Writing – Page 8 – 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?

It Pulls Me In

Give me mountains, give me deserts, give me rivers, give me forests and I am captivated—starry-eyed and serene.

Yet, the sea is so different. It pulls me in.

Its power is something I cannot fight, something I am willing to surrender to.

I am a happy slave to the sea. For I am so insignificant when I am around it, because it is greater than I will ever be.

Nothing feels better than being humbled and calmed this way. To know that all of my fears and worries are specks, like grains of sand easily swept away by the tide.

With my sandals casually held in one hand and a salty breeze brushing the other, my toes sunk into the wet sand as I walked along the beach with my love by my side. He is always like that tide, pulling me in, soothing me and making me a better person.

I was away from the sea for too long. I need it near me, to remind me of the unknown.

That it is okay to just be.

Last Sunday Mr. H and I hopped in the car and drove to Cannon Beach to recharge. I got more out of it than I expected, including a little sunburn and a lot of peace.

Here are some fun pix to round out the awesome day we had.

We drank local pale ales on the patio…

We ate clam chowder topped with shrimp in sourdough bread bowls…

There was an impromptu showgirl moment…

A cool Mr. H shot in front of Haystack Rock…

And, the big finale…

It’s so easy to get wrapped up in the routines we all create.

If you haven’t lately, go out and find something that pulls you in.

The Bench Where Lovers Had Been

Living in Portland seamlessly translates into spectacular vantage points. Tourists and locals alike wander around—to stare, to photograph, to be romanced.

It’s no wonder there are so many artistic people here. I feel like I’ve been injected with an inspirational serum myself.

We had one of our first crystal clear, summer-esque days last week. I had a little vendetta with a stunner of a view I tried on a hazy afternoon, so I repeated the 6-mile hike with determination.

To get to the view this way, you’ve got to work for it, uphill along narrow muddy trails. Once I reached my destination, a place called Pittock Mansion where visitors can roam freely on the grounds, I was not disappointed.

Suspended in the air was snow-peaked Mount Hood. Colorful downtown decorated the ground like a set of Legos. All around bright blue skies were intersected by cotton clouds.

A cool breeze soothed my flushed face and quieted my adrenaline. I sat on a bench, one where lovers had been.

I pictured different types of couples sitting side by side, holding hands, their heads resting against one another. Some of them became bold and tattooed their professions of love on the wood.

There’s no telling what became of these couples after they left this bench.

Yet beneath the sun and the rain, until the bench is too fragile and must be replaced, that beautiful moment lives on.

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.