Showing posts with label Cleveland Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cleveland Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Show all posts

Sunday, September 22, 2019

Peace, Love and Rock n' Roll

My new Peace symbol t-shirt arrived in the mail today. I had to retire the old one, since a shirt can only have so many stains on it before it becomes embarrassing, regardless of the message.



While I was in college, a friend of mine carved a huge peace symbol out of a block of iron since he knew how much I liked the sign. I wish I still had it, but it got too costly to lug it around the country with me. So now, I'm on to the new shirt and hope it lasts as long as my previous one did. 

And I couldn't call myself a hippie if I didn't include love in the equation. Since I write romances, I think I've got that one covered. I'm currently shopping my 20th manuscript around and hope it finds a home soon. 

As for rock and roll, I grew up outside of Cleveland, home of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. My sister and I attended the Who concerts when they still played in small venues, and saw the Rolling Stones on their first American tour. I have to admit to a bit of a hearing loss as a result of these early encounters, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Nowadays I like to work in absolute quiet, but when I need to boogie, I turn to Bruno Mars and his Uptown Funk. 

I  just finished rereading my latest manuscript, which is set during the Revolutionary War. It's made me focus on how our country got its start, how much these early founding fathers and mothers sacrificed to form this country, and I've become intensely patriotic as a result. Here's a snippet of a scene from the as yet unpublished story, entitled A British Heiress In America: 
Daniel let out a slow breath as Pip departed the deck. His natural curiosity about America, and what he was headed into, had forced their conversation to skate very close to the edges of his secret life. He’d taken a lot of guff from his friends when he accepted the job of ferrying supplies to the British forces. His in-laws, who took care of his daughter, Emma, while he was at sea, frowned on his activity even though they understood why he accepted the post. He’d do what he had to in order to make certain his daughter had the best life possible. And her best life possible didn’t include the British taking over the country he’d grown up in and loved. But it also didn’t include having her grow up as an orphan. She’d already lost one parent to the Brits. He’d be damned if they’d get a chance with him. He would guard his secret with his life. He had to, for Emma’s sake.
So, he’d continue his duplicity. He’d carry the missives meant for the British generals from their superiors still in England, as well as those directions going back to America from the British commanding officers. But not before reading what he could, listening to the talk as he picked up the parcel of letters, and passing along the information to his best friend Sam. Samuel Adams.

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Rock & Roll!

 
Lately, I’ve been noticing a lot of romances about rock and roll stars. Maybe it’s because I live near Cleveland, home of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame that I’m noticing this trend. I even wrote a time-travel about a woman who was married to a rock star, so I’ve jumped on the band wagon, too. Or in this case, the tour bus.

All of which got me to thinking of the very first concerts I ever went to. I have to admit, I cut my teeth on quality groups. My very first concert was in 1965, and it was The Rolling Stones. It took place in a relatively small auditorium in Cleveland, and the Stones were so unknown in the states that you could walk right up to the stage and take pictures. Mick even mugged for my camera.

The following year, my sister and I stayed home while our parents went on vacation. We were supposed to look for summer jobs. But instead, we got in the car they left us, and drove to Ann Arbor, MI to a small club where we saw The Who, complete with smashing guitars, flying drumsticks and pyrotechnics. We picked up some hitchhikers in Cleveland who helped us with gas money, but we barely had enough money or gas to limp home. But what a great time!

So, I guess I’ve answered my own question. The reason rock stars make such good romance heroes and heroines is because of the rich stories that evolve from their very existence. If you can provide a memory that spans decades, that’s truly something.

So, tell me. What was your first concert experience?