Month: January 2013

I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille. . . .

/ marydpierce / 23 Comments

It’s my birthday today.  Most of my adult life I have been less than thrilled with birthdays (outside the great excuse for eating lots of chocolate cake).  On my twenty-first birthday I happened to pick up an issue of Cosmopolitan magazine, which just happened to have an article – swear to God! – about how physically, it’s all downhill after twenty one.

But life is nothing, if not an interesting journey, right?  This morning I woke up, and in my still dream-fogged brain, this thought occurred to me:  I am not so much getting older, as I am getting more practice at living well and good and happily (most of the time. . .or at least, a proportionately larger percent of the time).  I credit my friend Bob Lee as the reason for this new insight.  He posted a birthday message to me last night that said, Happy 21st again! You must be so good at having those birthdays now. It must have sunk in while I was sleeping.

So, yeah.  Happy Birthday to me!  I am the star of my day today.

The 'Moose hat" picture explained: This was at a fancy dress party (costume party here in the US) at the Fforde Ffiesta June, 2012. I was 'Moose' Havisham (a combo of Transient Moose and Miss Havisham who are both characters in Jasper Fforde books. I won first place.

The ‘Moose hat” picture explained: This was at a fancy dress party (costume party here in the US) at the Fforde Ffiesta June, 2012. I was ‘Moose’ Havisham (a combo of Transient Moose and Miss Havisham who are both characters in Jasper Fforde books. I won first place.

It is also my sister’s birthday today.  We are not twins, but we are near twins.  Irish twins, some people tell us, as we are one year apart to the day.  Sharing a birthday was not always easy for us.  Kids do not like sharing birthday gifts, which was something we occasionally had to do.  And we have very different personalities and interests.  About the only trait we have in common is stubbornness, so you can guess how well we got along.

To add to our illusion of our twin-ness, my mother dressed us alike until we revolted.

To add to the illusion of our twin-ness, my mother dressed us alike until we revolted.

But we are grown-ups now, we get along really well and enjoy each other’s company when we can spend time together.  And we never, ever have to share birthday gifts anymore.  Which is good, because she is getting lobster and tequila for her birthday, neither of which I like and one of those things I’m allergic to.  And this is what I got today for my birthday, because I am an avid Dr. Who fan.

Tardis 2 web sz

Care to guess what I plan on keeping in my Tardis?

So, here’s to me and here’s to my birthday twin.  May we live our lives guided by love.

Cheers, y’all!

My man, Wilkie . . . .

/ marydpierce / 16 Comments

It may be possible in novel-writing to present characters successfully without telling a story; but it is not possible to tell a story successfully without presenting characters.

                                                                    — Wilkie Collins

This is what it says in my Booklover’s Birthday Book for today.  On this day in 1824, the British author, Wilkie Collins was born.  I think it’s still a pretty apt quote for a guy who would be 189 years old were he still around.

The first time I heard the name Wilkie Collins it made me think of Wee Willie Winkie running around in his nightgown, yelling about kids being in bed by eight o’clock.  Then I read his book, The Woman in White.  I was a teenager by that time, and I thought his story was way better and eerier than any of the Nancy Drew mysteries I’d read earlier.  It was my stepping stone to the mysteries of Agatha Christie (who, in turn, was my stepping stone to John D. MacDonald; I spent my early 20s a little in love with Travis McGee).  Eventually, my mystery-reading phase was supplanted by my great American novel-reading phase and on and on until I outgrew reading phases entirely.

His life was fascinating, as real lives often are.  He was born with a bulge on the right side of his forehead which he never tried to hide, he studied Law (because his father thought it best), was called to the bar but never actually practiced.  He was also unconventional for his time, wrote prolifically, was friends with Charles Dickens, published with him, wrote plays with him and acted in Dickens’ amateur theatrical troupe.  All while supporting two families in two separate households (one under an assumed name), and suffering from gout and a laudanum addiction.  He died of a stroke at the age of sixty-five.

I think I’m going to have to go find me some Wilkie Collins books, because I do like characters.

Happy Birthday, Wilkie.  Here’s to you.  Your books are back in print and you’re looking pretty good for your age.

Wilkie Collins photo from Wikipedia. You barely notice his forehead protuberance in it. Or his laudanum addiction.

Wilkie Collins photo from Wikipedia. You barely notice his forehead protuberance. Or his laudanum addiction.