Reality Killed the Video Star

I want my ... I want my ... I want my MTV.

In 1981, the music industry changed forever when MTV aired The Buggles’ one-hit wonder “Video Killed the Radio Star.” TV viewers and music aficionados were delighted by two entertainment mediums merging together so effortlessly. Or at least I think they were. I wasn’t around yet to witness this monumental cross-breeding, but I did grow up with the residual aftermath.

Just like any child from the 80s, I wanted my MTV. I wished I had a dog like the one from The Dire Straits’ “Money for Nothing” video. I thought Michael Jackson was evil because he was such a convincing actor in “Thriller.” I memorized my phone number to the tune of Tommy Tutone’s “Jenny” since I couldn’t actually have 867-5309. If it was up to me, I would have worn my sunglasses at night on a trip to the Love Shack while wearing a Devo hat. But Papa did preach so I had to draw the line somewhere.

The point is that I loved MTV and everything it represented. I couldn’t think of anything better than the fusion between music and television. I was thrilled that video, indeed, killed the radio star because the video had a much better story behind it. I never thought there would be anything strong enough to ever kill the video. As time has proven, nothing has been strong enough. But still, reality killed the video star and butchered a chunk of music history with it.

When MTV first started the trend of replacing music videos with reality shows, I didn’t see the harm in it. I enjoyed watching Singled Out, learned a ton from Loveline, and was amused by Say What? Karaoke. I loved Beavis and Butt-head and I was thrilled when they released Daria as a spin-off. I didn’t mind The Real World and Road Rules because those were the only reality shows on television. I was even okay with the Tom Green Show – for a week or two, anyway. With VH1 getting cooler and MTV shows staying unique, I didn’t see the harm in cutting back on some of MTV’s music video time.

But then something happened. MTV came out with so many original shows that everything became unoriginal. Was there really any difference between Jackass and Viva La Bam? Wasn’t America’s Best Dance Crew close enough to So You Think You Can Dance? Did I really care about what a bedroom looked like in Room Raiders or how a car was transformed in Pimp My Ride? The answer to all those questions is a resounding “NO.” I also didn’t care about Nick and Jessica’s lives as Newlyweds, what went on at Laguna Beach, or who got A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila. I just wanted my MTV to go back to the way it used to be.

Unfortunately, that hasn’t happened yet and I doubt it will happen any time soon. Music videos can’t make a comeback while people are still addicted to what happens on Jersey Shore, what the next party will look like on My Super Sweet 16, and what kind of hairy mess will happen on the next Teen Wolf. As long as MTV keeps coming up with ‘new’ concepts, reality fans will keep flocking to the next big thing – even if that thing is totally lame.

Until then, I’ll be catching my old video favorites on YouTube and keeping up with my new faves on iTunes. Reality may have killed the video star, but it will never hurt my love for music as it was meant to be seen and heard. In fact, nothing can kill that love – except, of course, for Justin Bieber who even puts the new MTV to shame.

Sleeping with the Enemy: The War against Mosquitos

Last night I slept with an intruder in my room. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was definitely here. She watched me, stalked me, and attacked me while I slept. Then she crept out of my room before I even had a chance to defend myself. But like any other criminal working off natural instincts, she did leave behind some evidence. And now as I try not to scratch my plethora of mosquito bites, I’m declaring war on her and all her kind.  

You may be wondering how I know my enemy is a woman. Couldn’t a male mosquito be the culprit behind my itchiness? No. Unlike human men, male mosquitos are harmless. They don’t even buzz when they fly. Females are the ones you have to watch out for. They buzz, they bite, they feed. Worse yet, female mosquitos do not attack out of hunger. They attack to preserve their species. Talk about a deadly war adversary.

You see, female mosquitos seek out blood when they’re pregnant so they can nourish their offspring. Basically, your blood is like a bottle of prenatal vitamins. Through a complicated process, a mosquito gathers all she needs for her eggs by filtering your blood down to its most concentrated form. She doesn’t want the water that dilutes your blood. She just wants the real thing. In the spirit of making a complicated process sound simple, she pees out whatever she doesn’t need so she can keep drinking what she does need. That’s right. Not only do mosquitos piss you off. They also leave you pissed on.  

Something about that makes me feel doubly violated. As if it’s not enough that I’m stuck with these itchy bumps, I’m also covered in mosquito pee. To be fair, it’s not a lot of pee and the little bit that exists came from me in the first place. But I don’t want to be fair. I want to stop feeling itchy and to stop thinking about urine. It’s a little late for that now, though. The damage has already been done and that mosquito is probably off giving birth to a colony of new blood suckers. They’ll grow up, get pregnant, nourish their eggs, and pee on even more people. It will continue on in a gross circle that will continue to irritate every unwilling blood donor for the rest of time.

I’ve already declared war on mosquitos, but I can’t commit insecticide alone. We probably can’t do it as a group, either. But we can at least avenge ourselves against a few of these winged vampires and eliminate some of their future generations.

