Author: rosemarylordwriter

The start of the year always bring out the de-clutterer in people. Especially me.

Although I seem to manage a little clearing-out every weekend, that time between Christmas and the New Year is when I really look around and think “Why am I keeping this?” and “I’d have more room if I got rid of that …” I re-imagine my apartment with fresh new colors to paint and furniture to buy.

As I snatch a quick work-out on my Total Gym, counting repetitions of stomach-reducing exercises, I gaze at the bookshelves in front of me.  “Do I really need to keep all those books?” Hmmm. I pledge to remove those I am not desperately attached to. Someone else might really enjoy them as much as I have.

Rowing back and forth with the pulleys in my pledge to become slim and svelte once more – well I was once, even if it was a long while ago – I turn to the side, to do side-stretches. Aha! What’s that pile of things under the dining table? Oh: more half-hidden things to de-clutter.

Of course, this is the current craze, thanks to a very young, slim Japanese girl called Marie Kondo and her very successful book The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up. Even the kids are following her – clearly parents’ admonishments to “tidy up your room,” fell on deaf ears. Today’s kids think Marie Kono invented that novel idea of tidying up your room.  And if you’re as young as she is, you don’t have a life-time of treasures in your home, or decades of travel souvenirs or years of career-related things. So the task is not nearly as daunting.

Us writers tend to keep things for inspiration. Shelves of books from our favorite authors, reference books on what it’s really like to hack your way through a jungle, jump out of an airplane and, of course, different ways to murder people. We have folders of song-lyrics, poems, homilies that might be our next book-title. We have copies of every book that our far-more prolific writer friends have produced. And books that we just love to read over and over.

How often have we started to clear a bookshelf, and lost ourselves in reading a passage in a favorite book, only to find the day has gone and we’re in the same spot, eagerly getting towards the end of the story. Even though we know what happens, we relive the journey the author’s taken us on with their carefully chosen words. Bliss!

But where did our allotted de-cluttering time go? Oh, and you can’t get rid of that book.

Ms. Kono says we should ask of every object in our home, “Does it bring me joy?” Well, yes – my books bring me joy. I think that goes for most writers.

Alas, this does little for my de-cluttering attempts. I feel like Sisyphus pushing that boulder up the mountain, but on reaching the top, the weight of it pushes him down to the bottom so he has to start again. I keep starting again with my book culling.

I have better luck with my clothes. It’s easier getting rid of skirts or shirts I haven’t worn in ages and scarves and shoes that really are uncomfortable to wear, purses that no longer “bring me joy.”

A young girl I knew only kept things for six months then she’d replace them, including furniture. She had a very minimalist apartment. Besides, her parents were wealthy, so she just kept buying new things.

I even knew someone who de-cluttered her friends: She said that as her husband was signing a big new contract with a major studio, she would be ‘letting go’ of their less successful friends. That is those who didn’t live in the right area or drive the right cars – because their new, very wealthy, successful friends would judge her badly. She wanted to ensure being accepted into this new elite Hollywood circle. I guess keeping less successful friends might have reminded them where they came from – and it might be catching, like the measles or something. Of course Rick and I were part of that group to be ‘let go.’ We didn’t have flashy enough cars or live in the right zip-code. She told me the right zip-code was most important. We never heard from them again – not even a Christmas card! Of course, this was Hollywood! And they weren’t writers…

 

But back to the real world and de-cluttering. It can be a fun adventure. Long forgotten, old favorite things I come across as I open another drawer or cupboard, swiftly take me back to when and where I bought – or was given – items. That is where the writer in me thrives, as a new story starts wandering around my head.

It’s usually after a spell of decluttering that I sit back down at the typewriter – nay, computer – and get back to work, with that satisfied feeling knowing I have an empty shelf or drawer. I write away blissfully with renewed enthusiasm.

It seems to be true what they say: when you clear out old things, you freshen the atmosphere; your energy becomes unstuck, making room for more positive energy.

And space for more books.

Has anyone else got the de-cluttering bug? Or been de-cluttered by a supposed friend?

…………end……….

After the rain cometh the fair weather, quoth Aesop –  

        …… he of the many pearls of wisdom.

