beach couple

San Diego, Day 1: Wipeout

As the suited stranger next to me opens the airplane window, my bleary eyes impatiently adjust, eager to soak in the aerial wonders of San Diego, California. I’m a window seat gal, but I got stuck in the middle.

Me and the aisle guy peer over the window guy’s shoulder to catch a glimpse, hovering over his personal space like kids, no regard for boundaries.

Frankly, after being crammed in that stuffy tin can for hours—bumping elbows and knees, shutting out crying babies, playing musical chairs for bathroom trips—the three of us are war buddies.

Awake since 5am, I’ve journeyed 2,118 miles from Lake Michigan to the Pacific Ocean. I left my precious home, hubby, and cats for the first time in years.

I’m disoriented until that window opens. I relish in the nostalgia of the first twenty years of my young life—Los Angeles, not San Diego. Still, the comforting SoCal vibe soothes me as we make our descent.

Smog commandeers the skies, serving as the tollbooth of pollution. Palm trees dart into the air, posing like tall, skinny girls with unkempt hair. Backyard pools litter the terrain, refreshing the parched landscape in a casual manner.

The California girl is home.

What’s the best way to conquer jet lag? Lunch on the beach.

My gal pal Devon and I relax on the sandy patio of Poseidon. A calamari sandwich with fries and a couple of Bloody Mary’s perk me right up. It’s OK if you’re jealous of our view…

After a tight squeeze into my sassy, retro onesie and a generous coating of SPF 50, I’m whisked away to scenic Windansea Beach in La Jolla to meet up with my other dear friend, Naeiry.

My friends ask me why I’m so quiet and I blame jet lag. But, that isn’t the truth.

The beach and I are enjoying each other’s long lost company. I toy with the sand, digging past the dry surface until I excavate damp grains. I build unattractive mounds of absolutely nothing. I tag my blog in the sand, because I can’t refrain from writing.

The airplane stench is carelessly blanketed by a salty, fishy breeze. The tireless editing of my second novel is shushed by each lulling wave. Any stress becomes unimportant, wiped out by the ocean’s aggressive serenity.

The three of us decide to take a dip to cool off. Our trio makes the unanimous, rookie mistake of sporting our sunglasses in the choppy water. My beachy prowess is rusty and I squeal at the biting water temperatures.

You can probably guess what happens next…wipeout!

Remembering my sea legs, I dive under a commendable wave. It barrels forward, swallowing my unsuspecting friends. If you’ve ever been worked over by a wave before, you know it’s a humbling experience.

Devon proves her aquatic agility by holding onto her pricey shades. Naeiry loses hers during the hullabaloo. Upon resurfacing, off-kilter bikini bottoms are put back in their rightful places.

I whip around to come to their rescue, which of course turns out to be a monumental slipup.

I let the ocean have her way with me—flipping me upside down, stealing my sunglasses (cheapies, but brand new), and best of all, exposing one of my boobs to the lazing spectators.

Miraculously, our sunglasses are retrieved.

We all do the walk of shame back to our striped towel territory. I do my best to straighten out my wonky shades. We pull seaweed out of our suits, wipe our salty snot discreetly, and have a good laugh.

The sea is a finicky saboteur. She lures you in with her intoxicating perfume, her come-hither beauty, her complex tranquility. Then she steals your accessories, beats you up, and makes you flash everyone.

You know what, beach? You’re kind of a beoch sometimes. It’s a good thing you’re a looker. I guess we can still be friends. Love always…California girl.

Stay tuned for San Diego, Day 2: Chic’s Up, the city’s cosmopolitan side, on Friday.

Beneath the Satin Gloves…News and Reviews!

Just wanted to give everyone a quick update on my recent e-book release.

Haven’t heard of my quirky spy novel yet? You can get up to speed right here.

In addition to Amazon and Smashwords, Beneath the Satin Gloves is NOW gracing the virtual bookshelves of Apple and Barnes & Noble.