So in the name of everybody who’s ever been bothered by a mosquito bite, I implore you to join my crusade. Invest in a fly swatter. Buy some bug spray. Keep your yard water-free. And when you hear a mosquito buzzing around your head, jump to action. Kill that mosquito. Kill it a lot. Let no mosquito go unpunished. Your blood is not a public water fountain. It’s your blood. Keep it safe, keep it on the inside, and keep up the good fight against unnerving itchiness.

Farmville: The Online Gateway Drug

It all starts innocently enough. You sign up for Farmville and wonder what the fuss is about as you stare at your six little plots of gardening space. You plant some strawberries or pumpkins and wait for them to harvest. Then you collect your bounty and start planting all over again. It’s a cute little cycle and you enjoy visiting your farm every few hours to check your crops, collect eggs from your chickens, and gather fruit from your trees. Farmville is fun. It’s relaxing. And you may not realize it yet, but it’s about to take over your life.

Somewhere between planting your first crops and harvesting your hundredth watermelon, something changes. You’re dealing with a lot more than six plots of land and you have no room for your animals or trees. You have to expand your farm, and in doing so, you have to set it up all over again. You drag all your items around and try to maximize your space, but now your inbox is filling with gifts, you have to display your mastery signs, and you can’t imagine running a farm that doesn’t have a gigantic windmill (or cemetery or Winter Wonderland). You need more space. You need a bigger farm. And that means you need more coins and farm bucks.

You start visiting your farm more often, making sure you gather all your crops like clockwork. You realize that you’re part mathematician as you calculate which crops you should plant, where you’ll be when they’re ready to harvest, and how many times you’ll need to go through these motions to master any given crop.

You’re suddenly very punctual and Farmville may be the only place where you’re not late. If, by some unforeseen horror, you’re not available to harvest your crops when they’re ready, you have to devise a Plan B. Maybe you sneak off to harvest and replant while your boss isn’t looking or maybe you call a trusted friend to tend your farm for you. Whatever you do, you know you can’t be late because that will throw off your whole schedule, which could possibly throw off your whole day, week, or month.

Now your schedule is so full that you don’t even have time to do your standard farming chores. You rely on farm hands and arborists to collect from your animals and trees. Once you see how much more manageable your farm is when you have help, you search for more assistance. You can’t do this by yourself anymore – not if you want your farm to grow – so you turn to your Farmville friends. You start visiting other farms to fertilize crops in hopes that your friends will return the favor. After all, why would you want a field of regular eggplants when you could have jumbo, glimmering eggplants? That’s right. You wouldn’t. So you spend your time wandering between your farm, your friends’ farms, and the new farms that you’re suddenly allowed to have. You’re one hell of a farmer now and you only have to give Facebook about a third of your life to keep your status.

Before you know it, your farm is the coolest, hippest place in the history of agriculture. Your farm is huge. It’s organized. It’s beautiful. You’re not struggling to level up just so you can have a pig anymore. You have entire pens full of animals, orchards full of trees, and more crops than you could give away to a starving nation. (You know – if the food was real.) Hell, you may have even helped a starving nation along the way by buying some seeds that benefit real people. It only costs a few Farm bucks for the seeds, and you figure that’s way cheaper than what you’ve probably spent signing up for book clubs, Netflix, acne regimens, and anything else that can get you more Farm Cash.

But if you want to be the very best, you have to have the very best – and sometimes you can’t just buy what you want with Farm bucks. That’s okay, though. It’s easy to earn more rarities for your farm. You just need to level up a few times in some other Facebook games. It’s not like you have to keep playing the new games to keep your Farmville rewards. Just a few levels and you can get back to farming full-time.

So you sign up for some other games and try to level up as quickly as possible. You don’t really want to run a restaurant, but you know it could look a whole lot better than it does in the default setting. Plus, some new decorations would help you level up faster. So you start decorating, customizing avatars, building cities, cutting away at forests, searching for hidden objects, fishing for guppies, and doing whatever you can to level up faster. Somewhere in the back of your mind you know this is all for your farm. But you’re just too great of a player to settle for mediocrity, so you do everything you can to pretty up your other living spaces.

At this point, you may realize you have a bit of a problem. While you try to keep your crops from rotting and your kitchen from burning, you realize that Facebook has gone into full attack mode. The mafia is putting hits on you. Vampires are biting at your heels. Your inbox is on the verge of imploding from gifts and requests. You can feel the sweat dripping down your neck as you try to keep up with all your apps; as you try to keep your work alive. But it’s all too much. Everything is happening too fast. And just as you feel like your brain is about to explode, you realize something. This isn’t a game anymore. It’s not just a job anymore. This is your life.

Your mind flashes back to those awful anti-drug commercials with the eggs and frying pans while you try not to think about the fact that you haven’t sent your farm hands to collect any Farmville eggs yet today. As you tear yourself away from your computer for the first time in months, you try to stay strong. You try to be brave. You try to fight against your clicking finger's withdrawals. Deep down you know that if you can overcome Farmville, you can beat anything. As the last thought of chicken eggs flutters from your mind, you think, “This is my brain. This is my brain on Farmville.”