            I was thinking about this recently, having spent a lot of time in inclement climates. After years of growing up in rainy England, I made a new life in Los Angeles where it was claimed, “It never rains in Southern California….”  Hmmm.

            Over the Thanksgiving holiday I was with my family in England. I find myself working long hours, seven days a week in Hollywood, so my only break from this is to fly far, far away from it all.

            Of course it rained, and it was dark by 5 pm. But it was cozy, and the Christmas lights and busy shops and crowded London streets were cheerful. For a while. I’m just not used to being so cold anymore.

            My siblings and I spent a few days in southern Greece, where the Mediterranean sunshine was very welcome. It was on the cool side, but the feel of even the winter sun on our faces was such a tonic.  However, later on, after the sun dipped down setting into the reddening sky over the Aegean Sea, the thunder rolled in and lightening crackled and cracked. The heavens opened up and rain lashed out, whipping across the beaches and coastal village throughout the night. It was spectacular to watch – and rather scary to listen to, as I lay in bed, unable to sleep because it was so loud. But it was dramatic and exciting.

            In the morning, a weaker November sun began the task of drying up the pavements and puddles. These spectacular night storms that vanished at dawn continued for several days.

            When we drove back to Athens for our return flight to Gatwick, we stopped en route for lunch in Ancient Corinth. The winter sun had warmed considerably as we sat on the terrace of a small taverna, enjoying a simple Greek salad and souvlaki, at the foot of the Temple of Apollo. Rain seemed a distant memory.

           We arrived back in England in the dark. It was freezing cold. Thirty degrees. I had forgotten the misery of the bitingly cold, damp, weather of my early years.

            The rain and the cold continued when we took a day-trip down to Hastings in Sussex. With the drip, drip of rain somehow getting inside my collar, wet hair plastered to my head and the wind lashing around my icy, mauve-with-cold face, we braced ourselves for a walk along the pebbled beach where many Foyle’s War episodes had been filmed, then hurried into the warmth a local café for fish and chips and hot cuppa (cup of tea). Bliss.

            I don’t remember England being this cold – or wet. My energy seemed focused on trying to keep warm and dry. My family teased me about being ‘soft’ and spoiled by the artificial life in Hollywood, where Christmas day is usually sunny. It was the warmth of having my family around me that made it so special. We chatter continuously and laugh a lot. But I’m not sure I would want to get used to the endless gray skies and rain again.  

And so I came back home to sunny California.

            It certainly was warmer in Hollywood the first couple of days; the sky was blue with just a few wispy clouds. Hallelujah! Then it started. A pitter-patter on my windows. Oh no – not again! For the following three days, the rain bucketed down and skies remained dark.

            But then it stopped. The next day it was blue skies and sunshine and I got my smile back.

            I realized that it wasn’t just the rain and overcast skies that had been getting to me. It was that time of year. Many of us silently panic that the year is rolling to a close and we have not finished what we promised ourselves we would do. Uncompleted To Do lists, abandoned projects, all those holiday gifts and cards to buy and taxes to start thinking about. Writers have unfinished stories and articles to write. I certainly do. And what about that extra weight we were going to lose?  But what’s the point of dieting now, at the eleventh hour, with all the holiday parties and meals with friends and family almost upon us. What’s the point, with all the chocolate appearing everywhere we look? No point at all. (She says, savoring another favorite Quality Street chocolate: a purple wrapper this time.)

            So we resolve to switch to healthy salads and fruit plates in the New Year. This time I mean it! Except that the winter has only just started and salad weather seems a long way off. We’re about to have the shortest day of the year… January and February can be very cold, wet and gloomy. Lots of rain. Oh dear.

            But there’s another way to look at it. Especially if you’re a writer. Winter’s the best time to shut oneself away and write, with no distractions. You can’t really potter in the garden, should you have one. So you might as well stay inside and write. No matter how gray the sky is, how torrential the rain or how short the days are outside, we are inside, with an extra layer of sweaters on and perhaps a wooly scarf to keep the draughts out, and a clever little heater aimed at our feet, keeping us warm as toast.

And we write – and write. Typing away, as our imagination takes flight. It is the best time to do what makes us feel alive: the best time to write. We shut ourselves away in our own literary world. And with a little discipline and lots of cups of tea or mugs of coffee, we turn out yet another masterpiece with our name on.

