#props to anyone that remember's my buddy's edward here

[zelterxc]

a reunion of muses that havent seen each other in a few years. 

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? 

[ellstersmash]

anybody's hands

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles Pairing: Mason x Theo West Rating: M (sexual content, language, smoking) Words: 2,740 [read on Ao3]

theo drops by the bar for a drink and gets an offer she can't refuse; mason just gets an eyeful. set in book 1 after the whole supernatural reveal

-

< Answer your phone >

< Where the hell are you >

< guess. >

< No >

< aw. thought you liked to play? >

< Don't make me track you down >

< or what? gonna punish me? 😏 >

…

…

< The thought has crossed my mind >

< i did cut out early today. thats pretty naughty.. >

< i guess >

< considering the circumstances >

...

< Can't spank you if I don't know where you are >

< 🍒 >

...

< DONT FUCKING LEAVE >

“Buy you a drink?”

“Sure.” Theo doesn't even look up from her phone until after she's agreed.

Her benefactor is perched on the next bar stool over, one boot propped up on the footrest, stuck by the rubber sole, the other planted on the floor. Large hands folded in his lap, and he is undeniably attractive. Tall and clean-shaven and fit in a half-assed way that leaves him soft around the edges. His deep brown eyes scan her features with an approving simmer, and his curly black hair is a little longer than last time. She mentions it, says she likes it and he smiles.

“I'm surprised you remember me,” he says, and it probably wasn't meant to be offensive, but it smarts regardless—as much as the opinion of a stranger ever can.

“Why's that?” Theo tilts her head and peers up at him through her lashes. “You don't think you made an impression?”

“I hope this means I did.”

Emmett! That was his name. A napkin appears on the counter in front of her, then a beer, and Theo snatches it up for a sip.

He props one elbow on the counter to get a couple inches closer, and the faint aroma of his cologne reaches her. It's good shit. Heady and cool, musky and a little sweet. She wants to bury her nose in his chest and fill up her senses, and that's probably the idea.

“You look great, Theo. I mean, really great.”

“It’s the badge. Makes me irresistible.”

“I don’t think that’s it.”

She purses her lips in a demure sort of thank you. “So how are things?”

Things are great, because of course they are. Not many men will say otherwise, afraid that emotional vulnerability will hurt their chances. It won't—at least, not with her. She doesn't give a shit about the things or how they are.

There are exactly two variables that matter to her in moments like this, when she wants like this. Likely and hopefully, the same two on his mind: do you want to fuck and are you close enough to sober? A no to either of the above renders this conversation pointless. She will finish her free drink and he'll take the next opportunity to rejoin his friends by the pool table. They won't exchange numbers or emails or whatever people do these days. He will go home to the city and she will stay here and their existences in each other’s lives will be reduced to an "oh, nothing really, what did you do this weekend?" in the break room at work on Monday, and the next time their paths happen to cross, if they ever do again, they won't remember how things were this time. They'll ask the same two questions, and hope the ayes have it.

But if she recalls correctly—now that she's doubting she is—he'd been a little uncomfortable with her direct approach the last time. So as Emmett—

No, wait. Elliot? Everett? Whatever, it’s too late to ask for a reminder now.

—tells her about the camping trip he and “the guys” are about to go on, she runs her finger around the rim of her glass. Nods at the usual moments and asks a few questions to keep him talking.

Theo has more than half a mind to steer the conversation elsewhere. Keep it light, wait until Mason shows up, find out if he's finally ready to make good on all those threats of his. The thought ignites a thrill of heat in her core that skitters out to the tips of her fingers and toes, and sends her imagination spiraling.

Much to her dismay, she doesn’t get to stay distracted for long. Emmett or Elliot or Everett asks about her things right back, and though she's tempted to wave him off and get to the good part, she indulges his probing. Work is good, just got a promotion! Yeah, to detective. Yeah, I'm on the murder case. Yeah, it's totally wild. No, no family worth mentioning but our station cats are thriving.

Some people prefer to ease in, and that's ok.

“So,” he finally says. Clears his throat and stalls a while, and Theo knows what comes next. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Nope.” She sips. “You?”

“Not really.”

She instinctively squints at the wording, but doesn't ask for specifics. That's not her boundary to keep. “Lucky me.”

He blinks, flattered and flustered. “I forgot you were such a charmer.”

“What? How could you forget my, like”—Theo holds her fingers up in sequence—“fourth best quality?”

“I must have been distracted by your first three.”