Any questions?

Celebrating Author Jessica Bell's Newest Book, "Fabric"

I'm not normally that fond of Tuesdays, but today is different. It's special. Today is the day that I have the honor and privilege of celebrating author Jessica Bell's newest book, Fabric.

What makes this book so special to me? Two things.

First, this poetry collection is unlike any other I have ever read. Not only are the words mesmerizing, but they are written with a straightforwardness that is rare to find in poetry. After reading through only a couple of pages, I knew I was hooked. Not just on Fabric, but on poetry itself. I forgot how incredible poetry can be and this book made me want to delve into the fascinating world I had nearly forgotten.

The second reason I am so proud of this book is because I respect the author so greatly. Jessica Bell is more than a phenomenal poet and author, though she is both those things. She is also an extraordinary woman. Unmarred by her literary success, Jessica remains a positive influence to her fellow writers. She is a mentor, a role model, and an example of what every writer should strive to be. Always kind, humble, and inspirational, Jessica Bell is as uniquely remarkable as her poetry.

With that said, I hope you will all join me by celebrating this phenomenal author and her newest book. I will provide you with a detailed review of Fabric soon. In the meantime, I'd like to introduce you to author Jessica Bell in her own words.


Jessica says:

My poetry will not baffle you with phrasing that scholars award for academic genius and that can only be understood by those who wrote it. My poetry is for the everyday reader. In fact, it is even for those who don’t like to read poetry at all. Because it is real, stark and simple.

The poems in Fabric are no different. They explore specific moments in different people’s lives that are significant to whom they have become, the choices they’ve made. It’s about how they perceive the world around them, and how each and every one of their thoughts and actions contributes to the fabric of society. Perhaps you will even learn something new about yourself.

So, even if you do not usually read poetry, I urge you to give this one a go. Not because I want sales (though, they are fun!), but because I want more people to understand that not all poetry is scary and complex. Not all poetry is going to take you back to high school English, and not all poetry is going make you feel “stupid”.

You can still say to people that you don’t read poetry … I really don’t mind. Because if you read Fabric, you’re not reading poetry, you’re reading about people. And that’s what reading is about, yes? Living the lives of others?

Are you still here? I hope so!

Please support the life of poetry today by spreading the news about Fabric. Hey, perhaps you might even like to purchase a copy for yourself? The e-book is only $1.99 and the paperback $5.50.

Here are the links:

Fabric on Amazon US

Fabric on Amazon UK

Fabric on Goodreads

Let's keep poetry alive! Because not all poetry is "dead" boring ...

About Jessica Bell

If Jessica Bell could choose only one creative mentor, she’d give the role to Euterpe, the Greek muse of music and lyrics. And not because she currently lives in Greece, either.

The Australian-native author, poet and singer/songwriter/guitarist has her roots firmly planted in music, and admits inspiration often stems from lyrics she’s written.

She is the Co-Publishing Editor of Vine Leaves Literary Journal, and co-hosts the Homeric Writers' Retreat Workshop on the Greek Isle of Ithaca, with Chuck Sambuchino of Writer’s Digest.

For more information about Jessica Bell and her works, please visit:

Jessica Bell's Website

Fabric Book Trailer

String Bridge (A Novel)

Homeric Writer's Retreat Workshop

Jessica Bell's Blog

Vine Leaves Literary Journal

Jessica Bell's Facebook Page

Jessica Bell's Twitter Page

Once upon a time there was a story ...

Long before the days of television and the Internet, adults passed their time by telling dark, fantastical stories. Women sat at their spinning wheels discussing the princess who fell into a magical slumber until she was awakened by the suckling sensation of the twins she bore after being raped by a prince. Aristocrats spoke of the hard-working girl with the glass slipper who witnessed venegeance personified when the birds that sat at her shoulders pecked out the eyes of her horrible stepsisters. Even without social media platforms, adults around the world knew these stories -- these marchen -- that became known as fairy tales.

Some fairy tale details differed from time to time, from place to place, but the basic premises were kept intact. Whether Snow White's mother wanted her daughter's heart or a bottle of her blood with her toe used as a bottle stopper, the main points were the same. But it was in those minute details that every fairy tale took on its own meaning; its own horrors that resonated within each listener. Through a combination of cultural traditions, personal beliefs, and moral codes of conduct, fairy tales were tailored to gauge different reactions out of different listeners. And even though these stories have now been recorded, dulled down, and made socially acceptable for all audiences, I see no reason why fairy tales should not continue to be tailored for particular groups of adults as they were in the past.

It was under that mindset that I first came up with the world of Grimmora -- a dark, fantastical place where famous stories are nothing more than a set of ancient guidelines. I compared the fairy tales I heard as a child with the tales I read as an adult, letting every story whirl through my mind until it found its proper place. The result is a vast kingdom that transcends dimensions and time. With a selective breeding of folklore, history, mythology, and literature, Grimmora is the product of truth tinged imagination.