            Then one day, we realize that it’s not so cold. A scarf and a layer of sweaters get discarded, the heater gets turned down a notch. When we finally look out of the window again, there is the smattering of blue patches in the sky.  

            He was right. Aesop, that is. After the rain cometh the fair weather – with all the possibilities of the spring season, with summer to follow. And a tumult of new ideas and fresh approaches to our writing.

            Clever lad, Aesop also said that the level of our success is limited only by our imagination. That is something writers have in spades. Imagination. So what are you going to work on to get you through this winter? Where will your imagination take you?

…………………end………………………..

“Why do we do it, eh?  Write, I mean…”

It’s a way of life for so many of us. We have to write, even if no-one else sees our scribbling. Sometimes we get published – sometimes our writing stays hidden. We write in snatched moments between life’s challenges – often turning those very challenges into the next short story or novel.

I find other writers always fascinating to talk with; we know a little bit or a lot about so many subjects and have researched a lot of different topics. Although some of us are more hermits than others; some more prolific than others and some more disciplined than others. There’s a basic shared language with other scribes. But we each have our own reason for doing what we do: writing.

For me, it’s my way of having a voice. Not everyone wants to sit and listen to me pontificating. But when I write, my readers can choose – or not – to read what I have written whenever they want.

I have written since I was little, starting with children’s short adventure stories. Flights of fancy that took me into magical worlds – long before Harry Potter came along.

As I grew older, I became fascinated with the old Hollywood movies and my writing morphed into something else.

My first published books were non-fiction: Los Angeles Then and Now and Hollywood Then and Now, about the history of Los Angeles and Hollywood. I loved the research involved and found so many more ideas to write about. One of these ideas became the Lottie Topaz series. I now write mystery stories. My paternal grandfather was a detective with the Bristol police, so it must be in the genes.

 I realized I loved sharing the knowledge I uncovered about Hollywood in those very early days. I want people to know what it was really like back then. I want to share what I know: To show what the old movie sets were like during silent movies – the open top stages standing cheek-by-jowl with each other. Because there was no sound recorded in those days, there was a cacophony of music, actors talking, the director calling out directions, laughter, screams – all at the same time from different corners of the movie lot. I write about the little details of Lottie’s make-up case, showing what make-up was used in 1925; a lot of this was gleaned from my mum who devoured Hollywood magazines as a young girl and subsequently instilled in me a fascination for that era.

In these books, I write about how Hollywood used to be. I like to bring to life what it was like back then. Through my writing, I also hope to take readers on the same journey that fascinated me so – and take them away from today’s troubles and challenges. I love disappearing into that other world. I hope readers will feel the same.

I write about my travels – sharing those experiences on the page. I have had a lot of adventures in my travels, mostly throughout Europe on film locations when I worked first as an actress and then later as a journalist, and I love to share those times – especially on the written page.

Once I moved to Hollywood and then travelled across the States on movie locations and later exploring with my American husband, I experienced more places to write about. I had created a whole new life for myself and became a proud American Citizen… with more writing topics.

After my husband, Rick, died suddenly, I didn’t know how to talk about it. I cried a lot – but I found solace in writing. First, I wrote to my husband and best friend, in a journal, frequently in those early days. I still write to him, sharing the thoughts about each day. It helps.

Ironically, I found a Blog called Planet Grief. It was written by  English children’s author Helen Bailey, after her husband tragically drowned in Barbados in 2011. “A wife at breakfast. A widow by lunch,” she later wrote. Grief stricken, Helen was unable to get back to her children’s books, so she began writing the blog. She called it Planet Grief, because she felt that without her beloved husband John, she was living on another planet. Others who had lost loved ones responded to her blog that was filled with tears and laughter and tales of their pet dachshund. She even met some of her followers in a local Coffee Shop, to commiserate.

Some years after, she met a new beau and they moved in together. In April 2016, I read a headline in the English papers: “Children’s writer and her dog missing.” Some months later the two bodies were found in a cesspit at her new home. Helen and her dog had been drugged – by the new beau. He was found guilty and sent to prison earlier this year. His first young wife had died suddenly in their garden ten years before he met Helen Bailey. Police are now re-examining that death.

