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Unreliable Narrator
A bloggish space. I only post when I feel like it. 

The Magic of Collaboration

12/1/2024

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Sometimes, the best creative partnerships spring up in the most unexpected places. For me, it began in Tennessee, where my family had gathered to celebrate my brother’s wedding. 
 
At the time, I was on deadline to finish a 750-word rhyming story for an NYC Midnight competition, and I found myself sharing drafts with Nicholas Pontrelli, my niece Kelly’s husband. Nicholas, a professional actor with a wonderfully resonant voice and an innate sense of story, helped me experience my work in a new way.
 
It wasn’t just his voice that transformed the story—though it’s the kind of voice that makes you want to stop what you’re doing and listen (Nicholas is a musician too). As an actor, Nicholas understands the subtle ways stories work on an audience. He has an ear for lyricism and instinctively grasps pacing, tone, and character motivation. After reading my drafts, he’d offer thoughtful notes on how to make the characters more vivid or tighten the narrative flow to keep the audience engaged. His insights helped me shape the story into something far stronger than it had been. The story placed fourth in my first-round group, advancing me to Round Two in the competition.
 
Now, we’ve taken our collaboration to YouTube, where I’ve posted a video of Nicholas performing a Christmas poem I wrote a decade ago. His performance brings the poem to life in a way that I couldn’t do on my own, and I’m thrilled to be able to share this work with a wider audience.
 
Writing can be a solitary endeavor, and bringing in another perspective can open new possibilities and make the whole process more fun—not to mention fruitful. So, to all the other writers out there, I encourage you to find someone whose artistic talents complement your own. You never know where that partnership might take you.

 Watch the video on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8OOx2IMF8zE&t=13s

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A Christmas Visitor

12/24/2020

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Once in a while, to entertain friends,
I spin up a story to see where it ends.
While I might mess with facts, I can say with conviction
That sometimes the truth is much stranger than fiction.
Of last night, for instance, I give this depiction:

Some nights before Christmas, while home at Four Oaks,
The wind is a-howling, the fire pit smokes.
The Baileys is waiting for coffee to brew.
In a Dutch oven bubbles a savory stew.
I’m humming and poking at embers and ash,
When from deep in the forest I hear a great crash!
Into the darkness I peer warily.
Into the shadows that stretch scarily.

I wish for bright light but the fire burns low.
I stray timidly from its comforting glow.
I zip up my coat; I flip up my hood.
I must fetch a few logs from the edge of the wood.

It’s 20 long paces to get to the stacks.
I take a deep breath. I take up the axe.
If something is out there to give me a fright,
It will see what I’m made of! I’ll put up a fight!

Into the shadows I step quietly,
With my axe at my side, and what do I see?
But a monstrous Thing half obscured by a tree!
With one eye that glows red and looks straight at me!

What should I do? Should I strike? Should I run?
Should I offer it stew? Would it eat a bun?
As I ponder these questions imagine my shock
When the Thing heaves a sigh and commences to talk.

In a whisper it says, “You’re too tall for an elf.”
It takes me a bit to recover myself.
For it’s plain to see as the strange Thing draws near:
It’s no monster at all! It’s Rudolph the Reindeer!

I notice he’s staring rather intently
At the axe in my hand, so I set it down gently.
As a smile spreads over his sweet furry face,
I ask, “How in the world did you come to this place?”

He says, “I was out flying and chasing my nose,
When sleep overtook me and caused me to doze.
I awoke to discover I’d lost altitude!
I’m sorry to startle, didn’t mean to intrude.
If you’ll just point me North, I’ll be on my way,
And the children will have presents come Christmas Day.”

“I know where to direct you,” I say. “See that star?
Follow it North. It will take you far.
But before we bid each other adieu,
Tell me—are you hungry? Would you like some stew?”

His nose flames bright red; his agitation grows great
At the sight of the boiling pot on the grate.
And I realize then that the Thing I’d held grim
Had been more scared of me than I’d been of him.

I laugh loud as Santa: “Ho ho! Ho ho ho!
I see there is something that you need to know.
You’ve clearly mistaken me for a barbarian.
That’s not venison stew. I’m a vegetarian.”
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