I've loved Sally Field ever since I saw the film Sybil, about someone with DID (Dissociative Identify Disorder), which was an intense film. And I still remember the expression on her face and noise she would make when the character changed personalities. I also adored her portrayal of a Manic Depressive mother in ER and then the head of the family in Brothers and Sister. When I saw she had a memoir out I snatched it up and I wasn't disappointed.
Like many of her characters, it conveyed someone who was tangled and complicated, but was expressed with such depth and emotion that the reader is swept away. I found myself living vicariously through her words, feeling and imagining her life as she grew up in a less than glamorous showbiz world, constantly moving, constantly changing, constantly experiencing harsh (abusive) realities of life.
Sally goes into detail about her acting career depicting the true world behind the scenes of Hollywood TV shows and films. I adored the glimpse into the Actor's Studio, and how they worked with each other having watched the series and myself having studied drama. It was like revisiting a piece of my own life - and heart - and I got lost in the description of what it was like to take on another character and the practise involved, although in a far more professional sense and setting.
I also loved her openness about her relationships, both good and bad, and wasn't really surprised about Burt Reynolds. I was sad that her second marriage was skipped over, but understood that really the book was an ode to her mother and in fact motherhood, as it traversed her own as well the progression of herself as a person, while juggling so many things in her life.
I felt the memoir really gave me a sense of who Sally Field is, and I was grateful for her candid openness.
If you enjoy her as an actress I would definitely recommend this book.
This week's picture prompt is by Andrew Ferez, a Russian artist illustrator. He calls this one Violinist. You can check out more of his art on his Deviant Art page where he is 25karitnok.
This week's tale is a small and abstract, less story more dream, but it's what I see when I look at the picture.
Joining an orchestra She was going to play to her own tune. She
didn’t care what others thought, she could make her own beautiful music. It was this decision that made her step
away, and break off from the rest of society – a society that had already
started to disconnect and separate itself from each other with the advent of
technology. With the wind in her skirt and a pack on
her back, she stepped away from the busy world and sought out the empty places;
places she could hear and listen to her soul to know what she truly wanted and
needed. On the journey she met others that had made similar choices to her and
together they wove their own network, a community of sorts, but spanning more
than just one place as they travelled around. Before she knew it she was up on cloud nine
riding high, feeling more connected than she had ever done: feeling her
existence, her life, her body and most of all love. Not romantic but the shared
kind that came from being around people who were kindred spirits and understood
you on a deep level; the kind of people you could talk to on any subject with
no judgement and who listened with their hearts not their minds. It made her
heart open and it’s how she wanted to stay forever. And forever it became as she created a
keystone: buying land and building a retreat. It became the centre of their web
(a physical one rather than an electronically produced one), somewhere for
people to come and rejuvenate and connect again with what was true for their soul. She might have started out with the
intention of disconnecting, but it led to a more profound connection to herself
and others, and enabled her to create an opportunity for others to experience
the same. Her sole violin joined an orchestra of others.
This weeks prompt photo was created by Hermin Abramovitch, an artist from Israel - known as ahermin over on their page on Deviant Art. He calls this Picture of a City. He creates all sorts of surreal things.
Okay, inadvertently I ended up with another tale from Tricky, but every day I am getting more clarity about what her story will be telling me.
Bollox! That would teach her to muck about
with things she shouldn’t. She could see him coming in the distance and needed
to work fast.
The mirrors worked, she knew that, but she
couldn’t be sure she’d set them to the right frequency; if it was wrong whoever
was coming would be in for a nasty shock.
She could see his red shorts and those
luminescent funny-shaped shoes they wear with the laces off centre; she’d seen
them last time she’d travelled through that particular mirror. It had been a
strange place, full of buildings all crowded together and machines that spewed
nasty toxins into the air – and all these people running.
She’d tried to work out what they were
running from or to, but couldn’t. And they wore different clothes from people
who weren’t running. She even saw huge posters up on walls displaying those
shoes and people running in the background. Maybe it was some kind of fashion,
thankfully lost in the annals of time, never to return – at least not to her
time.
She shuffled the other mirror round on the
wet sand, trying to put them where they’d meet in the right place. It should
only feel like he tripped on something and almost fell when he came through.
The water surrounding them reflected the sky so he should only experience a bit
of disorientation for a few seconds before (hopefully) rejoining the road on
the other side.