So the writer in me was fascinated with this whole saga. My mind is still spinning storylines from the awful details. And I am sure many other writers also found a morbid interest in this tale.   That’s the way my writer’s mind works. I can’t help it. Just as I can’t help writing – about everything. 

I wonder about my fellow writer friends. Why do you do it, eh? Write, I mean.

      by Rosemary Lord

          As writers, we quickly learn that the most important part of writing is the beginning and the ending.

Get ’em hooked – hit the ground running; that, we are told, is how good writing should start. If you can’t reel your reader in with that first page, they probably won’t bother to read further. Especially in today’s short attention-span world.

There is a series of things we are told never to begin a story with: The weather, the phrase “It was a dark and stormy night…,” description of the scenery – and so on. Of course some masterpieces have started with these very things. So we have to know exactly what will work for us and when we can break the rules. That’s something learned along the way.

Then, there’s the ending. Always leave ’em wanting more! Of course, you have to tie up the loose ends, especially with mystery novels. Readers feel really cheated if ‘red-herrings’ are scattered throughout, yet never explained. Worst still is to have the culprit introduced at the last minute: ‘Surprise!’  That’s a big no-no, as the readers will not have been allowed to follow along with us, tracing the trail of literary breadcrumbs we leave as we attempt to create another writing masterpiece.  This is another creative challenge, as the wheels of our brain spin from pillar to post sorting through the mystery we are producing. But we need to leave readers wanting more, if we want them to come back for the next book in our series; either unanswered questions about the protagonist, or interest peaked in the settings of the story.

I loved the film of the book, “The Most Excellent Marigold Hotel,” which starred Judy Dench and Maggie Smith as British seniors moving to India to start a better life at the Marigold Hotel. By the end of the first book and the film, all sorts of intriguing things were happening. It was a happy ending as they began this great adventure. We were left wanting to know what happened – how did it work out? Unfortunately, the sequel, “The Second Best Most Excellent Marigold Hotel,” didn’t fare so well because it tied up all the ends too neatly. It told us exactly what happened: all done and dusted. Nothing left for us to ask or wonder about. No ‘what ifs?’  Nothing to look forward to in the next episode.

Life, like books, has beginnings and endings. There seem to have been a lot of these recently. The simplest closing of one door often opens a new door to surprising results.

  When I shattered both ankles some years ago I was earning my living as an actress, while writing on the side. That acting door closed because I was in a wheelchair for several months, before I learned to walk again. So my writing career was reborn, starting with my Los Angeles Then and Now book success.

Big doors and little doors.

A while back, on holiday with my family in Greece, our favorite restaurant was closed for remodeling. We were really upset, as we had looked forward to evenings of great food and ambiance there. So, we had to look further afield and instead discovered a charming small harbor just up the coast with rustic tavernas and a community of delightful, friendly people. A new place to vacation. That was a little door opened for us.

When my husband Rick died so unexpectedly, a very big door was slammed in my face, as all the things we had planned together stopped. As time went by, healing didn’t stop the hurt. It just felt different. New doors opened. I have done so many things I never would have done if Rick were still here. Although I still feel him very much with me, watching over me, cheering me on as I begin new adventures. I travel a lot more – spending time with my siblings and family in Europe. Something Rick and I never had the time to do. Now, I make the time. My priorities have changed.

I undertook to save the historic Woman’s Club of Hollywood from being turned into a luxury condo resort.  Working long hours every day filled the void and helped me through the grief. I did not have time to think about my own situation. I found strength in the work I was doing there: managing maintenance, restoration, bookkeeping, putting on events, handling film location rentals – and growing the membership, so we have a bigger army of people to protect the historic club going forward. I was in a world to which I had never aspired. I learned a lot. I was elected President, which increased my responsibilities. But I also learned to delegate – instead of my life-long “I can do it…” practice of attempting to do everything myself. And now, that door is closing.

As I approach the end of my term as President, I relish the time that will be freed up. I will still remain on the Board of Directors, overseeing many of my current responsibilities – proud of what we have accomplished so far. But I am surrounded by a new group of strong women also intent on saving the club. So I can step back, a little, knowing the club is in safe hands. I will now be able to return to serious writing time.

