Daily Archives: May 13, 2011

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STAR GAZING AT SARDI’S

May 13, 2011 by in category Archives

by Bobbie Cimo

For a brief period of my youth I lived on Long Island, New York. It was quaint, quiet and pretty dull, even for a girl raised in Birmingham, Alabama. Also, a far cry from the bright lights, glamour and excitement of the big city. But once in a while, on a Saturday, my sister would take me on an outing to Manhattan, where we would do a little shopping, catch a Broadway matinee, have an early dinner and then go star gazing outside of Sardi’s Restaurant.

Sardi’s, located in New York City’s theatrical district, was the pre-and-post theater
hang-out for all the Broadway stars. This toast of Broadway, as it was sometimes referred to, was also known for the hundreds of celebrity caricatures that adorned it’s walls–much like the West Coast’s Brown Derby.

It was just by chance, while wandering in front of Sardi’s, that we became junior stalkers–we didn’t mean to, we just kind of fell in with the wrong crowd–literally. Well, actually, it turned out to be the right crowd, as far as we were concerned.

It all happened very innocently when we found ourselves being blocked by a small group of people, gathered in front of the famed restaurant. We couldn’t figure out what they were all doing there, when suddenly the crowd grew excited and a flurry of flashing lights went off. It didn’t take us long to realize the hullabaloo wasn’t for us, but for some famous personality emerging from the restaurant.

Most of the Broadway stars coming in or out of the eatery appreciated the admiration and would stop to sign Playbills (programs) for their fans. And sometimes, on a good night, we even got to see a few, genuine movie stars, walking down the street. Like the time Paul Newman walked briskly past everyone, trying to avoid the crowd.

In my determination to keep up with him, I found myself walking backwards, so I could keep facing him as he walked down the block. He wasn’t very tall, but what he lacked in height was more than made up for by his illuminating blue eyes. Both he and his eyes held up to their much publicized reputation. Absolutely gorgeous. When I asked him for his autograph, he responded with what I later found out was his standard answer to the public, “Sorry, I don’t give out autographs.”

In retrospect, I think I could’ve eventually worn him down–if I hadn’t walked out of my shoe and had to stop to retrieve it to put it back on my foot. The last I saw of Paul Newman, he was running down the sidewalks of New York and away from me.

Then there was Lauren Bacall, (the widow of Humphrey Bogart and then wife of actor Jason Robards), who came out of Sardi’s with her arm draped around her young son’s shoulder. When asked for her autograph, she let out a husky laugh and said, “I can’t stop–do you believe it, we’re off to see the Beatles?” Getting a whiff of her breath made me wonder if it was possible to suffer from second-hand intoxication. Giddy and a little tipsy, Lauren scampered away to enjoy her rendezvous with John, Paul, George and Ringo.

On one particular evening, I witnessed the full craziness of the paparazzi, like I‘ve never seen it before. Flashbulbs were flashing fiercely, like lightning in a thunderstorm, as the media elbowed their way through the crowd and towards their latest prey. I remember a lot of pushing and shoving between the reporters, photographers, and the fans–all sharing the same common goal of getting as close to the person as they could, who was being escorted by two bulky bodyguards to an awaiting limousine. Curious to see what was causing all of the brouhaha, I somehow managed to do what few were able to do. I got between the press, the fans and the bodyguards and found myself standing next to Elizabeth Taylor. I was so close to her, if I wanted to, I could reach out and touch her. But I didn’t. Knowing the moment wasn’t going to last forever, I tried taking in as much inventory on her as I could.

Mostly, I was surprised at how tiny she was compared to the larger than life persona that she projected on the big screen. And I couldn’t help but wonder if she had intentionally worn purple that night to show off her violet eyes. But it was too dark out to tell the exact color of her eyes, or if they really were violet, as rumored. When I felt the commotion become too much for me, I purposely stepped back, as her bodyguards swept her towards the limo and the crowd who acted like a swarm of bees, surrounded her, and then followed her to her car.

As for Richard Burton, he was a few feet behind me, being detained by several adoring fans, asking for his autograph. Because it seemed a lot calmer and definitely safer than the mob scene that I had just escaped from, I decided to get a closer look at the Welsh born star, who had gained most of his notoriety because of his notorious love affair with the well known Miss Taylor.