She could hear him breathing now as he ran.
Was she right? He was just one of those running people, wasn’t he? She really
hoped nothing was chasing him; she wasn’t prepared for two of them to jump
through, that would create a problem. She hadn’t calculated for two; the rift
wouldn’t hold.
She could hear the footfalls now, thumping
on the wet sand. She held the mirror steady as it shook with his arrival. She
put a hand on the other mirror making sure they remained lined up. His
breathing was in her ear and she heard a grunt as he broke through, with a sort
of yell that turned into a yip as he almost somersaulted through into the other
mirror. She heard his feet land heavily in the other mirror, and a few
stumbles, then he was running again.
But he glanced over his shoulder for a
second and caught her eye. She was sure he had looked straight at her and seen
her.
She shuddered. No, it was just a trick of
the light. He couldn’t have known she was there. Surely not, unless … unless he
wasn’t just one of those running people, someone for her to experiment on; what
if he was an agent sent by Carter? What if he was clued up on what she was
doing?
Arse! Damn her tricky mind and its
whisperings.
She put the mirrors together and shoved
them back into her carpetbag. She stumbled in her rush to stand, her knees stiff
from being in the residue water the tide had left behind. She needed to get
back and think about this, and needed to do it in a safe place – her home being
the only one. He couldn’t reach her there.
This week's prompt is a photo of an object made by Daan Botlek, a Dutch artist. He calls these Obscure objects. He creates some interesting things, worth checking out.
I had to cut this heavily to fit the word count ... I maybe be over slightly too! Eep! Enjoy.
When they brought him into the room, Kenta
knew. It was the last piece of evidence he needed – well, ‘needed, he hadn’t
questioned coming here, or speculated what they did here, that had been his
father. He’d always wanted to be a part of what the kids called the ‘Ninja
Monks’.
He’d dreamt about climbing the mountain and
being accepted into the rambling castle-like monastery at the top. He’d
imagined training with the monks and being revered by his friends on the Sacred
Day when they would come into town to join the festivities and show off their
skills.
And until the last month it had been a
dream come true: Kenta had converted to the required beliefs and been ordained into
the order; he’d passed the first three levels of skills required to train as a
master, and proven his devotion to their way of life without putting a foot
wrong.
Then after his acceptance ceremony into the
skilled group it had started, subtly so as not to startle him. Kenta tolerated
the washing of your peers as a cleansing ritual, and he appreciated that any
touch could cause a reaction, but each week it had become more intimate to a
point where Kenta realised he was being groomed. And then during the sparring
sessions ‘resistance techniques’ had been introduced, each day increasing in
intensity, sometimes in the form of an object and other times as an illegal hit
employed to force him into submission. No-one questioned it, so he didn’t
either. He realised they considered it a rite of passage.
And now in this room, a dojo stripped bare,
Kenta was faced with what looked like a practising wheel, but the items on it
would damage his body. They didn’t just want him to submit today, they wanted
to break him. And the fact the two monks hadn’t left the room was also telling:
this wouldn’t be optional. This place was a cult.
In that moment Kenta knew he had to leave –
now.
The upside to being here was that he had
accumulated skills, and not just physical skills, his mind was as nimble as his
body. He knew that challenging these two wouldn’t get him far – they were
master ninjas after all. He had to outsmart them. This meant lulling them into
a false sense of security. He let them run the wheel and took on the challenge wholeheartedly;
he didn’t hesitate or show any signs of trepidation; he knew it was the only
way to get out of this room.
By the first break he only had two tears in
his torso; his forearms had taken the worst of it. They took him to the bathing
room to rinse them. This was his chance.
The toilets faced east, the steepest side
of the mountain so they wouldn’t suspect anything and be off guard, allowing
him to close the door. Climbing out of the tiny window was a circus act, but
Kenta made it through and was over the outer wall before the alarm bells rang –
and ring they did. He hadn’t expected that – just as he hadn’t expected the
lines of cable on the mountain side.
He’d never looked over the edge before, he’d
never needed to, but now he would see that he hadn’t been the first to try to
escape: a net had been set up across the entire escarpment, and there was no
way down without being caught in it.