Over time I will give you glimpses into the world of Grimmora and invite you into the wildest recesses of my imagination. I will fill your mind with the questions that have plagued me since I began this series and the haunting images I have come to find as the only logical answers. I hope you will enjoy the journey as much as the destination, and remember that what comes between "Once upon a time" and "happily ever after" is what makes the journey so worthwhile.

Using Your Head: A Childhood Memory

You can outgrow childhood stupidity, but Pound Puppies are forever.

Christmas Day of 1986 was a wonderfully happy day for me.  I was surrounded by family, and even more importantly, I was surrounded by presents.  Santa Claus had been good to me that year, or at least I am pretty sure that he had.  At the age of three, I was barely old enough to understand that the gifts themselves held much more excitement than their boxes.  One thing I did understand, though, was that Santa Claus had come.  Any doubt that I may have had that the jolly man existed was gone, because the night before, I had become a legend.  Out of all of the children in the entire world, I had behaved the best and got my presents first.   

Before I understood certain concepts like that of the time zone, this all made perfect sense to me.  On Christmas Day, however, my godfather was not nearly as excited about my good fortune as I had been.  I still remember the excitement in my voice as I hurriedly told him that Santa visited me first because I was the greatest kid in the world.  I regrettably also remember the sarcastic smirk he gave me as he muttered the words, “Well someone’s big-headed.” 

At that time, his words had astonished me.  I couldn’t believe that he would say such a thing.  The next night I spent minutes, which translates into hours during child years, staring into the mirror.  As far as I could tell, my head was in proportion to the rest of my body.  There was nothing big about it.  For the life of me, I could not see what he had seen.  Something had to be done to prove that I was right and that I didn’t have an over-developed cranium. 

Sitting below the purple canopy on my bed, I construed the first experiment that I would ever conduct.  For several more minutes, I traced the outlines of the Pound Puppy faces on my brand new miniature TV tray while I thought about my situation.  In my newly found knowledge, it occurred to me that I could prove my godfather wrong by conducting an experiment to calculate the actual size of my head in relation to another object.  Of course, at the time the actual thought was something like, “A big head won’t fit in a little hole.”  Unfortunately for the child-sized Pound Puppies tray, the closed-in legs on the bottom of it were just the right size for my experiment.

With the infinite wisdom I had acquired in the first three years of my life, I picked up the lap tray and stuck my head through the boxed-in metal legs.  When my head slid through with ease, I was immediately proud.  It was official; I was a genius.  My mission had been successful, and I had proved that my head could not be that big.  The only problem was that ears only really bend in one direction, so getting the tray off of my neck was impossible.  When it came to that situation, it was not a problem; it was a catastrophe.  My new favorite Christmas present was holding me captive, and there was not a thing that could be done about it.  At that age, there were very few things that could be considered worse.         

Shaking in trepidation, I opened my bedroom door and quietly said my mother’s name.  She had been sitting in the den at the time, talking to her sister on the phone.  My parents owned their own business, so there were certain rules involving phone interruptions.  I knew that there were only two conditions that would make it acceptable for me to interrupt.  The first was if there was a fire.  The second was if blood was involved.  Since I was not, in fact, bleeding and I certainly was not stupid enough to set the house on fire, I was deeply conflicted as to whether or not my interruption would be breaking the phone rules.  Leaning against our fabulous 1970’s metallic wallpaper, I decided that my situation definitely constituted an emergency, albeit a unique one. 

This time when I said my mother’s name, I said it much louder.  She asked me if it was an emergency and I told her I was pretty sure that it was.  While I heard her putting my aunt on hold, I scooped myself off of the rust colored carpet and stepped into her doorway.  We stared at each other for a moment, or a child year.  There was really nothing that either of us could say.  I’m still not sure of whether my mother wanted to laugh, cry, or take a picture at that very instant.  I think she handled it well.  Still trying to understand what had made me stick my head through a TV tray, she did everything in her power to free my neck.  Sadly, my ears still stood stubbornly and the tray was officially stuck.

At that point, my mother had to do the inevitable and call my father.  It was a Saturday night, and that meant that it was poker time.  There are few things that are important enough to make a man walk away from a big poker game.  I now know that a phone call saying that his child’s head is firmly planted between the legs of a TV tray will do the trick.  Still not quite sure of what had actually happened, my father rushed home to find me sitting on his bed with several pairs of wide eyes staring at him.  Between my expression and the looks of the dogs on the tray, we definitely had the puppy dog eyes covered.

Feeling very similar to the way my mother must have felt, my father jiggled the tray this way and that.  It, of course, did not budge.  Thankfully, my father had tricks that I could not have imagined.  His tricks involved a saw, a flashlight, and a lot of faith in himself.  As if he were slicing through a loaf of bread, he easily sawed away the tray. When it fell off my neck, I felt as if I had just been released from a week in the stocks.  In one shot, my father granted me my freedom and officially became my hero. 