“Oh, and I'm the charmer?”

A tentative brush of his fingers on her chin, bolder along her jaw, then he tucks her hair behind her ear. “I was inspired.” His focus drops to her lips, and the warmth returns, building and solid and he's right here in front of her.

“Just so we understand one another,” she says, though considering the way he’s already undressing her with his eyes, the warning she's about to give feels superfluous. “I'm not up for a date or anything.”

His relief is palpable. “Likewise. Just looking to blow off some steam, if you’re up for it. Are you busy tonight?”

“Hoping to be.”

His place? Hers?

No, she shouldn't leave. Mason will be here eventually and he's only trying to do his job. She made it difficult enough by leaving work early. Besides, she can't go with this guy and she can't take him home, not with all that's going on. Can't put him in that kind of danger for a one night stand. Not to mention the fact that her vampire coworkers-slash-babysitters are waiting at her apartment, which would require a tricky explanation.

The sobering thought almost kills her arousal. Almost. She scoots off her stool and slams the rest of her beer, then leans back against the bar.

“I, uh, have plans later,” she says. “But I happen to be free right this second. How do you feel about public restrooms?”

His brown eyes go black as they flick between her and the red-lit sign.

Theo places one hand on his knee to lean in toward his ear. “Ladies’, two minutes.” She bites her lip and smiles to close the deal, then saunters away.

-

It's the furthest thing from romantic: held up against a bathroom wall she hopes to god is sort of clean, her shirt rucked up to her tits, his jeans hanging off his ass, her own crumpled on the floor and her panties shoved to one side so he can fuck her. But goddamn, she needed this.

To his credit, he started slow. Kissed her good and proper and slid his hand down her pants before they got this far, but she didn't need all that. Didn’t want it. Didn’t have time to wait for it.

Theo bites not-too-gently into the tense muscle of his shoulder, eliciting a soft grunt and a curse, then yanks at the sleeve of his T-shirt to bare his skin. She scrapes her teeth up to his neck and kisses him hard and he groans and thrusts harder, faster, inching her ever closer to the high she's been craving all day.

“Oh. Oh god," she gasps out. "I'm so close, don't stop.”

But he does, and so does she, as a harsh knock sounds at the door—a split second before it swings wide open.

“Detective, you in h—”

Mason slows to a stop and freezes as he takes in the scene, then his features settle into a sly smirk. The soft ka-chunk of the door closing behind him is the only sound in the room.

“Yo, buddy. You mind?” Evan or Ellis or whatever his name is glances over his shoulder, shifting his grip on Theo’s thigh.

She flinches at the movement. He is still buried inside her and she is far too preoccupied with dangling on the precipice of her climax to laugh or be embarrassed or say anything at all.

Mason doesn’t answer him yet, only holds her gaze. From anyone else, she’d expect admonishment. Disappointment. A healthy dose of shame. From him, maybe a derisive scoff. But his expression is darkened with something different, and as he wets his lips a fresh wave of heat coils in her belly. Her heart pounds in her chest.

She has forgotten how to breathe.

“Nah,” he finally says. “Not at all.”

His voice is low and rough, hot coals that turn to silk on her skin and velvet in her ears and send a shiver straight down her spine. It is all Theo can do to keep from tumbling over the edge.

Then, with a wicked grin, he leaves.

“Wow, shit.” Another adjustment makes Theo hiss, but at least Edward—

Sure, let's go with that.

—doesn't pull out. “I am so sorry, I thought you locked it.”

She ignores both the apology and the accusation and rolls her pelvis, trying to hit that sweet spot. Doesn't need much more, just—

His hips obediently stutter back to life, then back into rhythm, and Theo squeezes her eyes shut. Sees freckle-painted skin and long dark hair and eyes like summer thunder; she shatters. Wrangles the sound of it into harsh broken breaths that feel less like release and more like suffocation, then shudders and winces as he fucks her straight through it until he comes with a muffled groan.

They part from one another like they were never anything else, clean up and dress, and he examines the hickey forming on his neck with a measure of discomfort. He leaves a kiss on her cheek but doesn't linger, and she doesn't encourage the idea. She doesn't give him her number. He doesn't ask what she's up to next weekend.

She doesn't even remember his name.

After he's gone, she stares at herself in the mirror for a minute. Runs her fingers through her hair to untangle it, parts it on one side, then the other, then gives up and pulls it back into a ponytail. Washes her hands and rinses her mouth and wipes away the smudges of mascara that have settled where they shouldn’t.