The door that was partially closed after Rick passed away was my extended writing hours. I did not have the heart, or the time, to dedicate my life to writing anymore. I was needed elsewhere.  Now I look forward to a fresh start with my writing. I have a lot of ideas bottled up, waiting to be written.

Who knows how this new chapter will end or when this door will close and a new door – or window – open. But I know that whatever I write I will start with a great ‘hook’ and at the end endeavor to leave my readers wanting more!

………………………………..

Rosemary Lord. August 2018

 

I remember my first July 4^th in America. I’d only been in L.A. a few months and was still marveling at the endless sunshine. I was in Beverly Hills that day and saw a red English double-decker bus being driven slowly along Wilshire Boulevard. Along both sides were large white banners with “Happy Birthday America – love, Mum” written in bold print. It was an image I have never forgotten.

That first July 4th was spent with an international group in an Australian friend’s back garden (or yard, to use the local term) where we all celebrated the start of our new lives in California – the land of such promise, excitement and new ideas.

As the years progressed I won the coveted Green Card, so I was working as an actress and enjoying a thoroughly Americanized summer. On location in Colorado, we had the day off from filming, and had a big barbecue with the crew. (The little English kid in me thought, “Wow! Mum – look at me, in America, celebrating with a Hollywood film crew!”)

I also found myself a wonderful, gorgeous American husband, Rick! And so Independence Days were filled with our own new traditions of hot-dogs, baked-beans and hamburgers with friends and neighbors. Some years we had picnics in the park or by our favorite lake, creating lovely memories. And always the fireworks burst forth over the nearby Hollywood Bowl.

Some of the July 4ths we spent in Kentucky at my late mother-in-law’s farm. What a wonderful slice of Americana: the local town congregated together and roasted a wild hog over coals in a huge, rusty brazier thingy. A local country and western group performed on a flat-bed truck and American flags flew everywhere. It was a ‘pot-luck’ affair, so there were tables groaning with an assortment of pies, savory things and desserts. A delicious chicken-like dish that one of the neighbors had brought turned out to be frogs’ legs! “Frog Gigging” was a local past-time, I learned. “Ya just have to remember to cut the tendons before ya cook it, or the darned leg will hop right out of the pan before ya can catch it!” As Hardin County was a ‘dry’ county, I am not sure what they were all drinking from an assortment of bottles. “It’ll put hair on yer chest…” I heard. I decided to pass on that one.

Sometimes, Rick and I were back in England where Rick observed that July 4^th went strangely unnoticed – save for a few American ex-pats who had their own barbecues and flag-waving.

One memorable Independence Day we spent at sea. Rick’s boss, Oprah Winfrey, had rented a luxury cruise ship (as you do!) to celebrate the 25^th anniversary of her television show and to thank her entire staff for all their hard work over the years. Rick and I were tickled pink when we were invited to join this Mediterranean cruise. After we left the last stop on the island of Malta, we headed back to Barcelona and we were at sea on July 4^th – of course, not an occasion celebrated in Europe. The organization for that day was mind-boggling! The huge swimming-pool deck was covered and, after a ‘group photo’ of all the Harpo staff with their ‘plus-one’ and guests like Rick and me, the festivities began with a live band and several long tables filled with every sort of food imaginable and a large barbeque. The music and dancing went on until the small hours, long after we had retired. It was a good thing we were in the middle of the ocean with no neighbors to disturb – except the fishes and the dolphins.

I grew up watching American movies with July 4^th   Independence Day celebrations. They always appeared such a fun gathering for families and friends where everyone prepared their special dishes and decorated whole neighborhoods with red, white and blue. I loved being able to share this tradition.

But then I get the best of both worlds, as I can also celebrate Bonfire Night with fellow Brits or my family – as well as Boxing Day, which is just another workday in America.

When, as a young girl, I first heard about July 4^th – Independence Day – when all that British tea was thrown into the bay, my selfish reaction was – how many delicious cups of tea were lost? But lo these many years later, and now as an American Citizen, it’s a different matter.