His hesitation cost him as a shroud was
thrown over him causing him to tumble forward and fall over the side. However,
the covering also benefitted him by literally saving his skin; when the net was
activated it stopped most of the electrification getting through. And it meant he
rolled over the net without stopping. He wondered if a friend had thrown it … until
he was ejected out over a sheer drop into free fall.
Even though death was mildly better than being
broken and submitting to their twisted ways, it hadn’t been Kenta’s plan; he
wasn’t ready to give up. As he fell he pulled the cloth off and was just in
time to grab a tree growing out of a crevice. The sudden stop almost jolted his
arm out of its socket, but he used the momentum to swing himself up and hold on
with both arms and a leg. The tree took his weight.
He took a moment to catch his breath and
look around. Had he stranded himself? He could see other vegetation coming out
of the cliff face giving him a chance to climb down, and if he could get low
enough he’d enter a forest. It would take time, but he’d plot the downfall of
this barbaric citadel on the way; people needed to know the truth.
This week's photo was taken by Alfonso Leon, a photographer from Bogata, Colombia. He calls this Surreal. He takes loads of interesting urban shots. This one was one of my favourite sorts of stories. I always have to go there when I see this kind of prompt. The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
He didn’t feel right when he came off the
plane, and it only got worse when he reached the check-in desk at the hotel. They
couldn’t find the name he gave, Randy Mertland, but they could find someone
called Ross Mortel who had the same credit card details.
He pulled out his drivers’ license but they
still called the police. It got even weirder when the cops looked up Ross
Mortel’s drivers’ licence and it was the same photo. But they decided there had
to be an error somewhere so they let him check in and use his credit card. He
wondered if someone had attempted to steal his ID.
He tried to relax and follow the itinerary
he had planned but he was confused when the second museum gave dates for things
that just couldn’t be possible. He’d thought it was just him the first time –
ancient Egypt wasn’t his forte after all, but he knew his recent wars, and
there was no way the First World War had started in November of 1914, it had
definitely been July. Most of the other details were right, but not those
dates. He didn’t get it.
Then the final rabbit hole grew bigger when
he arrived at Trafalgar square.
Randy was sure he would have heard about a
replica of the Paris Louvre museum being built here, after all he lived in
Paris, plus he’d only been to London six months ago. The glass domes reflected
the cloudy sky around. He was so fascinated he bought a ticket and went in.
The literature about the museum said it had
been there for over twenty years. It was insane. Many of the exhibits were the
same as the Paris ones, but there was always something slightly off: a name
spelled differently, dates not right, or wrong location. What was going on?
When he came out it was raining hard and
had been for some time. He wondered if it was just him. Maybe there was something
wrong with him; maybe someone had slipped something into his drink when he’d
slept on the plane. He really didn’t know.
As he stood at the traffic lights waiting
for the lights to turn, he stared at his reflection in a gutter puddle
wondering, until he realised the sky was clear in the reflection. Huh? He
looked up, it was still raining. How could that be? The buildings in the puddle
were different too. What was going on?
He squatted down to take a closer look,
ignoring the light change. No one took any notice of him as they moved past,
and then someone bumped him.
He put out a hand to stop himself falling but
it went straight through the puddle, and he fell, tumbling through, until he hit
something hard and blacked out.
When Randy came round he was lying on the
pavement, and someone was crouched over him asking him if he was okay. He felt
a bump on his head but otherwise he was fine. But it was sunny here, the sky
was blue and the buildings around him weren’t the same as the ones before he’d
fallen.
He got up and thanked the person for their
help. He knew where he was; he was just on a different street. He walked back
and turned the corner into Trafalgar square.
His sudden stop caused the people behind
him to tut and sigh as they passed.
The Lourve replica was gone. The lions were
there, Nelson’s column, the fountains, but no glass pyramid, no long queue of
people waiting to go into the underground museum.
This was crazy – or was it? Was he back in
his reality? Had he had some kind of delusion or dream? He didn’t want to entertain
the wacko idea that he had slipped through time some how.
To be sure, he went back to the museums and
found all the dates were as they should be. And when he returned to the hotel,
the receptionist at the desk gave him a strange look when he asked if all was
fine with the mix up with his name.
‘I’m sorry, Sir, you must have spoken to
someone else, I don’t know anything about that.’
In the build up to Valentine's Day, the #FabFive are back with with another holiday themed Flash Challenge, this time hosted by Katheryn Avila , called Love Bites!
