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I met Kate Adie and had a brief chat with her at the Ubud Writer's Festival in Bali 2010 where she was talking about her experiences as a war reporter. Kate has been an icon of mine for many years, as a role model of an independent woman. It was fantastic to finally meet her in person after seeing her on TV for so long.
The failure of the hand. For me, transcribing certain texts is a quiet and relaxing ritual, an opportunity to use some of my less frequently used fountain pens. Yet there are moments when even such a simple act resists completion, when the hand falters despite intention. Photography offers a similar refuge: a way to detach from reality and focus entirely on the frame. And yet, at times, even that becomes unexpectedly difficult.
The author, Kochery C Shibu an ex-navy man has worked in the field for 27 years. He started his book “Men and Dreams in the Dhauladhar” in 2009. His inspirations include Indian and Russian authors. The print version was released in 2015. The book is based on life in modern and rural India, with 3 protagonists who show us that there is no shelf life and age limit for dreams.
Pictures of (nearly) every panel I attended at GenCon 2008. Pat Rothfuss escaped my cameraphone's reach, darn it.
José Lezama Lima museum, Havana, Cuba. José Lezama was a writer in the 1930s and a leader in the avant-garde movement in Cuban art and literature similar to the Harlem Renaissance around that time.
The Writer.
Miguel Ramos Carrión (Zamora, May 17, 1848-Madrid, August 8, 1915) was a Spanish playwright, journalist and humorist. The city of Zamora honors him with the name of a central street, as well as the Ramos Carrión Theater.
Born in 1848 in Zamora, he began collaborating with El Museo Universal, a widely read weekly newspaper directed by this great playwright of Romanticism.
He founded the satirical weekly Las Disciplinas and his jokes, humorous verses, humorous stories filled the pages of Madrid Cómica, Blanco y Negro, El Moro Muza (from Havana), El Fisgón, Jeremías, La Publicidad, La Libertad, etc. He used the pseudonyms Boabdil el Chico and Daniel.
His first work, written hand in hand with Eduardo Lustonó, was accepted by the impresario Francisco Arderius, who premiered it at the Variety Theater (known at that time as the "De los Bufos" theater) in 1866. The piece was titled Un sarao y a soirée and was very successful. Since then he dedicated himself to writing for the theater and his successes followed one another for fifty years, writing a total of nearly seventy plays, some solo and others in collaboration. His last work is entitled Mi cara medio, and was performed in 1908 at the Lara theater.
He specialized in comedies and zarzuelas and collaborated with authors such as Vital Aza, with whom he formed one of the most famous comic playwright duos of his time, with works such as Los sobrinos del Capitán Grant, El vest blanco, La tempestad, Agua, Azúcarillos and Aguardiente, The Witch, The Ninth Commandment, The Green Mask and The Political Mom, among others, many of them translated into French, German, English, Swedish, Portuguese, Italian and even Esperanto; with Eduardo Lustonó, Eusebio Blasco, Salvador María Granés, Carlos Coello, Pina Domínguez, José Campo-Arana, Estremera or Antonio Ramos Martín, their son, born in 1885, graduated in Philosophy and Letters, librarian of the Casino de Autores and secretary of the Society of Authors and its Montepío, and as a playwright dedicated mainly to farces. Ramos Carrión also had another playwright son, José Ramos Martín, born in 1892, who was also a journalist.
The best-known titles by Ramos Carrión are the zarzuelas Agua, Azúcarillos y Aguardiente (1897), with music by Federico Chueca, Un sarao y una soirée (1866, with Lustonó), La Gallina Cecilia, Los Sobrinos de Capitan Grant, etc. Apart from Chueca, he also worked with the composers Caballero, Ruperto Chapí and Arrieta.
A version of his play The Ninth Commandment was brought to the screen by Enrique Carreras in 1963.
Weird Wednesday… Some mad sign writer has been creating a futuristic fantasy sign, ‘2022’ is way in the future. Norman and Barry discuss what ‘2022’ might be like, thinking it will all be about flying cars, robots and holiday homes on the Moon.
Behind them, the sky is looking rather dramatic over the Bristol Channel, quite sinister in fact. They’ll soon find out that Derek & Clive’s moonshine plant on the tiny island of Steep Holm has exploded, creating this most beautiful but highly alcoholic cloud. Shortly it will rain hooch, so any teetotallers will be advised to stay indoors.
College of DuPage recently hosted the 2013 Writers Read event, featuring authors Liz Whiteacre and Rachel McKibbens. The authors read excerpts of their work and spoke about the writing process with audience members. Pictured: Authors Liz Whiteacre and Rachel McKibbens.
Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde was born in Dublin on 16 October 1854. His father, Sir William Wilde, was an eminent Dublin surgeon and his mother, Jane Francesca Elgee, agitated for Irish Independence and wrote revolutionary poems under the pseudonym "Speranza".
In 1864 Wilde went to the Portora Royal School where he excelled in the classics, taking top prizes. He was awarded the Royal School Scholarship to Trinity College in Dublin where he earned a Foundation Scholarship. In 1874, he won the college's Berkeley Gold Medal for Greek and was awarded a Demyship scholarship to Magdalen College in Oxford. There Wilde was awarded the Newdigate prize for his poem, Ravenna, and a First Class in both his "Mods" and "Greats. After graduation, he moved to London. In 1881, he published his first collection of poetry, Poems, which received mixed reviews by critics.
In 1881 and 1882 Wilde travelled across the United States giving over 140 lectures in 260 days. He spent the next couple of years in Britain and France, championing 'Art Nouveau'-essentially the Aesthetic, art for art's sake movement. In 1884, he married Constance Lloyd. They had two sons, Cyril in 1885 and Vyvyan in 1886. He worked on The Woman's World magazine in 1887-1889. In the following six years he published two collections of childrens stories, The Happy Prince And Other Tales (1888), and The House Of Pomegranates (1892). His first and only novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, was considered very immoral by the Victorians. The first of his witty and scandalous plays, Lady Windermere's Fan, opened in February 1892 to critical acclaim. His subsequent plays included A Woman Of No Importance (1893), An Ideal Husband.(1895), and The Importance Of Being Earnest (1895).
His friendship with Lord Alfred 'Bosie' Douglas, the third son of the Marquis of Queensberry, was to prove his undoing. In 1895, Wilde sued Bosie's father for libel as the Marquis had accused him of homosexuality. Although he withdrew the case he was himself arrested, convicted of gross indecency and sentenced to two years hard labour. His long, poignant and revealing letter, now known as De Profundus, written from prison to Alfred Douglas, was not published in full until 1962.
On his release, he wrote The Ballad of Reading Gaol, a response to the agony he experienced in prison. He spent the last three years of his life wandering Europe. He died of meningitis on November 30, 1900 and was buried in Bagneux. His remains were later transferred to the National Cemetery of Pere Lachaise in Paris, where, on the back of the ornate Epstein Tomb, is carved part of a verse from his last work.
"And alien tears will fill for him
Pity's long-broken urn
For his mourners will be outcast men
And outcasts always mourn."
I hung out with these crazy people today talking about songwriting. They're all in a summer writer's workshop at the Hugo House. We ended up talking about alopecia, evil record deals and status anxiety. Sweet!
The writer Paul O'brien. Taken on a walking trip in County Kerry, Ireland - the Dingle Way. On a rainy afternoon we stopped at a small cafe near Slea Head for tea. There was a gentleman sitting at a table by the window and the light was so great I had to do something I am ordinarily too shy to do, ask to take a portrait. He graciously agreed and we had a great hour talking to him and his companions about the Blasket Islands, just offshore from where we sat. They have an interesting literary history that arose from their traditional Homeric storytelling. He recommended two books: Twenty Years A'Growing by Maurice O'Sullivan and The Islandman by Thomas O'Crohan.
He has written a biography of Percy Shelley and is working on a book about George Thompson who lived in the islands a number of years studying the language and customs of the isolated islanders.
Mingle Media TV and Red Carpet Report host, Linda Antwi, were invited to cover 8th Annual Los Angeles Italia Film, Fashion and Art Festival Opening Night at the Mann Chinese Theatre in Hollywood. The Festival was founded by Pascal Vicedomini, and is a weeklong (Feb. 17– 23) pre-Oscar celebration showcasing Italy’s contribution to the arts in a way that is typically Italian: relaxed, stylish and entertaining.
At the Opening Night event, John Valenti presented and Larry King will introduced Al Pacino who received the inaugural Jack Valenti -- L.A., Italia Legend Award. David O. Russell (Writer and Director, Silver Linings Playbook) received the Director of the Year Award.
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About Los Angeles Italia- Film, Fashion and Art Festival
The Los Angeles Italia- Film, Fashion and Art Festival features special screenings of contemporary works as well as classic films from Italian maestros. There are also conferences with students from the American Film Institute and the USC School of Cinema-Television. For complete schedule and to reserve tickets, please visit www.losangelesitalia.com.