Knock, knock.

“You coming?”

Theo gives herself one last look-over before she yanks the door open. Mason is leaning up against the wall outside the bathroom, thumbs hooked in his pockets and long limbs surprisingly relaxed. Gray gleams almost silver as he appraises her altered appearance.

“Again?” he adds, with a smile so smug she wants to smack him.

Stupid vampires and their stupid goddamn supersenses.

It irks her not to have any ammo. He may not be in any position to judge her, but being the brunt of his joke doesn’t suit her much better. She should laugh and let it go—he’ll move on in ten minutes and it doesn’t matter what he thinks, if he thinks of her at all, but somehow that doesn’t help. The best she can do is a halfhearted roll of her eyes before she walks away.

A quick pit-stop at the bar to grab her jacket and pay her tab for the one beer that wasn't free, then she shoves out the door, Mason on her heels.

He rubs his hands together like some mountain climber stranded above the snowline and shivers so violently she can hear it in his voice. “Tell me you weren’t stupid enough to walk here.”

Theo flicks up her middle finger before veering around the corner toward her car.

“You're in a surprisingly bad mood, considering you just got off,” he says as they get in.

“And you're in a surprisingly good one, considering you didn't.”

All his attention falls heavy on her.

“Oh, sweetheart. That’s only part of the fun.” As he leans over the center console, the alluring scent of smoke and sandalwood has her breathing in too deep. It leaves her lightheaded. Dizzy. “And I can’t say I don't enjoy helping you get where you need to go.”

Fire rises to Theo’s cheeks and for the second time in the past five minutes, her mouth flounders around impossible words. Mason shifts even closer with an expression she might call dreamy if it were plastered on literally anyone else’s face.

“So she does blush. This night gets better and better.”

The taunting does it. She snaps back into focus. “Who says you had anything to do with it?”

It’s not a response, not really. That curve of his lips, that look that’s way too goddamn sure. It hangs in the air between them, turns it liquid; she can’t fill her lungs, can’t quit staring at his mouth and shit he's so close. Three inches, give or take. A stretch of her neck, a tilt of her head, a tip of her chin and she could taste what she’s been missing and shut him up at the same time. A real win-win-win.

But one reckless semi-public fuck is probably enough for tonight.

So she shrinks away. Lets out a long breath and starts her car. “Fuck you,” she whispers, but can’t muster up enough bite to give it teeth.

“That a threat or a promise?” Mason backs off at her glare, fades, palms-out, to his own side of the car and rubs his wrinkled jeans back into place. He taps a cigarette free, then scowls and puts it back when she makes a fuss.

Her apartment building isn’t far. Nothing is far from anything around here. But instead of stalking up to the entryway door like she expects, Mason leans against the car and pulls his cigarettes out again, arching an eyebrow at her as if daring her to object.

Theo shrugs and stands upwind.

One between his lips and she finds it doesn't make them any less alluring. Then a smooth click, a spark, a steady flame, and a stream of smoke that puffs out harsh, curls at the edges, wisps out into nonexistence.

“I think you can make it the rest of the way without me,” he grumbles and gestures to the building’s well-lit entrance.

“Can I ask you something?”

The weary stare he gives her could mean anything, but it’s not a hard no.

“You’ve been at this casual sex thing for…?” Theo squints at him, giving him a chance to fill in the blank.

“A while.”

“Longer than me, I assume.”

He snorts at that. “Is there a point on its way, or are we just measuring dicks here?”

“As fun as that sounds, I think I’m at a bit of a disadvantage.”

Mason smirks, but doesn’t speak.

“I’m just wondering… does it get old? Like, sure, it's exciting, and relationships are—” She searches for a word to describe the specific mixture of irritation, disgust, and disappointment the concept holds for her, but she settles for making a nebulously unpleasant face. It seems to get the point across. “All that prowling and signaling and flirting, though? And the small talk! God, the small talk.”

“I tend to avoid that last part, yeah. But the rest of it?” Mason pauses, inhales sharp and lets it out slow. He turns to her at the end of it, smoke still drifting from his lips. He ashes his cigarette and studies her face like she already has the answer.

“Nope.”

“Hm. Guess yours is bigger after all.”

One last drag, then he drops the butt onto the asphalt and grinds it out. “You don’t have to guess, sweetheart. I’ll show you anytime you want.”

Theo pushes off the car with a huff of laughter and heads toward the door.