That day, I learned quite a few lessons.  First, never underestimate the power of a man and his tools.  Secondly, tributes to Pound Puppies are best kept as stuffed animals rather than pieces of furniture.  Third, I learned that when you don’t know what to do, it is best to simply use your head.  Finally, I thankfully learned to never again do that in the literal sense.

A Fairly Reasonable Bucket List for a Person with Little Reason

1.  Buy a bucket

• Fill my bucket with tasks I must complete before I figuratively kick the bucket
• Try not to literally kick the bucket

2.  Find a real everlasting gobstopper

3.  Put a tracking device on Waldo

4.  Convince insurance companies to offer 365 free apples with all healthcare plans

• Void copays if an apple a day does not, in fact, keep the doctor away

5.  Spend a week speaking with nothing but cliches

6.  Teach an old dog new tricks

7.  Play at a paintball arena like the one in 10 Things I Hate about You

8.  Find the Fountain of Youth

• Fill it with green food coloring
• Convince the natives that it's contaminated

9.  Reclaim all the socks my dryer has eaten

10. Enforce the mandatory use of name tags at events where I'm likely to forget people's names

11. Open a restaurant with a separate seating section for vegetarians

12. Hire a male maid to polish my bucket

• Refer to my maid as my man servant
• Have my man servant accept his title with pride

13. Listen to WHAM! for 24 hours straight to see what happens

14. Bite a shark

15. Invent a time machine and place it in a busy elevator

16. Learn to play the maracas

• Train my neighbors to instinctively form a Conga line whenever I practice

17. Rename bunt cakes huge donuts

18. Make people who do not follow politics choose their political parties through a game of craps

19. Write an internationally bestselling novel

• Learn more languages so I can recognize my own book

20. Cheer up conspiracy theorists by placing garden gnomes on their porches while they sleep

21. Change the final round of American Idol to a game of rock, paper, scissors

22. Play Ouija without cheating

23. Receive an honorary Ph.D. from Harvard on the merit of being wicked awesome

24. Travel to Ireland

• Meet a short Irish man
• Call him my leprechaun
• Take his pot of gold

25. Hide said pot of gold in my polished bucket

This Is Spinal Tap: The Lumbar Puncture Experience

I was lying in a hospital bed terrified to have a spinal tap because I didn't know what to expect. From what I had heard, they hurt. A lot. But when I asked for more information from my doctors, they just couldn't give it to me straight. In fact, they were more concerned with the fact that the brown sterilization gunk is cold. Imagine that. You're about to have a needle the size of a football stadium shoved into your spine and the doctor is worried that you might get a chill.

Since doctors seem to have limited vocabulary when they explain procedures to patients, I’m going to explain what a spinal tap feels like. My description of a spinal tap may be different than what other people have experienced, but at least it’s honest. If you or someone you know is about to have a lumbar puncture, I hope my play-by-play experience with a spinal tap will help you know what to expect.

After what felt like hours of waiting, the neurologist positioned me in the proper position. I curled into the fetal position with my knees somewhere up in my chest and my face buried between my breasts. Then she told me to arch my back like a cat. Basically, I had to lie like a sideways cat in heat.

The preparation wasn't bad at all. That soap really was cold, but again, cold was the least of my worries. The doctor wiped down my lower back with a brownish-orangish soap and then covered me in sterile pads to try and prevent infection. My grandfather once got a very unexpected case of meningitis from a spinal injection, so I was happy for the cleanliness.

Once my back was fully prepared, my doctor poked my spine and hips until she could find the perfect spot. She drew a smiley face or something to that effect on the spot she wanted to inject (or stab, as the case really was). X marks the spot, right?

Then the doctor told me I might feel a pinch and a bit of pain with the local anesthetic. UNDERSTATEMENT. Any time a needle goes into your spine, you will feel more than a pinch. You may feel like someone stabbed you. You may feel like you were impaled. You may even feel like your spine is going to come through your eye socket. But a pinch? Not likely.

After the initial 'pinch,' the doctor waited about four seconds before she picked up the needle that looked like a nuclear warhead. Warning me to stay very steady, she plunged the needle deep into my spine in a way that made me want to laugh at the pain I thought I felt from the first needle.

That's when I heard the ever comforting words, "Oh dear." From years of arthritis, my synovium was too thick for any fluid to escape. Even though the needle was firmly planted in my spine, the doctor was going to have to remove it and start all over again.

This time I didn't get another Novocain shot. In fact, I didn't get another Novocain shot for any of the nine spinal tap attempts that followed. A band of tiny ninjas were attacking my back with broadswords and still the fluid wouldn't budge.

Feeling awful about what she was putting me through, the doctor asked me to switch positions on her tenth try. As it turned out, the tenth time was a charm. I hunched forward with my legs spread open and my torso touching the hospital bed. The needle burrowed into my spine, and at long last, I could feel the slow draining of my spinal fluid as it entered the syringe.