I think about the meaning of Independence Day: America’s independence from Great Britain, free to make its own decisions and rules. These days we enjoy our individual sense of independence. Today, more than ever, most people are free to create their own lives, go their own direction. As writers I feel we are privileged to have each created our own literary world, writing about whatever takes our fancy – even following our own schedules and timetables – except for those pesky publisher deadlines.

Happy Independence Day, one and all!

“How come you know all that?” people sometimes ask, after reading my history-based books. I’m not sure. I mean, at school I didn’t find history that interesting: reciting dates of dead kings and assorted battles.  Instead, I’d gazed out of the window as the rain drizzled down, recalling some old Hollywood movie I’d seen on television – trying to figure out how I could possibly ever live in Tinsel Town.

 

 

 

 

So I certainly didn’t catch the history bug in school. Although, once I left school and started travelling, I became fascinated by the history of the old buildings in London that Charles Dickens wrote about, or Paris and Victor Hugo’s world. I’d caught the bug.

And when, after more travelling, I was finally living in Hollywood, California, I became captivated by the history of this movie town, where I found myself working at Warner Brothers, Paramount Studios, and Universal Studios. I drive by Charlie Chaplin’s old studio often and think about his early days there.

 

The Magic of Hollywood had been in my blood all my life. I recall my mum’s stories of when she was little and she would pore over the Hollywood movie magazines. She remembered the adverts for ‘eye black’ and the little round tubs of Bourjois rouge, and other cosmetics that movie stars Clara Bow or Jean Harlow bought – allegedly. I used a lot of this information in my Lottie Topaz novels about Hollywood in the 1920s.

 

Funnily enough, only last year, I met Jean Harlow’s hairdresser. At a Jean Harlow Celebration at the Woman’s Club of Hollywood, I had invited Alfred Pagano to speak to the enthralled audience. Alfred was 100 years old – still charming and dapper.  He had turned the young Jean Harlow’s hair that legendary peroxide blond, helping to create the first Blond Bombshell. He explained that he had experimented and used household bleach mixed with Lux soap flakes to create that color!  So I filed that tidbit, and many other things he shared with me, away for my writing research.

 

I realized that this is how I know all this ‘stuff.’ Not from sitting in a classroom, but by being ‘out-and-about’ and talking with people. Listening to older people’s stories is a great source of inspiration for me. We get clues and ideas from asking family members. The older generations are a font of information and memories for us to mine.  Family storytelling is becoming a lost art that we really must encourage and revive.

Mind you, I have spent hours in various libraries, looking at archive records and especially photos. They tell us so much. A picture really is worth a thousand words when you study the background, what people are wearing, how they were living.

 

I do, of course, “Google” people, places and things. It’s so easy to do. Although I learned that Google tracks and follows every key stroke you make. Then I get those annoying adverts all over the place from prior searches of mine. I feel like I’m being followed. I am. Bing.com is a good alternative – and a newer search engine called DuckDuckGo.com that was started by Gabriel Weinberg in 2008. These two search engines say they value your privacy and  don’t sell you information, so your search gets you the information you’re looking for, not what the top payers want you to see.

 

Old magazines and newspapers are a great source of ideas and research. I look for old magazines in Thrift Shops. It’s amazing what people get rid of. Skimming through articles in 1940s magazines can result in some nugget of information that triggers my imagination for a new story. Then I follow the clues; names of old organizations that have archive libraries, old department stores that have long been razed and replaced by anonymous concrete towers. Going back into their history, one finds odd little stories of people that lived or worked there. Bits of information that most would consider irrelevant, but that spark a story idea.

 

There are so many specialist magazines that have an eclectic assortment of articles or adverts. I never know where I will find something curious or interesting. Family Tree Magazine is a great source of genealogy, with articles on so many professions of yesterday, town histories, and letters from readers trying to trace their great-great grandparents and long-lost relatives.

I sometimes envy writer friends working on contemporary stories. They don’t have to research, unless there is some special skill involved.  It’s much easier to write things set in present day, because we write about our every day life without even thinking about it.

But the journeys I am taken on, once I start researching something, are true adventures. It’s easy to get side-tracked by a notice in the paper or an old advert. Obituaries are wonderful sources for inspiration, when you read of a life encapsulated.  I could spend my entire day doing research, without ever writing a word. It takes discipline not to get led astray and back on that yak-shaving train…….