“Just saying,” he calls out, lifting his arms up with a grin to match hers. “If you're unsatisfied, maybe you need a better partner.”

She turns around, but keeps walking backward, catching his eye through a hazy white cloud. “I'll keep that in mind. Want me to prop the door open for you?”

Mason shakes his head, already digging in his jacket pocket, and Theo shuts the question out with him.

[thrillingdetectivetales]

2020 Creator Wrap

2020 Creator Wrap: Favorite Works

Okay, okay, I know I’m late with this but the incredibly sweet @irolltwenties and the utterly delightful @anthrobrat were both kind enough to me in this bad boy and it seems really fun, so here we are!

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

According to my AO3 statistics page, I wrote just over 100K of fiction this year, across 17 different fandoms, a few of which won’t actually go live until after the New Year because they’re part of a gifting collection that hasn’t been revealed yet... Anyway, I picked my faves for a variety of reasons, listed briefly after each link. If you have any questions about works I’ve shared (or just in general) feel free to ask!

1. Front Row at the Gongshow

The Pacific, 16K, Rated G  Andrew ‘Ack Ack’ Haldane/Edward ‘Hillbilly’ Jones

Aside from being the longest completed work I produced this year, this is also the first fic I’ve ever written using the “found document” format. While there are parts of it I feel really conflicted about, I’m still incredibly proud of it and think it’s one of the better fic I’ve written...possibly ever. Which is doubly funny because I don’t usually do modern AUs of period fiction, but the hockey angle was enough to tempt and lo, here we are, lol.

[Excerpt from Deadspin]

"You all remember Eddie Jones, right? The corn-fed captain of the New Orleans Rougarou so wholesome he belongs on a box of Malt-O-Meal? The gentleman bruiser who spends his free time playing country tunes for kids with cancer?

Our favorite dapper D-man led his team to 97 points last night in a shut-out victory against the Los Angeles Kings, clinching a playoff spot for the first time in franchise history. Oh! And he also got caught on camera at the after-party, sucking face. WITH A DUDE."

2. Entremets

Hannibal, 8K, Rated E Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter

I have...so many Hannibal fic that I’ve started writing and haven’t finished because all my ideas lead to long plotty epics and also big name fandoms scare me. I did this one up for Eat, Drink, & Make Merry, and I’m really, really pleased with the way it turned out, considering it was my first foray into establishing new character voices and also a successful exercise in writing explicit content, which can be a bit of an Ordeal for me, so overall I’m incredibly happy with it. Plus! My deep and abiding love of writing characters cooking/eating/otherwise dealing with food finally paid off!

“The pâté was supposed to be more of a gesture,” Will explains, spreading a golden sliver of honeycomb out across a slice of sopressata with the blade of his pocket knife. “You don’t actually have to eat it. I’m not even sure if it’s any good.” He smears a healthy dollop of chȇvre across his meat-and-honey concoction and pops the whole thing into his mouth without ceremony.

“What better method exists by which to convey one’s appreciation of a gesture than to indulge it?”

3. An Ode to Matty Big-Time

The Good Place, 2K, Rated T Jason Mendoza/Original Male Characters, Pillboi

This one was actually a request made by my very dear @thesummoningdark, who wanted to see some bisexual Jason per that one fantastic Tumblr post about how everyone in TGP should be bi, and I’m really, really proud of the way it turned out. I love writing comedy and I very rarely get to lean into it as hard as I’d like, so delving into the whole wild craziness of Jacksonville, as explained in the show was really fun. I also love writing original characters, and this was a great excuse to indulge.

“We probably shouldn’t do any butt stuff,” Jason warns, with as much gravitas as he can muster. “I had two of Stupid Nick’s Disaster Buckets when I got here.”

“Yeah, your face is still kinda orange,” Mateo agrees fondly, bringing his other hand up to brush his thumb over Jason’s lower lip. It stirs a little frisson of heat in his belly that Jason is 68% sure isn’t just indigestion. “No chemical burns, though, so I think you came out on top.”

4. This and Who I Used to Be

The Tick (2017), 3K, Rated G Arthur Everest/Superian

Another new fandom I haven’t written in before, this was a fill for the Rare Male Slash Exchange that turned me on to a pairing I’d never even thought of before I wrote it and am now low-key obsessed with. It is also, to date, the ONLY Arthur/Superian fic on AO3 at all, which is a cool weird honor and fairly indicative of my life’s goal to eventually write my way into smaller and smaller fandoms until I come out the other side with original works. It was really fun to explore these characters, and to figure out some world-building for Superian’s backstory that fit within the tone and established canon of the extant Amazon!Tick universe. Also featuring an original character that nobody asked for but I’ve come to love unconditionally.