Yes, he was tall and fairly well built. But his face was covered with pockmarks and the glow to his skin seemed to come from a sunlamp. His hair, a tawny-gold, was tousled and his blue eyes, although kind, were a much paler shade than Paul Newman’s. But once he spoke, his resonant voice brought out his European charm and all imperfections were forgotten. When he stopped to shake my hand and looked me in the eyes, I suddenly found myself being mesmerized by the man who stole Elizabeth Taylor away from Eddie Fisher. And it became perfectly clear to me how this ruggedly handsome actor, with what seemed like raw sex appeal, had managed to steal Elizabeth Taylor’s heart, not only once, but twice–and perhaps even kept it, until her death.

I don’t know if after all these years, Sardi’s still holds the same popularity as it once had. But if you’re ever in New York, you might want to venture over to this iconic restaurant and hang around for a few moments. You never know, you might get lucky and see someone famous walking in front of you.

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Like With Like = Great Story Flow

May 13, 2011 by in category Archives tagged as
by Sharla Rae

I preach Like With Like to my critique partners all the time and once in a while, they remind me to practice what I preach. So what do I mean by like with like? It’s not as easy to explain on paper as it is to point out the mistake in a WIP but here goes.

Like with like has to do with story flow.

I’m certain we’ve all read drafts and realized a certain tidbit of information was in the wrong place. It interrupts the flow of the scene and the action. Think of this interruption as a speed bump in the middle of a race track. If a race car were to hit one it would spin out of the action.

These speed bumps are not to be confused with a data dump, sections of lengthy description, background or character internalization that detour a reader off the path before returning them to the action.

Speed bumps are misplaced bits of information that amount to a word or a couple of sentences that need to be cut and pasted elsewhere. They’re more jarring than data dumps because they pop up out of nowhere. Readers may even reread a section or two because they feel they might’ve missed something.

So what causes speed bumps?

Here’s the kicker. To avoid data dumps, writers are told to dribble information throughout the story. However, dribbling it into the wrong spot creates a speed bump.

Let’s say a scene opens like this – excuse the paraphrasing:

Tom the race driver settles into his car. As a reader we’re riding shot gun, hearing Tom’s thoughts, seeing the inside of his car and watching him perform all his checks before the race. Then he takes his place on the track. The flag is waved and we’re off!

Tom is dodging spinouts, speeding faster and faster and trying to get around Don Dingbat in car number 4. Tom thinks: Dang, that Don. The man will do anything to win, even if it gets another driver killed. Last month, he caused a three car pileup that put two drivers in the hospital.

Caboom!

No, the car didn’t crash. Tom is still flying around the track. The reader, however, was thrown through the windshield.

Okay, this is a silly example, but you get the picture. Readers would have remained in the car for the thrill of the ride, but segueing into Don’s character background tossed them out of the action or in this case the race.

If Tom had seen Don pass by before the race or during his systems check, the info wouldn’t have been so jarring. Don Dingbat needs to make an appearance at the beginning of the scene along with the rest of the set-up information. Like With Like. Another solution might be to paste the rivalry between the two men at the end of the race where perhaps they air their differences.

Let’s try this again:

Tom settles into his car and is checking out the dashboard like the cockpit of a Leer jet. Through his windshield he spies Don Dingbat getting into his car. Tom Thinks: The man’s a wild card, a danger to every man on the track. He’d do anything to win a race and usually got away with it too. Last month, he’d caused a three car pileup that put two drivers in the hospital. Tom scowls and yanks his safety belt across his body. This is one race Don Dingbat will not win.

The flag is waved and we’re off!

Tom dodges spinouts, speeding faster and faster as he tries to pass Don in car number 4. Don swerves back and forth across the track trying to hold his place. Tom races around hairpin curves, steadily moving ahead of the other drivers. It’s an exciting ride and in the end Tom flies over the finish line ahead of Don, and the reader is still sitting right beside him.

