.

This is my bike lock.

He was muttering incoherent things and flailing wildly while I unlocked my bike as quickly as I could. I realized that I would have to face him head on.

I gripped my bike lock in my right hand and stared at him without speaking.

He looked me up and down and said: “Alright.” He showed me what was left of his teeth as he smiled, then he gave me a peace-offering, which he carefully rested upon Silvie’s handlebar.

The brown sugar and cinnamon Pop Tarts.

In Yin and Yang there are opposites which cannot exist without one another. Fire and water. Male and female. Light and dark.

Perhaps me and Pop Tart Man are another example of this philosophy. Or perhaps, I just scored a bag of Pop Tarts.

In Celebration of 500 Followers…A Happy Dance!

Some of you have known me to be a performer of thank you happy dances on this blog.

There was the very first happy dance, which I definitely feel is one of the most embarrassing videos I’ve ever posted. In this happy dance, I channeled some sort of globe-loving Vanna White character. It was odd, but you all continued to like me despite the weirdness at play.

Next there was the second happy dance, when I reached 100 followers and went all out with “The Artist” inspired rendition. I began to discover a strange love for video editing around this time, so it’s pretty fancy. This was also Hazel the cat’s first video appearance. I know, I know…she totally steals the show.

It’s been a while, almost two years, since I’ve done such a goofy thing. While I was moving across the country a few weeks ago, something truly awesome happened.

I reached 500 followers on my teeny blog!!!

I wanted to thank you all properly for your incredible support and encouragement. Blogging isn’t an easy thing to keep up with, but you all keep me going with your fun-loving selves.

Every day I have the privilege of connecting with beautiful people from all over the world. This community that we share continues to astound me with its loveliness. I’m so happy to be a part of it.

Again, thank you so much! Here’s my gift to you…

I’d Much Rather Play Make-Believe

I never stopped playing make-believe. And, I think it’s safe to say that at this point in adulthood, I will never stop.

Hell, when I put clothes on each day…it’s still very much like playing dress-up.

Last night I stayed up late, past midnight in my old age, and actually finished an entire movie without passing out in my chair. Wild night, let me tell ya!

I’m a bit late with catching this flick, but I watched “Stuck in Love” with Greg Kinnear (love him!) and Jennifer Connelly (love, love her!) from 2012. It’s one of those indie romantic comedy/drama films, the kind that are often very hit or miss for me.

This one was not a miss.

In fact, I haven’t bawled that much over a movie since the time I made the dreadful mistake of watching “Atonement” alone at an early matinee showing at the theater. Without a tissue in sight, let’s just say I barreled out of there with my sunglasses on to hide my red, puffy, snotty face.

Okay, so back to “Stuck In Love”.

For readers and writers, it’s a goodie. A love of books and a struggle with the writing process are both a strong undercurrent throughout. Sure, it’s a touch unbelievable to have a family of writers — dad, daughter, son — who all miraculously get published.

But hey, that’s what make-believe is for.

Kinnear had a fantastic line, which he said during a speech with a knowing smirk.

“I’m not sure what it is that compels a person to play make-believe even when they’re an adult.”

I love that. We writers are the oldest children I know. We continually see the world as a playground, a colorful place to explore tirelessly.

I’ll never be the adult who has my shit together. I’d much rather play make-believe.