It runs from the 10th of February to the 21st of February - midnight to midnight EST (Eastern Standard Time)
And yes, there are prizes! 😃
1st Prize - $10 Amazon Gift Voucher
2nd Prize - $5 Amazon Gift Voucher
(NB. Amazon gift vouchers can be assigned to the country of the entrant - such as amazon UK gift vouchers)
The prompts for the theme are:
Enemies to Lovers
Trapped in an Elevator
Forbidden Love
Secret Billionaire
The Fake Relationship
So give us the tales of love won, lost, and kicked to the curb, and add them to the link on Katheryn Avila's website. (click on the picture below).
Be aware that it may take a couple of weeks after this date to finalise the winners (there are five of us in different time zones, so it can take a while to discuss and decide!) so don't worry if you don't hear anything straight after the deadline.
Here is my entry below - which is, of course, not ineligible for the prizes, as are none of the hosts entries. I went with the Trapped in Lift trope, and although I tried to think of a way for this to not turn out well, I couldn't. Meh, I'm a romantic at heart!
Caught
Gareth couldn’t believe his luck when Vanessa
pushed into the already crowded lift and his plans immediately changed. He was
no longer going to the roof to do prep work for his latest assignment; he was
going to see where she was going.
She’d been Gareth’s personal project for
some time now. He’d followed her all over the city. It had reaffirmed one thing:
Vanessa was way out of his league. Tall, good looking, confident women like her
didn’t notice small unassuming men like him, although in truth that was what he
wanted – he’d built an entire career around it.
By the time the lift reached the top floor
of the thirty storey building, it was down to the two of them. She wanted the
ground floor but being the only lift in a complex of over a hundred apartments,
it was wait or brave the stairs. Like him, she lived above the tenth floor so you
learnt to be patient.
When he didn’t get out, she glanced at him.
‘Yeah, I don’t know who pressed it,’ he
said with a shrug.
She pressed the G button again to get the
lift moving. He tried to think of something to say but couldn’t.
The lift rattled a bit and Vanessa glanced
nervously at the ceiling. Then it let out a squeal and shuddered to a halt.
They both waited, nothing happened.
‘Should we jump or something?’ she said
with a half laugh.
‘I don’t know. Do you want to try?’
They looked at each other.
‘What if it plummets?’ she said.
‘My thought’s exactly.’ They both laughed,
releasing some of the tension.
‘Is there a call button?’ Gareth stepped
forward and pressed the red emergency button. There was a ringing and then a
tinny voice asked what the problem was. He reported where they were and was
told someone would resolve it shortly.
It occurred to Gareth that this was his
chance – if he was honestly interested in this woman, rather than just stalking
her.
‘You live on 11th , don’t you?’
he said.
‘Yeah, and your on 12th, aren’t
you?’
Her reply surprised him.
‘Yeah, I’m in 12b.’
‘Thought so, I’ve got a friend in 12a and she’s
mentioned you a few times.’
‘Really?’ He felt his face redden. Were
there women in the building talking about him?
She giggled; a sound that raised his heart
rate. ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. She’s single and notices all the guys
around her, especially the single ones.’
‘Is that right?’ She knew he was single. He
felt exposed. He didn’t like being observed by others – he was the one who
watched people for a living.
‘Have you seen her? Would you be
interested?’
Was she serious? The woman he’d had a crush
on for over a year was trying to fix him up with his neighbour.
‘She’s not my type.’
Vanessa’s smile faltered. ‘Oh sorry, I
shouldn’t have assumed you were into women.’
Shit! That wasn’t what he meant. ‘No, no,
it’s not that. I’m into women; I just have someone else in mind at the moment.’
She let out a breath. ‘Oh good, I haven’t
offended you.’
He smiled.
‘Can I be nosey and ask who?’
This was his chance, his moment, but her
frankness caught him off guard.
‘Erm … you can, but I might not answer.’
Did he really just say that?
‘Oh.’ She blushed, embarrassed. He glanced
away embarrassed too and annoyed with himself.
Then just as he planned to come clean,
there was a crackle on the speaker and the tinny voice announced they’d be
moving any minute.
There was a clunk and the lift jerked causing
Vanessa to stumble. Gareth caught her, and she let him pull her in close. She
was almost a full head taller and he could smell her hair.
‘It’s you,’ he said. He felt her body
tense.