Arthur glances down to where Superian has one cheek pressed against his shoulder, humming something off-key and unintelligible with his eyes closed. Arthur sighs. “Let’s get you inside.”

He hauls Superian in until he can prop him against the wall while he shuts and locks the door behind him. When he looks back over, Superian is smiling at him, soft and lazy. He swings a finger in Arthur’s direction, a broad, sloppy motion, and announces, “I knew you’d say yes.”

“Technically I said fine,” Arthur rebuts. He gestures down the hallway toward the kitchen—which leads on to the bedroom, as Superian well knows—and sighs, “Come on. I don’t know what those handcuffs did to you, but you should probably lie down and have a glass of water or something.”

5. Rain in Its Season

Band of Brothers, 12K, Rated G Edward ‘Babe’ Heffron/John Julian

Oh boy. What to say about this one. It’s maybe not as polished as I might have preferred, but I feel that way about mostly everything I write and at the end of the day I do really love what I managed to do with this piece. Written for the Heavy Artillery Rare Pair Exchange, I managed to lean heavily into both my love for needlessly granular period research and original characters, which are abundant herein. Frankly, based on the very little we see of him in the show, Julian himself is practically an OC, but I digress. This was another of the longer pieces I’ve ever finished and I’m proud of it even if I’d’ve liked to write another 15K or so, time constraints notwithstanding.

“Tell me. Please. Why’re you here?”

Babe flinched, gaze dropping to the floor. His heart was a raw, swollen welt in his chest. He swallowed and licked his lips, slow and pained.

“Come on, Julian,” he rasped, low and quiet. “You know why.” He laughed, soft and hoarse, and shook his head, once. When he looked back up, Julian had taken a careful step into the center of the room. His eyes were very dark, his mouth very red, hope and fear warring in his every feature. Babe fisted his fingers in the cotton sheet underneath him, halfway to pleading as he insisted, “You gotta know.”

Julian sighed and came over to hover at the edge of the bed. Babe spread his legs to accommodate the intrusion.

“That was - ” Julian started. His voice failed midway through the protest, and he swallowed, took a breath, and regrouped at a lower volume. “You said that was just buddies, what we did over there. That it didn’t count. That you didn’t want it to.”

The TL;DR of this all being that while I didn’t write as much I wanted to this year in terms of volume, I feel like my quality has been improving consistently and hope it continues to do so into 2021 while I try to finish out some of my years-long WIPs and get into longer completed pieces.

I’m not sure who all to tag, so I’ll say @thesummoningdark, @blahblahblahclintnickiscanon, @thisbadge, @incognito-insomniac, and anyone else who’d like to join in and hasn’t been tagged yet! (If you’re the latter, feel free to @ me so I can see what you’ve written!)

Happy New Year everyone May the fanworks you create this year be prolific and soul-affirming!

[the-record-columns]

Aug. 28, 2019: Columns

I’ve seen ‘nun’ other like it...

                                                  The nun doll

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

A couple of weeks ago, I attended the Friends of the Wilkes County Library Antiques Roadshow which was held in the Friends of the Library Meeting Room.  

This has been an annual event for several years and is always interesting to attend as an exhibitor or just to look at the cool stuff.  With rare exception, the things brought by are worth spending time looking at and learning about, both of which are good.

When I have something to be looked over, my major interest is to get to tell the story to the folks attending the Roadshow of how I got the piece, or its history, what makes it special, or all the above.  To quote my buddy Sonny Church, "...Kenny is always looking for a fresh set of ears."

In this case today, I suppose a fresh set of eyes.

As often noted here, most of my "finds" actually find me these days. The stuff out front of The Record attracts visitors and folks with things to sell alike, and one day a guy walked in with a Davy Crockett lunch box.  

I had bought a couple of things from him before, notable a nearly perfect "Flipper" lunch box, but the Davy Crockett box was in rough shape. We talked a bit and I told him I wouldn't be interested and, as he left, I walked out with him.  I felt a bit guilty not buying the thing and walked all the way to his car with him and he opened the trunk.

There, on her back in a box of miscellaneous things was Mary—the doll in the picture on this page.  I don't collect dolls, too many, too easy to get a piece of junk, too expensive—you name it. However, I knew if I could stand it Mary was coming in with me.  I had never seen a Catholic nun doll before that day, and haven't seen one since.