The fluid was clear, which is apparently the way it's supposed to look, so my spinal tap (or spinal taps if you want to be technical) was considered a success. Once I got over the ten days of excruciating migraines from my brain not being sufficiently covered by spinal fluid, I considered it to be a success, too.

It may sound like having a spinal tap is awful. And it is. My case of going through ten stabbings (11 if you count the Novocain) was unusual, so that was only my problem. In a typical case, a spinal tap is going to hurt, but it will be over quickly. And when you get to see that syringe filled with liquid, all the pain will be worth it. Whether the spinal fluid is clear or not, you will know what is wrong with you. After all, they don't just puncture people's spines for no good reason, so if there might be a problem, it's always best to have a solid answer through a spinal tap, no matter how much it hurts.

Flight 93: A Soaring Success

Traditionally, audiences do not want to know how a movie will end before they can see how it begins. However, when it comes to films like the made for TV movie Flight 93, it is impossible to follow tradition. Viewers know exactly what will happen before the opening credits roll. They know that United Flight 93 was the fourth hijacked plane on September 11 and they know that nobody survived. They also know that Flight 93 was the only plane to miss its presumed target due to the courage and resolve of the 44 passengers and crew members on board. What most people do not realize is that those 44 victims were not merely statistics; they were real people. Flight 93 does such a breathtaking job depicting these people that it does not matter that viewers know how the movie will end. In fact, the inevitable tragic ending is what compels the audience to clear away their tears long enough to see who these passengers were and what made each of them so remarkable.

From the start of the movie, viewers are reminded that each person on Flight 93 lived a unique life. As they wait for their flight, Lauren Grandcolas (Jacqueline Ann Steuart) flips through her book What to Expect When You’re Expecting. Mark Bingham (Ty Olsson) runs through the airport and makes a happy phone call to say that he barely made his flight. Stewardess Sandy Bradshaw (Patricia Harras) reveals that she is only on this flight so that she can make it home in time for her son’s first birthday. Captain Jason Dahl (Barry W. Levy) changes his schedule to fly on an earlier flight so that he can surprise his wife with a trip to London for their anniversary. Everybody has a reason for being on the plane and nobody suspects that this day will be different from any other. However, the viewers know that this day is a tragic one and they must brace themselves as they see a close-up of each passenger’s boarding pass in a remarkable tribute to all of the passengers during the opening credits.

As the passengers and crew wait for their delayed plane to take off, the audience sees what they could not have possibly known. The World Trade Center has already been hit and America is realizing that something is horribly wrong. In a devastating twist of fate, Flight 93 takes off and begins the journey that will change these people’s lives and the world forever. Once the plane is safely in the air, four terrorists tie red warrior sashes around their heads and prepare to engage in battle against the unsuspecting people who are just trying to live their lives. It is not until the plane is hijacked that anybody on Flight 93 knows that a problem even exists. The preliminary parts of the hijacking take place in mere minutes that seem to drag on for hours. A man is stabbed, the pilots are murdered, and the terrorists break into the cockpit. All the while, the passengers are rushed to the back of the plane where they are told there is a bomb onboard and they will only live if they can sit down and stay quiet. At first, the passengers and flight crew attempt to do just that. However, it does not take long for them to realize that this is not a hostage situation; it is a suicide mission.

Soon the passengers and crew begin calling their loved ones to obtain information, share their love, or simply say goodbye. Tom Burnett (Jeffrey Nordling) calls his wife and tells her to contact the authorities. When he calls her back, she tells him that the Pentagon has also been hit. This knowledge that would have been impossible to gather if the plane had left on time rapidly spreads amongst the passengers. Knowing that three other airplanes have been hijacked and flown into American landmarks, the passengers realize that they must stop the terrorists or the same thing will happen to them. This leads to a flurry of emotional phone calls that were later used for the families and the governments to piece together the puzzle of what actually happened on Flight 93.

In a remarkable display of faith and courage, the passengers and flight crew decide they must fight back if they want a chance to live. They gather soda cans, pots of boiling water, and anything else they can find to disable the terrorists. As the United States government awaits confirmation on whether or not they should shoot the plane down, the heroes storm the cockpit. The plane soon crashes and the ending is left open for viewers to draw their own conclusions. As was the case in reality, the plane could have crashed while the passengers fought for control or it could have been shot down. In either case, the crash left no survivors – not even the enormous 757 plane itself.

 

Though viewers already know the outcome before watching Flight 93, they will still walk away feeling raw, angry, and broken. In the span of an hour and a half, audiences feel as if they personally know all the people on the plane along with the loved ones they left behind. Even the terrorists are depicted as people. They are not glorified, but they clearly display human traits of anxiety, nervousness, and fear. All of the passengers’ emotions are depicted so perfectly that viewers do not simply see how they felt; they feel it. This aspect of forming an emotional bond with the characters is further exemplified by the fact that an unknown cast of actors plays in this movie. Unlike the higher budget Hollywood film United 93 (2006), the emphasis of this movie is not on the what; it is on the who. That is the beauty of Flight 93. Much like the civilian soldiers who sacrificed their lives to save so many others, this cinematographic tribute will live in infamy.