She looked down at him, her grey-green eyes
registering surprise, but she didn’t pull away.
Then the lift jostled one last time and
started moving.
She still didn’t pull away and he didn’t
release his hold.
‘Oh’ is all she said before leaning down
and kissing him.
The ting of their arrival on the ground
floor broke the kiss and they pulled apart. She looked flushed.
‘I’ve got to go, but you’ve got my number,
right?’
He smiled. ‘I do.’
‘Call me.’
And with that she was gone. He just stood
there grinning while people piled into the lift to go back up.
This week's photo prompt is of an art installation by German artist Cornelia Konrads which she did for the Centre d'Arts ete de Nature, in Domaine de Chaumont-sur-Loire, (France). I am not sure who actually took this photo though as I can't find it on her site and have been unable to trace it further. I had no idea where this story was going, but then the ending arrived and I liked it. It worked. The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
He could see it, but had the others? As
they came to a halt along the pathway in the woods and observed the ‘green door’,
as Marjory referred to it, they thought it was just a pretty piece of artwork,
but Travis noticed something more. There were loose branches suspended in the
air around it. They could be set up with wires, but he didn’t believe this –
mostly because he could feel the power radiating from it.
He also found it curious that Steve had brought
them to a stop. Up until now, whenever he asked to stop they wouldn’t, as it
hadn’t been long enough since the last stop. They’d only been walking for 20
minutes; usually they walked for at least an hour before taking a break. Had
they sensed the power too, but weren’t conscious of it?
He considered mentioning it, but he was
considered the goofball of their group, a science geek who had a particular
interest in unknown phenomena that couldn’t be explained by human theories of
physics or chemistry. He believed humans had basic calculations wrong, but
despite years spent trying to prove it, no-one took him seriously.
This brought him back to the doorway. This
could be a piece of evidence. He walked up to the door.
Jackie called to him, “Where’re you going,
Travis? Aren’t you thirsty?”
He half-smiled as he glanced over his
shoulder at her; she was trying to stop him without realising why. The sixth-sense
of human intuition, maybe? Another thing science couldn’t provide evidence for.
“I’m just checking it out, Jackie, I’ll
come and get a drink in a minute.”
“Okay.”
He walked up to the door and scrutinised
the twigs and branches around it. They were rigid and unmoving, and when he
leaned in he could hear an electrical crackle. There was energy flowing through
them, attracting them like a magnet to the shape of the doorway. It was not a
built structure; it was formed by the collection of material drawn to it.
He stood in the opening and looked through.
The path continued, looking no different to what they had just walked through.
In fact, he turned round, it looked identical to the path they’d just taken,
except ... he turned round to look, yes it was a perfect mirror reflection, yet
their group wasn’t in it.
It might have been a trick of the eye if it
weren’t for the collection of birch trees off at the back right. They’d passed
an identical number on their left a few moments ago. And the placement of marks
on the bark were identical, and then the rest of the matching plants and trees became
apparent.
“What are you looking at?” Steve looked at
the path behind them and back at Travis, having noticed him looking back and
forth.
“I’m not sure about this doorway. I think
it’s more than just a piece of artwork. I think it’s some kind of mirror.”
It was the simplest way to explain it to
them, although it might not be accurate, but saying it was some kind of reflective
orb of power would only result in laughter. Plus, maybe it WAS a mirror. Was it
solid? He reached out his hand, taking his time, feeling the throb of power in
his fingers as they moved closer. They went past the edge of the doorway, and
kept on going until his entire hand was through, there was no resistance at
all.
But then a strange thing occurred: He saw his
fingers wobble, almost shimmer, and when he tried to pull his hand back it
wouldn’t move. He was pulling from the shoulder, but there was no give. His
hand was trapped.
The others had been watching him, and Steve
jumped up. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” Travis tried to keep his
voice calm, but panic was rising. “I can’t get my hand back, it won’t budge.”
Steve joined him and took hold of his arm,
pulling on it, but it still wouldn’t move.
Then Travis felt a yank on the other side
and his entire arm went through. “Help me!” he cried.
Steve grabbed Travis by the waist, pulling
him back as hard as he could. For a moment there was a sort of tug of war, but
then they both fell back as Travis was released. They lay there for a moment, relieved,
but it was short lived as the girls started screaming and he realised his hand
was missing.
In Pieces by Sally Field