I have showed this doll to anybody that has visited for the past five months and no one else has seen one either.  The box of items with the doll each had a handwritten note with it as though whoever packed it up didn't expect to be around to tell about the items on their own.  This note, which I have, says "Edward named this doll his "Holy Mary Doll” - He had a little Catholic friend, Timmy Higgins, who used to tell him about the nuns, etc."

I showed the doll to my Rotarian friend Rob Hicks who was raised Catholic and attended Catholic school for 12 years.  Rob says the outfit is period for the 40’s era, but he had never seen a doll like this one either.

On it goes.

I know there are more of those dolls out there, but it is fun to have something that at least appears to be very rare—and to get to show it off to such a wide variety of visitors--makes the doll like the MasterCard advertising says: "Priceless."

One final note.  

The guy with "Mary" and the Davy Crockett lunch box knew he had me, and he made me buy them both.

And, it was well worth it.

“It’s called ACTING, try it!”

By HEATHER DEAN

Record Reporter

If you are of a certain age, you had the opportunity to take Drama Classes at Wilkes Community College, where you could even receive an Associate in Fine Arts Degree.

Alas, the classes are no more, and two generations are growing up without the pleasure of filling their semesters learning the craft and magic of the stage: set and light design; carpentry; costuming; stage make-up (a necessity for both men and women actors) and most importantly the history of the theatre, and how to become someone else completely, regardless of your comfort level in someone else’s skin.

I knew I wanted to be involved in this magic as a wee child, from very first introduction to the world of singing and dancing your way out of the direst of circumstances- the Wizard of Oz. I was going to “Theatre or Bust” including once when I packed my bags and was off to join the circus and become a trapeze artist, at the ripe old age of 9.

I loved Broadway musicals, the costumes, and I was fascinated by the silent films. I was amazed as a teenager when my paternal grandmother pulled out a picture of her as a teenager, and told me she had a job at a theatre as the “cigarette girl”- and met big stars like Lash LaRue at the premiers. (Alfred "Lash" LaRue was a popular western motion picture star of the 1940s and 1950s. He had exceptional skill with the bullwhip and taught Harrison Ford how to use it for the Indiana Jones movies.) I loved going to the John A. Walker Center and seeing classics like Fiddler on the Roof, The King and I, The Sound of Music come to life in our little town, and I wanted to be a part of it.

I got my chance in 1993, when I had my first restaurant job at the age of 19, and Wes Martin was the bartender. He was taking said above classes to become a theatre teacher, and I was always agog when he spoke about production life. He invited me to see an adaptation of the Brothers Grimm tale of Beauty and the Lonely Beast. I was hooked, and the rest as they say is history- He’s the Wilkes County High School Theatre instructor, and I am in my 26th year of being involved in local and professional theatre.

Back to the beginning… If you are of a certain age, you most likely had Dave Reynolds as your theatre instructor. If you signed up for theatre as an elective and thought it would be an easy “A” you were mistaken. Reynolds made everyone work for it, including reading up on, and writing a term paper on what was going on in NYC on the Broadway stage; Saturday sweat sessions building/painting/lighting a set; the importance of finding the “perfect” prop; how to use modern clothing to look like period costumes, going out of town to see how other theatres interpreted shows through lights and sounds and acting…the list goes on.

I say all this to say, if you had Dave as an instructor, no one was immune from being told “What are we doing here? It’s called ACTING, try it!” when we were not living up to the characters potential.   The truth of the modern theatre is that it has gone a full 180 degrees. In Shakespeare’s time, men played the women roles too as it was considered unlucky for a woman to be on stage.

Juliet? A man.  Bianca and Katherina?  Men.  Cordelia? A man.

Beatrice? A man.  Lady Macbeth? Yup….you guessed it. Which is why one of the funniest lines in Midsummer Nights Dream is when the bellows mender is told to play a girl, and he says “But..I have a beard coming in” then goes on to perform in a wig and dress, with a beard.  

 These days we are lucky to find enough males to fill male character roles. I cannot tell you how many countless times I have played a male character, whether it was the lead role, a lover, a tyrant, a father. It’s nothing to wince over, it’s called acting. And when acting, our only concern is to bring the audience into the story, into the moment, into the lights and glitter and stage magic, and make them forget that they know us in our real day to day lives.