Trish Trivia: 25 Random Facts about Tricia Psarreas Murray

Now that you have a good idea of what this blog is all about, you should probably know who the heck is writing it. In the spirit of keeping things random, I'd like to better introduce myself with a round of Trish Trivia -- information that says nothing and everything at the same time.

1.  I spent about six months planning my first credited book and wrote the whole thing in two weeks. I wore a Viking hat through the entire writing process.

2.  I cry every time I watch Ransom. I've never cried while watching City of Angels, Ghost, Pay It Forward, or any other movies that are supposed to make you cry.

3.  I purposely took two extra classes to get my English degree without receiving a technical writing certificate. I hate technical writing (AKA writing with all the fun sucked out) so I didn't want to add that to my resume.

4.  I used to be so shy that I wouldn't even speak to people. One day my father took me out for ice cream and I whispered what I wanted to him. He told me to speak up and tell the waitress what I wanted. I placed my ice cream order and haven't shut up ever since.

5.  I love going to sci-fi conventions and hanging out with Trekkies, but I've never seen an episode of Star Trek.

6.  I've also never seen any of The Godfather, Lethal Weapon, Die Hard, or Star Wars movies.

7.  I made it to the final round of Wheel of Fortune tryouts, but blew my chance when I had the stage and couldn't figure out the word angelfish. I hold a bigger grudge against fish than I do against Wheel of Fortune.

8.  I planned my own big, fat Greek wedding with the general theme of timeless elegance. After a few hours of swirling amongst black and ivory dresses, sparkling rose arrangements, and bottles of champagne, I added my Viking hat, inflatable guitars, and giant sunglasses to the mix.

9.  My bridal party walked in to "Crazy Train." My husband and I walked into the reception with "Highway to Hell" playing.

10. I'm absolutely terrified by dolls, clowns, and any inanimate object that seems to be looking at me. I only display pictures, statues, and book covers that show people or creatures staring off into the distance.

11. I collect autographs and entertainment memorabilia. My favorite items are my Phantom of the Opera music box, my True Blood bar ware, my 'Big Three' autographed picture of Larry Bird, Kevin McHale, and Robert Parish, my Buffy and Angel cast-signed photos, and my autographed copy of Nicholas Sparks' The Lucky One.

12. When I was a kid I took a bunch of valuable items from my house and tried to trade them in for beat up things at a yard sale up the street. My mother walked up the hill with my box of 'treasures' and had to pay to trade them back.

14. I try to stay away from the number 13, sort of like an elevator.

15. I'm an online shopping genius. I use online coupons for everything and have saved thousands of dollars by taking a few moments to find a good coupon before I place any order.

16. Sometimes I think this is my dog's house and she just lets me crash here.

17. My favorite place in the world is my father's village in Greece. I can't get enough of the fresh air, kind people, and the sea you can actually see through.

18. My favorite holiday is Halloween. I love dressing up, letting go of my inhibitions, and getting whisked away by the magical foolishness the holiday brings.

19. I absolutely hate tomatoes, ignorance, violence, and Jersey Shore.

20. My first paid writing job was written in the character of a gay man. Surprisingly, it was one of the easiest jobs I've ever done. As long as I'm writing in character, everything feels like fiction. I guess you could say that I'm a great actress on paper.

21. I can't tell a convincing lie when I'm just being me.

22. I speak Greek well enough to function, but I've made more than a few embarrassing mistakes. I once ran out of my bedroom and onto the porch where my family was gathered to get away from a humongous bee. In the heat of the moment, I yelled out the Greek version of "There's an eggplant in my bedroom!"

23. I'm obsessed with fairy tales, mythology, folklore, and cultural traditions. I'm mixing all of these things along with religion and history in my upcoming fantasy series. When all is said and done, The Grimmora Series will give you the feeling of walking around Salem on Halloween while you're being haunted by the Brothers Grimm and tripping on acid -- or something like that.

24. I've never been on an acid trip.

25. As much as I hate it, I can't help but dance to the Hokey Pokey whenever the opportunity presents itself.

So there you have it -- 25 bits of information about me. I hope you've enjoyed your game of Trish Trivia and that you'll continue to stick around for the good stuff.  :)

The Creative Writing War

I suppose you could say that every piece of writing is creative, but I'm talking about the kind of writing that can only be described as frightening. The content itself is sometimes disturbing, but not scary. The act of letting people into my imagination is what terrifies the dickens out of me.

When I write, my brain has little to do with it. My fingers move independently, as if possessed, and I'm as surprised as anyone when I see my words staring back at me. I didn't know those thoughts and ideas were lying dormant in my mind. They simply appear on my monitor and we look at each other like two strangers who form a serendipitous connection.

These words come from a place deep within me. When they are exposed, I am exposed. It's like walking into a classroom naked or lying awake with my chest cavity pried open by doctors. I feel vulnerable, embarrassed, and more than a little paranoid. I can't help but fear what others will think of me, and worse yet, what their thoughts will make me think of myself.

