#Camelot & #Wonka #Candy

Next on the pop shelf are some movie soundtracks: a stand alone of  Camelot. Richard Harris talk/sings his way though the lead better than one would have expected – in fact it launched his brief pop career with the help of Jimmy Webb. (more about that when I get to ‘H’).whitet01

The movie was an extravaganza almost success. I think the lack of real singers kept it from reaching mega audiences. The songs are solid Broadway Lerner & Loewe. I remember when it was first released. The lush look certainly impressed me, as did men in tights & Franco Nero’s blue eyes.whitet02

The one scene that remains in my memory involved lots & lots of candles. I wondered how they got so many brining at once & nearly all to the same level. Those set people must have been super coordinated to light them all.whitet03

On an lp to cd transfer are the sound tracks to Candy & Willy Wonka. I paired these off because they are from diametrically opposed movies. Candy being the film of Terry Southerns sex parody; Wonka a ‘delightful’ children’s movie. Candy includes tracks by The Byrds & Steppenwolf. The Dave Grusin music is full of sitars & is quite fun – Hollywood never quite caught that 60’s music vibe right. The story is a comic porno take on Candide with an all star cast including Marlon Brando. The film is rather tame compared to the book.


Willy Wonka is great fun – the Depp remake misses the antic nature of it by miles – I love Gene Wilder in it. The songs are all a delight from Golden Ticket to Oompa Loompa. The boat ride bit is still weirdly scary for a children’s movie. Plus who can resist singing dwarves? Though I do prefer singing dwarfs who work in diamond mines as opposed to candy factories.


Critical Musing

I had been working on my novel for about an hour when I sensed him behind me.

‘Please go away.’ I muttered over my shoulder.

‘Can’t I just watch?’

‘No. Writing isn’t a spectator sport.’

‘You call that writing. More like typing and you are still a pretty sloppy typist.’

‘Thank you. But I am a better typist than I was six months ago.’

‘I’ll grant you thank though much of the credit goes to spell check.’

‘Spelling isn’t as important as spilling. I have to spill this story out. The rest can be fixed when I’m done.’

‘If you can figure out what you were talking about. By the way what’s for supper.’

I could feel his heavy hands on my shoulders. The smell of cookies filled the room; cookies, fresh perked coffee, roast beef, fried chicken, butter tarts.

‘Maybe you should take a break. Take a shower & come back refreshed, ready to do some real writing.’ He went on.

‘No. I’m going to plug away here.’ I tried to shrug him off.

‘It must be nice to have time to waste when you could be doing real work.’

‘Real work?’

‘Yeah something that brings in real money right now. Even when you finish typing …’


‘Whatever … you still have to market this crap. Who do you think wants to real all this endless, pointless drivel about these guys. Who?’

‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. No use getting to that bridge without something to take across.’

‘But aren’t there other things you’d rather do now?’ his hands stroked the inner thigh.

‘Yes you’re right. Maybe I should be working one of the sex scenes now.’

‘You’re no fun since you started writing this crappy novel.’ He pulled away. ‘You get so serious, so full of yourself. Mr. I’m-Writing-A-Novel.’

‘Better than than Mr. I-Only-Think-About-It-But-Never-Do-It.’

‘But if you only think about you can always have the comfort of thinking how good it would be once you do it. But once you do it you’ll just see what a lousy typist you are. Stick to the fantasy, you’ll be happier.’

‘Look I’m just spilling it out not finishing it. If this one isn’t perfect so what! It just means the next one will be better. So get out of here and let me work.’

‘Work! Ha! You call this work. At least when you work in the garden you see some results. In fact there are some weeds that need pulling now and isn’t time you repotted those tea roses?’

‘Right now the only weed I need to pull is you. Beat it.’

And for the moment he was gone.

November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo




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#NaNo – gram

throne a-hunting

Day 6 and I still feel like I’m scrambling. Getting the word count up there though, which is what matters for NaNoWriMo. People I haven’t heard from for months call to take me out to lunch, I get selected for a focus group ($ is $) – hard to say no – plus still cleaning up after the electrical work in the house – next up furnace cleaning & duct cleaning – thar’s plasta dust in them thar ducts now.

throne de-throned

I’ve only covered two of my thirty plot points – which is a good thing as each one took more than two days to explore – this is when I enjoy my writing the most – when the story unfolds itself and moves in directions I wasn’t expecting – plus I see places for expansion on what I’ve already done – sweet.

I even managed one section with a conversation between five characters – kept it brief enough and I think it is fairly understandable too. My major story substructure has kept everything moving forward – the impending, or is it, miner’s strike –

throne dappled by sunlight

Instant research has been great as well – what kind of china might the priest have in his house – found correct period dinnerware and even a pattern to name. What can I call his parish without naming a real Cape Breton parish. Gaelic swear words – why thank you google there’s a page of them – are they period – who knows but it doesn’t matter either.


a sample from NaNoWriMo day 2:

After the third load Birk got his lunch pail from the niche by one of the support stavings. He hunched with his back against the wall and opened it up.

Clancy leaned gingerly against the wall, his legs stretched out as far as he could in the space they had. He rubbed at his back

“Being big’s not so good eh?” Birk said. “Some never gets to stand up straight after a few months down here.” He took a swallow of his tea. Didn’t taste right without a bit of sugar. He rinsed his mouth with it and spat it out. Cleaning his palate as best as he could before biting into his lunch. Bread with some grease drippings spread on it. Today he had a piece of the wedding cake. His sisters had already licked the icing off it so it. The bit of sweetness left almost cut through the taste of the coal in his mouth. The cake was as tasteless as the bread. He wondered if he could dissolve it his tea to sweeten that some.

“Done?” he shut his pail.


“Back to it then b’y.”


“That all ya got ta say?”

“Not much of a talker.”

“Couldn’t shut Manny. Talk the head off a rat given the chance.”

“Yeh, well, its bad enough t’work with one let alone wanna to talk to one while I’m eatin.”

Birk twisted around.

“I’m a rat, eh? Monkeys bad enough.” He swung at Clancy and slipped on the uneven ground at the same time.

Clancy was on top of him batting at his ribs then ears.

“You half-size rat giving me orders all day. Think l’m going to put wid that.”

Birk got one knee into Clancy’s stomach and pushed him off. The tunnel wasn’t tall or wide enough for either of them to stand and take punches. They wrestled each other to his knees. Head butting when possible.

Birk could taste blood in his mouth.

“Yer a tough guy for a rat you know.” Clancy had his forearm under Birk’s chin. “Smell worse than one, too.”

Gasping Birk hit Clancy as hard as he could in the side.

“Christ, breakin m’ribs.” he rolled off.

“Ya stay there for now laddie.” Birk leaned against the wall. “I got work to do. This way yer not underfoot.”

Birk went back the face he was working on. Each blow of his pick axe was a blow into the grinning face of Clancy. No one pushed him around. At eighteen he’d been in the mine for five years now. He knew what he was doing and how not to take anything from anyone. If you took it yer were on the losing side.

He could hear Clancy raking away the scree. The need to prove he was the top man here was as important as making sure they got enough coal loaded.

They worked the rest of the shift without speaking. Eating their supper in separate nooks in the shaft.