Stella Adler, a theatre teacher herself told her students “The word theatre comes from the Greeks. It means the seeing place. It is the place people come to see the truth about life and the social situation. The theatre is a spiritual and social X-ray of its time. The theatre was created to tell people the truth about life and the social situation.” Her students included Marlon Brando, Robert De Niro, and Harvey Keitel, some of the most famous for acting across the spectrum.

Truly, what are we on stage for if not to make everyone realize that we have space for all, and to portray every dimension of life’s diverseness? Theatre is where we go to see the truth of our world reflected through another’s eyes.  “No theater could sanely flourish until there was an umbilical connection between what was happening on the stage and what was happening in the world,” said Kenneth Tynan.

So, if you have ever been upset with what a stage theatre presents, or come out of a production feeling uncomfortable, GOOD. That means we have lived up to our potential and done our job as actors.

That does not mean we are “reprobates, perverts and going to hell,” that means we have done our duty to represent every aspect of life and those who live it. Having found something offensive does not warrant a boycott of your local community theatre, threats across social media, and intimidating handwritten notes left on individual’s personal property. If you don’t approve, don’t go. “It’s called ACTING!”

No one ever said theatre was where we go to hide from current events, hot button topics or celebrating diversity in our community, but it has been said: “The theatre is traditionally where people go to hear the truth.” -David Mamet

By right and by fight, the land belongs to Israel

By Ambassador EARL COX and KATHLEEN COX

How can anyone think otherwise except they believe the fake news? Gone are the days of investigative journalists digging for facts and sharing them without interjecting their personal philosophies or political beliefs.  A half-truth is a lie, and a lie told frequently eventually becomes the truth. 

I have witnessed how the media can change history. Decades ago, an underwater archeologist who is my friend, discovered the remains of a now-famous Civil War submarine, but he never received recognition.  He followed protocol and filed the necessary documents with federal, state and local governments however, he never contacted the media.  Years later a well-known author and deep-sea diver used my friend’s research and coordinates on file with the government, and went about the business of “discovering” (RE-discovering), this same sunken sub.  Upon reaching the site, the media were immediately contacted and thereby received all the glory and fame. Although my friend presented solid evidence as being the rightful founder, he could not afford the cost of a legal battle to set the record straight.  Except for a few who remember and a government file full of documents, the truth has been buried and forgotten.

This is the same tactic the Palestinians are using in rewriting Israel’s historic connection to the land.  Our job, as Christians and as people who value truth, is to learn to separate fact from fiction.  

The Palestinians claim ownership of the land they currently occupy, in addition to the land of Israel, based on a mythical connection they claim dates back 5000 years.  This is false. So, who are the Palestinians? The truth is, there are no Palestinians.  They are all Arabs.  

The term “Palestine” was first used by the Roman Emperor Hadrian during his reign of the region.  Hadrian hated Jews.  He massacred many living in Judea and sent the rest into exile. He then began to erase any Jewish connection to the land despite archeological anchors.  Hadrian renamed the area Syria-Palaestina to humiliate the Jews. The term “Palaestina” comes from Israel’s most ancient enemies, the Philistines.  

Over the centuries the area of Judea and Samaria was ruled by many foreign powers ending with the Ottoman Empire at the conclusion of WWI.  During Ottoman rule, the term “Palestine” was used to describe a general geographic area south of Syria between the Mediterranean Sea and the Jordan River - not a specific place or people. 

Following WWI, the Ottomans relinquished control of the region to the Allied Forces which decided to divide the area into countries.  During this time, British Foreign Secretary Lord Balfour recognized the historical connection of the Jewish people to their homeland and earmarked an area of land for the Jewish people equal to about a half of one percent of the entire Middle East and it included Judea and Samaria.  

The League of Nations, predecessor to the United Nations, granted powers to the victors of WWI to control the Middle East mandating them to prepare the local people to live and govern themselves independently.  These areas came under the British Mandate of Palestine.  Jews and Arabs were under British Administration, “until such time as they are able to stand alone.”

How did Israel come to possess the area known today as the West Bank and why do so many call it “occupied” territory?