My creative writing pieces are sometimes serious, occasionally insightful, and at times silly. But no matter what the content, my creative writing pieces are always emotional. They're always a part of me.

No matter how nervous I feel by sharing my writing, I am still compelled to do it. After all, the things that scare us most are usually the things that are most important for us to do. If we hid behind our fears, we would never know love, happiness, or contentment. We must take risks to achieve anything worthwhile, otherwise we would stay hidden in the shadows with no light in sight.

This is the place where I will step out from the shadows and let my inner demons manifest into the demons that can be conquered. I will slay my fears and insecurities by bringing them to light. And most importantly, I will be indebted to all of you for helping me through this battle.

Now off we go into the light of the night.

Eight Things You'll Find on This Blog

I spent days trying to come up with the perfect blog niche and realized that the only thing my blog plans have in common is that they have nothing to do with each other. They're completely random. After a bit of thought, I realized that utter randomness is just as good a niche as any.

Though most of my blog entries will be entirely random, they will have some things in common. Here on Pixie Sticks and Stones, you can expect to find these eight things:


1.  Recommendations

When I like something, I want the world to know it. Whether I'm enamored by a book, a movie, a new pair of shoes, a comedian, or a scone, I want to share my delight with you. I've yet to find an exciting scone, but I'll be sure to let you know if I ever do.


2.  Rants

When I hate something, I really want the world to know it. I can easily go off on a tangent ranting about evil doctors, that asshole who cut me off, a talented person getting kicked off a reality show, a stupid political move, a stupid Scrabble move, and pretty much anything else that pisses me off.


3.  Personal Life

Speaking of things that piss me off ... While I wouldn't air all of my social circle's business, some of it is definitely noteworthy. Over time, you'll get to 'meet' my hubby, my buddies, my family, and my dog. I promise their stories are worth sharing. Especially my dog's, since she can't tell me otherwise. 


4.  Writing Samples

I'll periodically post short stories, poems, book excerpts, lists, letters, and any other form of writing that escapes my fingertips. No matter what the writing form, you can definitely expect the content to be random.


5.  Contests

I love entering contests, I really love winning contests, and I especially love giving others the chance to get as excited as I do over contests. I'll be holding future contests based on things like writing prompts, most creative responses to a simple question, moral support, overall participation, and being in the right place at the right time if I open a last comment standing contest that ends at a predetermined time that won't be revealed until it's over.


6.  Prizes

You can't have a contest without prizes, right? Contest prizes will include badges, certificates, books, DVDs, CDs, and even some rare celebrity autographs. Pretty cool, huh?


7.  Advice

I'm no Dr. Phil, but I know how to give some really good advice. You'll see a lot of how-to posts in areas like writing, education, relationships, moral quandries, health, careers, gaming, social media, event planning, weddings, vacation planning, marketing, and a variety of other topics.


8.  Information

What came first: the chicken or the egg? The real answer to that question is the chicken. New animals can only be born through genetic mutations, so the change would have started within the chicken before it produced the egg. That's just a random fact I thought you should know. You'll find a lot of other random facts in the Information section of my blog.

In short, when you visit Pixie Sticks and Stones, you can expect to find every random thing you want to find. If you want me to write about anything specific, please ask. I'm always open to suggestions. As long as you can categorize your request as random, I'll be able to post something that won't make me feel guilty for breaking away from my blog genre.

Randomness: You've gotta love it!  :)

Welcome to Pixie Sticks and Stones -- The Place Where Names Will NEVER Hurt You

We all look the same in the shadows. We all think alike in the dark.

A lot of blogs focus on niches, particularly when it comes to audiences. As much as I would love to be a blogging guru in one specific area, I have far too many things to say to stick to a single point. More importantly, I have far too many people to address to exclude anyone who doesn't fit into a certain category or stereotype.

I’m not just writing for family, friends, fellow writers, and dreamers (though I do hope to catch their attention, too). I’m writing for students, teachers, readers, critics, movie buffs, nerds, dog lovers, coupon clippers, underappreciated artists (since most artists aren’t actually starving), philanthropists, comedians, Trekkies, chefs, soldiers, musicians, athletes, and couch potatoes. I’m writing for people who are happy, angry, lovelorn, lovestruck, bored, boring, rich, poor, calm, anxious, optimistic, pessimistic, socialites, outsiders, and everyone in between.

That’s the point of my blog. We may all be different, but we have too many things in common to categorize ourselves by just a few traits. Instead of focusing on the words and names the world has called you, I would rather focus on who you really are; what you’re really made of. And since those things are pretty universal, I’m sure you will find certain truths that will resonate within you while reading my blog.

Pixie Sticks and Stones is a place for everyone. I don’t care where you fit in the world because you will all fit in here. Except clowns. They may bring happiness to children but they scare the hell out of me. So if you’re a clown, just keep that under wraps, okay?