A sincere thanks to my fellow bloggers, readers, family, and friends for your magnificent support as I navigate this whirlwind endeavor of becoming a novelist.

You keep me happy, sane, and inspired.

Check out the rave reviews thus far…

Spies, Sex, Glamour and…time travel?  I must begin by saying that I am not generally into reading about the WWII era, and have never before read anything about Germany during the war. I decided to take a break from my “preferred eras” to read this fun book and am I glad I did! Well-researched, with an intriguing plot line, Beneath the Satin Gloves had much to keep me glued to it on my Kindle. I enjoyed getting to know the characters and loved how some of the “bad guys” got theirs in the end. Not all, but THAT would be a spoiler. What I have to know now is WHAT HAPPENS NEXT????? Read this book and you will find yourself asking the same question at the end. I guarantee it! Enjoy!

Couldn’t put the book down…  Charming characters and vivid descriptions are what make this suspense novel a real page turner. I was able to imagine myself in war torn Germany during WWII. Britt Skrabanek is a talented writer.

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.

The Clues in the Vintage Handbag

When I was a little girl, I idolized Nancy Drew. She was clever, stylish and feisty…my kind of heroine. She made elegance and intellect look easy, showing us that women were not only beautiful creatures, but forces to be reckoned with.

Several of my core interests stemmed from my childhood obsession with Nancy Drew: a nerdy love affair with history, writing strong female characters, and a vintage clothing addiction.

Yesterday, I unearthed a treasure, hidden in the folds of my new vintage handbag. No, the treasure did not have any monetary value, but in my eyes—it was a priceless discovery.

Awestruck, I found myself staring at artifacts in the palm of my hand: baseball tickets and a voting certificate with a list on the back. The year was 1954, a time of I Love Lucy, the Communist Control Act, Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, and of course…baseball.

Almost sixty years later, I find these clues from the past, offering a tiny glimpse into another woman’s life.

Looks like I get to be a sleuth after all.

Clue #1:  Baseball Tickets
During the 1954 season, Milwaukee Braves player Hank Aaron was making his permanent mark on the world of baseball. One of the first five African Americans to play in the league, he is considered to be one of the greatest baseball players of all time.

When: Sunday, August 22, 1954
Who: Milwaukee Braves vs. Chicago Cubs
Where: Wrigley Stadium
Winner: Milwaukee Braves 12-6

When: Wednesday, August 25, 1954
Who: Milwaukee Braves vs. Philadelphia Phillies
Where: County Stadium
Winner: Milwaukee Braves 4-3

Clue #2:  Voting Certificate and List
Unfortunately, I didn’t have much luck gathering solid information about the voting certificate, and if you have any insights out there, please feel free to comment down below. On the flip side of the certificate was a list, the most revealing lead…

Chocolate
Fly Swatter
Shoes
Film
Loan

So, who was she?
Based on the clues, I have created three different profiles of women, who may have owned the handbag…

  1. FILM  The baseball player’s girlfriend, unconventional and middle class. She enjoyed cheering him on, and never missed a single game. She integrated her love of photography with his love of baseball, documenting every tidbit of their lives together.
  2. SHOES & CHOCOLATE   The baseball fan’s wife, unfaithful and rich. Her husband’s idea of a romantic date always involved a sweaty baseball field. Bored out of her mind, she daydreamed about shoes and her younger lover while eating the chocolate she had stashed in her handbag.
  3. LOAN & FLY SWATTER  The baseball-loving son’s mother, devoted and poor. A struggling feminist, she always voted, hoping for better rights. She yearned to make adequate money to support her son, who wanted to be a baseball player. After the game she went to apply for a loan to avoid losing their home, which had recently been taken over by flies, escaping the summer heat.

If someone were to discover hidden artifacts in my handbag sixty years from now, they would probably find writing/dancing notes and a receipt for dessert.

What about you? Name two clues that might be discovered in your handbag or wallet.

Or, if you care to share…who do YOU think the woman with the handbag was?