On the day Israel became a nation in 1948 she was attacked by her Arab neighbors. Jordan took advantage of the turmoil and moved in claiming the West Bank without any legal justification. In doing so, the area known as Judea and Samaria became known as the West Bank (the land on the “west bank” of the Jordan River).  In 1967, Israel was again attacked by her Arab neighbors in what became known as the Six Day War. Israel captured the West Bank from Jordan and the Gaza Strip from Egypt.  For Israel, this was a war of self-defense. Those who attacked Israel did so with the intention of destroying the newborn nation and, according to international law, destroying countries is illegal.  Miraculously, those who attacked Israel found themselves on the losing side, so they ran for help to the United Nations. The U.N. refused to label Israel as the aggressor however they did call for a negotiated solution – one that would leave Israel with defensible borders.

So, are Israel’s West Bank settlements illegal?  If you believe the “fake news” narrative of today, then you believe that “Israel attacked her Arab neighbors, captured the West Bank, threw out the Palestinians and began building illegal settlements.”  It’s worth repeating - never was there an Arab nation or state named Palestine therefore there are no “Palestinian” people.  They are Arabs, plain and simple.  They speak Arabic. Their culture is Arabic. Their history is Arabic. They are descendants of Arabs.  There is nothing that uniquely distinguishes them from the greater Arab world.  By right and by fight, Israel owns the West Bank yet the media and others continually refer to the area as “occupied territory.”  At best, the land should be referred to as “disputed” territory.  In the 20th century, Israel’s claim to the land was recognized by the leaders of the International Court of Justice.  Therefore, Israel’s settlements in the West Bank are not illegal. 

While there is no easy solution, any peace deal must be based on legal and historical facts.  Truth, based on facts, must prevail.

Ducks, Home Remedies and Powerful Music

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas  

August is an interesting month.

The weather in the south is warming to get us ready for summer. Sweet magnolias perfume the morning air and stimulate thoughts of days gone by when visits on the front porch and lingering conversations were how folks spent their causal time.

I chuckle just a bit as I recall a few of the more colorful conversations I have engaged in this August.

One conversation with barber Gary was most interesting. He was recalling a story about ducks and their ability to sleep with one eye open. He asks if I knew whether or not that was true. No, I said, I have never heard that. When I left I could not stop thinking about those poor ducks who were not able to get a good night’s rest.

I find that research has at least a 50/50 chance of bringing peace to an unknown situation. So I set out to discover the truth about duck sleep.

I give thanks to Indiana State University for a study that was done in 1999 and published in “Nature.” The study suggests that some ducks do indeed protect each other when sleeping. As it turns out aquatic birds normally sleep together in a row and the ducks on the end of the row will keep the eye open which is facing away from the group. The study also showed that the ducks that were in the middle of the row tended to sleep with both eyes closed. The ducks on the end were engaging in what scientist call single-hemisphere sleep. The eye controlled by the sleeping side of the brain is closed, while the active side of the brain keeps its eye open and on guard. The good news being, that even while on guard, ducks can get some much needed sleep.

An interesting pollen induced August conversation that I had with a friend was about the making of a passed down recipe from generation to generation for a homemade cough remedy.  It consisted of a good amount of white liquor, honey and horehound candy.  As the story goes, after days of dealing with a nasty lingering cough that refused to leave, his wife asks him to make some of the special family medicine.

He did so, and when it was ready, he told her it was to be taken a tablespoon at a time. She said okay, and he went out to do some yard work. When he came back inside he noticed that the glass was empty and he ask if she had poured out the rest of it. She said, no, I did what you said, I sipped it all, a tablespoon at a time.

He said in about 20 minutes the phone rang and she jumped up to answer with a spirited “Howdy Do.” I was told that this was not her normal way of answering the phone, and the word soon spread, and over the next few hours family members called just to hear her highly energetic, all be it temporary zeal for life. The good news is, she didn’t cough any more that night, and she slept well.

There are several music festivals in the Carolinas in August, so it’s a good time to think about Music. I was setting at my desk one day and I heard producer Jared exclaim, the right music makes all the difference. He was searching for the perfect music for a scene he was working on. This is a never ending task in telling stories on the screen.

I had been listing to some work by composer and Steinway Master, Chad Lawson.  His music is among a selection I listen to when I am writing. It seems to stimulate creative thoughts. I’m not sure if the music brings creativity or it relaxes me so that creativity can show up. In either case, music is involved. Sometimes it’s a recording and sometimes it’s the sounds of nature.

I called Chad, to get his thoughts on the matter, and he said; “It’s somewhat mystifying to me as a composer, I learned to not rush it and let it take root. Don’t over analyze it…accept it for what it is.”

I love talking with Chad about music, he always makes it sound so amazing.

The eighth month is a good time to reflect on the mysteries of nature, family cures and the power of a musical encounter.