In the second example we pasted the speed bump into the set up scene. Doing so actually enhances the action because now the reader is invested in the race. He/she wants to see Tom win and Don lose. The actual action/race was not interrupted. Details about both men can be dribbled in as the story proceeds. No data dump and no speed bumps.

Not every scene is an intense action scene like a car race, a police chase or even an Indian uprising. But in every scene something is happening. Conversation/dialogue and internalization may not be as exciting, but they are a form or action and speed bumps are just as jarring in these types of scenes. Be on the lookout.

Split descriptions are one of the most common and overlooked of speed bumps. For instance, a character walks on stage and the writer describes him through another character’s POV. A few paragraphs later, another description is stuck in that really could’ve been linked to the original. Sometimes a scenic description or the detailing of a room or building layout surprises readers because down the page an unexpected extra detail pops up out of nowhere.

On top of their jarring nature, split descriptions often steal the power of the words. Read the following example.

The air shifted and teacher, Peter Hunk, glanced toward the door. A woman stood there, scanning his classroom. She was so beautiful she seemed a figment of his imagination. A gossamer dress better suited for a wedding than a classroom draped her petite form and short jet hair cupped the perfect oval of her face. Then her head jerked in his direction, her unusual eyes flashing with anger . . .

Blah blah blah . . . the woman gives Peter a piece of her mind, and he doesn’t understand what she’s talking about. Down the page we go. And Peter Hunk thinks it’s a shame she sounds so nuts because under different circumstances, he’d definitely ask her out. He hadn’t even heard her first words because he’d become lost in her eyes, eyes so striking they were almost spooky. It was like looking upon lovely blue lace curtains, then green and no, brown. But how could that be . . .

On the first read, this type of speed bump isn’t always as noticeable as the one in the race car example, but a smart reader, will stop and say, “Huh? When did that happen?”

Remember, the revelation about the woman’s eyes is half a page or more from the paragraph where she walked on stage. If the woman’s eyes had been normal, when she walked into the room, Peter wouldn’t have noticed them except for maybe their color and their angry expression. That wasn’t the case. Peter did notice they were unusual. So we must keep like with like.

The air shifted and teacher, Peter Hunk, glanced toward the door. A woman stood there, scanning his classroom. She was so beautiful she seemed a figment of his imagination. A gossamer dress better suited for a wedding than a classroom draped her petite form, and short jet hair cupped the perfect oval of her face. Her head jerked in his direction and he started. Anger flashed in her eyes, eyes so striking they were almost spooky. It was like looking through lovely blue lace curtains, then green … no, brown. But how could that be? Who was she? . . .

He started, realizing the woman was yelling gibberish at him . . . And now Peter Hunk listens to the gibberish and we get his reaction and so forth without interruption.

Moving the eye description delivers a more powerful description in that it screams to the reader, “Whoa, there’s something woo-woo about this woman.”

The good thing about speed bumps is that they’re an easy fix. While not all of them will fit into a set-up scene, most can be eliminated with a simple cut and paste to another location.

I hope my examples, silly as they are, illustrate how keeping like with like improves the flow of a scene. If you have more examples or questions, please share them with us in a comment below.

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STAR GAZING AT SARDI’S

May 13, 2011 by in category Archives tagged as , , ,

by Bobbie Cimo

For a brief period of my youth I lived on Long Island, New York. It was quaint, quiet and pretty dull, even for a girl raised in Birmingham, Alabama. Also, a far cry from the bright lights, glamour and excitement of the big city. But once in a while, on a Saturday, my sister would take me on an outing to Manhattan, where we would do a little shopping, catch a Broadway matinee, have an early dinner and then go star gazing outside of Sardi’s Restaurant.

Sardi’s, located in New York City’s theatrical district, was the pre-and-post theater hang-out for all the Broadway stars. This toast of Broadway, as it was sometimes referred to, was also known for the hundreds of celebrity caricatures that adorned it’s walls–much like the West Coast’s Brown Derby.

It was just by chance, while wandering in front of Sardi’s, that we became junior stalkers–we didn’t mean to, we just kind of fell in with the wrong crowd–literally. Well, actually, it turned out to be the right crowd, as far as we were concerned.