 

Rosemary wrote her first book when she was ten years old – for her little brother. She also illustrated it herself. It was later rejected by Random House!

She has been writing ever since.

The author of Best Sellers Hollywood Then and Now and Los Angeles Then and Now,  English born Rosemary Lord has lived in Hollywood for over 25 years. An actress, a former journalist (interviewing Cary Grant, James Stewart, Tony Hopkins, John Huston amongst others) and a Senior Publicist at Columbia Pictures, she lectures on Hollywood history. Rosemary is currently writing the second in a series of murder mysteries set in the 1920s Jazz Age Hollywood featuring Lottie Topaz, an extra in silent movies.

*  *  *

When it all comes plummeting down – what do you do?  When there seem so many small fires to be put out. And all around you people are having dramas – then turning to you for help. What do you do?

I just want to hide under the warm, plump duvet (a European eiderdown) and never come out. But I don’t have that luxury.

How do you keep your head – “when all around you seem to be losing theirs and blaming it on you.” As Kipling put it so well. “… if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowances for their doubting too. If you can wait and not be tired by waiting…”

But I digress.

So, how do you write when you’re snowed under?

How come other writers seem to have it all organized? Able to write at the same time each day, without distraction. Able to churn out book after book…..  I know that writer-mothers of young children seem to find the time to write their books – while the kids are napping or at school, waiting at soccer practice or for the laundry cycle to finish. My writer friends with full time jobs find a way. Sue Ann Jaffarian is a paralegal, Pamela Samuels Young an attorney. They write before going to work, in their lunch hour and at weekends.

Before I ever get to the office, the phone calls and urgent emails start early in the morning. And I can’t remember when I last stopped for lunch. For the last couple of years, I often work 6 or 7 days a week. So where am I going wrong?

(As Anthony Newley’s song “What Kind of Fool Am I?” floats around my head…)

Since my husband died so unexpectedly, I have been working day in and day out to save the Woman’s Club of Hollywood from being turned into an anonymous block of condominiums, instead of the charming Spanish-style historic property where Jean Harlow and Douglas Fairbanks went to school and where Charlie Chaplin, Mary Pickford and a host of Golden Era celebrities helped served the Hollywood community for over 110 years. So I feel it’s worth saving. Worth fighting for. But at what cost – to me.

So here I am – an author, a writer who has so little time to write. One of my publishers has just asked me to do a new version of one of my Hollywood books. “How long do I have,” I asked, trying not to panic.

I’ve stayed up all night to finish a book by the deadline. Getting the copy sent off to London by eight in the morning – that is four o’clock in the afternoon in London time. But I did it. I’ve arisen at 5 am, in the dark, to get a couple of hours writing in before the day starts. But it doesn’t last. I get too tired, then find myself nodding off over the computer keys. And how is it that I seem to gain weight, when I hardly ever have time to eat? That’s just plain unfair!

Goodness! This sounds like whining. Not my intention. More a ‘Dear Abby, How do I get off this hamster wheel?” Or: I’m a writer – get me out of here!

I have so many voices in my head that need to be heard – or read. So many books to write, screenplays to finish. All the characters that float around my imagination, hoping that I will turn them into words on a page for readers to discover. All clamoring, ‘Me too! Don’t forget about me…”  And Lottie Topaz has been so very patient with me, waiting for me to finish her second volume and share her emerging adventures.

The people in my head, my wonderful characters that I can breath life into, they all have a song to sing – a story for me to tell.

So why are there so many things, big and small, going on in life that need my attention at the present? Am I avoiding something? Why can’t I be more disciplined and just focus on my writing. Ignore the pleas for help. Just tell people to get lost. Leave me alone.

Maybe I’m just going through a phase…

Although this week, after what seems like an eternity,  the court trial starts on behalf of the Woman’s Club trying to release itself of heavy financial burdens unfairly foisted on it by nefarious beings. So that will settle one long chapter in its saga. And hopefully offer me some respite.

Looking back, I could have taken a different path. Would it have been easier? Probably. But look how much I have learned, people I have met – characters and stories I have discovered.

But still, right now, what I’d really like to do is dive back under the warmth of my duvet – for a while.

Know what I mean?