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Yes, which is why I made the first post, calling the decade one in which the 'US was struggling with huge issues . . ." That's the point exactly.

This is baloney. The jazz artists I mention above were doing sold-out shows in the 50s, their records were in great demand, they played all the clubs in midtown Manhattan. They were FAR from 'underground.' Similarly, the fiction and criticism authors I mentioned were all best-selling...

Also, pontalba, I would say that 50s television was the way it was because it was a new medium that people just didn't know what to do with yet. It's still a relatively new medium that we're just learning how to use well. The idea that TV air time should be filled up with sitcoms and ads dates...

I'm confused by your post, StillI. I'm not positing the 50s versus the 60s, or saying the 50s were 'better' than any other time in history, only that the ill-informed stereotyping of the 50s as some commercialized cultural bubblegum wasteland is far from reality. Even as McCarthy was...

Occasionally I read a comment about the 1950s to the effect that it was a decade of commercialism and dumbing down of culture. I read a comment like that (by veggiedog) on this forum this week. I’m interested in a discussion of where this perception comes from. My understanding of that...

Dang, I've been really busy. I've gotta get back to this. Hang in there, y'all.

The truth about G&R is so much worse. Axl went bald and couldn't face the public and gained weight and then got a really bad hair weave. That's all not really rock n roll. Like Van Morrison can get away with it because he has friends (go figger) but Axle was such a huge egotistical asshole that...

Has anyone heard Around yet? Could not find a sample online.

Sitaram, clearly the Shakes. citation of 'made from' implies a different meaning entirely, i.e., "made [to leave] from thee," referring not to what a thing is composed of but an action of going away from something. So I would conclude from the examples on your blog that 'made from' is a newer...

The way I see it, the story isn't the story until it's down on paper. What exists in your head is like raw flour in the cupboard, but the written word is bread.

Here we go . . . The rain had stopped completely. I shot straight across the street to Coco’s door with the same blind determination that had taken hold of me a few days earlier. The place was a padded jewelbox, hushed and sparkling. “Two?” the maitre d’ asked when I went in, assuming I would...

Novella gets a message . . . There were three messages on my machine. Two were from banks offering to be my new best friend. The third was my father. “Honey, it’s Daddy. I think you’re taking this thing a little too far. I’m going to be in the neighborhood tomorrow. About seven. See you...

Thanks, tommy. Just try to leave more to the imagination. Further to Doug's point, you'll see in my short version, that we're only inside Wilson's head--there's a line where we hear what he is thinking. You would have to chose a guy and stay there for the scene. You can always go into the...

I confess, I've never read Barbara Vine.

Tommy, it occurs to me that you're thinking more about screenwriting than about writing for readers. Just a thought. Either way, is this a scene you would really think was done well?

There's really no tension in this at all, but for what it is, I would cut it down to the following. You just have too much stuff. _________________________________________ Jason burst into the room. He grabbed Wilson by the collar. “Where is the file?” Wilson laughed. “Don’t...

Brendan stood next to me, almost at attention. He was waiting for a cue. “You know everyone on the block, don’t you, Brendan?” I asked him, taking a drag on the cigarette. “Some people,” he said diplomatically. It was part of his brief to refrain from gossip. “You know that guy who...

A little addition . . . I watched the two at the bar. A man and a woman went in, casting a suspicious glance my way. The man ushered her under his arm through the door, as if protecting her from me. Surely I would not be able to stand here long without attracting attention. Bruno was nursing...

OMG, I think I know that guy!

Second addition of the day. A dogwalker with a small, white lapdog appeared from behind. The guy seemed miffed that I was blocking his puppy’s pee spot, which presumably was the base of the scrawny flowering pear that I’d been using for cover. “S’cuse me,” the dogwalker said, clearly...