It all happened very innocently when we found ourselves being blocked by a small group of people, gathered in front of the famed restaurant. We couldn’t figure out what they were all doing there, when suddenly the crowd grew excited and a flurry of flashing lights went off. It didn’t take us long to realize the hullabaloo wasn’t for us, but for some famous personality emerging from the restaurant.

Most of the Broadway stars coming in or out of the eatery appreciated the admiration and would stop to sign Playbills (programs) for their fans. And sometimes, on a good night, we even got to see a few, genuine movie stars, walking down the street. Like the time Paul Newman walked briskly past everyone, trying to avoid the crowd.

In my determination to keep up with him, I found myself walking backwards, so I could keep facing him as he walked down the block. He wasn’t very tall, but what he lacked in height was more than made up for by his illuminating blue eyes. Both he and his eyes held up to their much publicized reputation. Absolutely gorgeous. When I asked him for his autograph, he responded with what I later found out was his standard answer to the public, “Sorry, I don’t give out autographs.”

In retrospect, I think I could’ve eventually worn him down–if I hadn’t walked out of my shoe and had to stop to retrieve it to put it back on my foot. The last I saw of Paul Newman, he was running down the sidewalks of New York and away from me.

Then there was Lauren Bacall, (the widow of Humphrey Bogart and then wife of actor Jason Robards), who came out of Sardi’s with her arm draped around her young son’s shoulder. When asked for her autograph, she let out a husky laugh and said, “I can’t stop–do you believe it, we’re off to see the Beatles?” Getting a whiff of her breath made me wonder if it was possible to suffer from second-hand intoxication. Giddy and a little tipsy, Lauren scampered away to enjoy her rendezvous with John, Paul, George and Ringo.

On one particular evening, I witnessed the full craziness of the paparazzi, like I‘ve never seen it before. Flashbulbs were flashing fiercely, like lightning in a thunderstorm, as the media elbowed their way through the crowd and towards their latest prey. I remember a lot of pushing and shoving between the reporters, photographers, and the fans–all sharing the same common goal of getting as close to the person as they could, who was being escorted by two bulky bodyguards to an awaiting limousine. Curious to see what was causing all of the brouhaha, I somehow managed to do what few were able to do. I got between the press, the fans and the bodyguards and found myself standing next to Elizabeth Taylor. I was so close to her, if I wanted to, I could reach out and touch her. But I didn’t. Knowing the moment wasn’t going to last forever, I tried taking in as much inventory on her as I could.

Mostly, I was surprised at how tiny she was compared to the larger than life persona that she projected on the big screen. And I couldn’t help but wonder if she had intentionally worn purple that night to show off her violet eyes. But it was too dark out to tell the exact color of her eyes, or if they really were violet, as rumored. When I felt the commotion become too much for me, I purposely stepped back, as her bodyguards swept her towards the limo and the crowd who acted like a swarm of bees, surrounded her, and then followed her to her car.

As for Richard Burton, he was a few feet behind me, being detained by several adoring fans, asking for his autograph. Because it seemed a lot calmer and definitely safer than the mob scene that I had just escaped from, I decided to get a closer look at the Welsh born star, who had gained most of his notoriety because of his notorious love affair with the well known Miss Taylor.

Yes, he was tall and fairly well built. But his face was covered with pockmarks and the glow to his skin seemed to come from a sunlamp. His hair, a tawny-gold, was tousled and his blue eyes, although kind, were a much paler shade than Paul Newman’s. But once he spoke, his resonant voice brought out his European charm and all imperfections were forgotten. When he stopped to shake my hand and looked me in the eyes, I suddenly found myself being mesmerized by the man who stole Elizabeth Taylor away from Eddie Fisher. And it became perfectly clear to me how this ruggedly handsome actor, with what seemed like raw sex appeal, had managed to steal Elizabeth Taylor’s heart, not only once, but twice–and perhaps even kept it, until her death.

I don’t know if after all these years, Sardi’s still holds the same popularity as it once had. But if you’re ever in New York, you might want to venture over to this iconic restaurant and hang around for a few moments. You never know, you might get lucky and see someone famous walking in front of you.

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