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Please note i'm not a good writer, and I won't mind if you correct me with my grammar in this story. These are completely made up, but I do believe in ghost and demons. Please don't tease me on my beliefs. Okay, so here I go.
"Kesley, where are you?" questioned my mom. I wanted to say i'm right here, but something was happening. I couldn't control my body, and I think something bad happened.
Something answered, "right here mom." I was confused.
"Well get ready for school young one," she demanded with a sweet tone, as usual.
'I' was in the bathroom, and in the mirror I could see myself. My eyes were turning yellow and my skin was slowly getting brighter than before. However was controlling my body did the things I usually did, take a shower, brush my hair and teeth and things like that. Then, 'I' went to my room, and got my private school uniform on. The person continued brushing my long, brown hair.
At the school, the person did everything I did. I was really creepy, so I just thought it was a nightmare. Until, social studies class with Mrs. Jenningston, and she told was all about ghost, demons, and the devil. It is different for every person she said. Then, she looked at me. "Kesley Moore, come up here," she demanded. So, my body came up the the front of the classroom, and Mrs. Jenningston checked me out. "Kesley Moore, what do you think about ghosts?" asked the teacher. I didn't respond. "Kesley Moore, you're not yourself. First you look paler and have yellow eyes. Second, real Kesley would of responded already that she didn't believe in ghost; they are silly stories that made people want to do good."
"May you root in hell; where you f*cking belong," the person said. My hands slowly came up, and made the water fountain leak. Then it leaked so much it covered the whole floor. Then, I forced someone's Iphone down, and killed everyone but me.
I came home like any other day, and did everything else like every other day. "Sweetie, its time for bed," my mom yelled. So, I went to my room, but I didn't go to sleep. I was chanting some unknown things. I sounded creepy. I felt like I was in a horror movie; being trapped inside my own body, chanting. My head started moving all weirdly, and I got up doing some weird dance. Then, my mom opened my door. "Kesley, what are you doing? You are supposed to be sleeping! You are keeping your little brother awake!" My head turned to face mom, and I started to do the weird hand thing again. And, I started to do something that sounded like barking over and over again. I soon grabbed my mom (attention this part is disturbing; if you can't handle it please don't hate me) and started to rip her neck right open. The blood was raining on my nice carpet floor.
"Mommy, whats happening?" asked my little brother, Daniel. He was standing there, scared. Hoping mom was alright.
"Alisha Moore is not with us anymore," I responded with my demon voice. After that, I started to rip his neck opened. And I did.
OOo as a whole has lots of features for free... as in speech! Writer, for example, can edit many kinds of documents, including MS Office documents and has many advanced formatting features.
Caught a writer spraying up some real thin lines on his piece. Had to get the action on footage. I didn't have an external flash and was fighting the shadows casted by the Mid-afternoon sun. Once the shadows were over the wall it was open game and made the most of it with the built in flash of the camera. Time for an upgrade.
Half Life’s writer confirms departure so what now for the franchise?
www.pcinvasion.com/half-life-writer-marc-laidlaw-has-left...
The smoke-belching Trabant, affectionately known as the "Trabi" to people who never had to drive one, debuted in East Germany in November 1957. Initially, the car was not a disaster, at least not entirely. In fact, it had some enviable attributes for its era. Its much-mocked duroplast body was an innovation at the time of its introduction. The vehicle’s front-wheel-drive transmission system and independent suspension were also modern advancements, one Trabant driver notes.
That, however, is where the vehicle’s virtues stop and its problems begin.
It wasn’t that the Trabant had a weak two-stroke engine, though it did. It wasn’t just that the Trabant was made with recycled waste (usually from wool or cotton), though it was. It wasn’t that Trabants topped out at 60 mph and “smoked like an Iraqi oil fire,” as one writer put it.
No, the Trabant’s biggest problem was that it never really improved. Perhaps it’s no surprise that the 1957 Trabant had no tachometer, no turn signal, no seat belts or fuel gauge-(the fuel gauge was a dipstick), no trunk liner, and used an oil/gas mix. When the last Trabant was produced in 1989 it still topped out at about 60 mph, which it took 21 seconds to reach from a stop. The Aston Martin Virage, which debuted the same year, took 6.5 seconds.
Perhaps just as shocking is how much a Trabant cost. The P601 model, which hit production lines in 1963 and was the most heavily produced Trabant, was listed at 7,450 eastern marks by the state ($1,862 USD in 1963, $15,600 in 2019). The average monthly income of an East German in 1960 was 558 marks, which means a Trabant cost more than an entire year’s wages for a typical worker, and it was paid in advance.
Trabants, however, were actually even more expensive. Because of automobile scarcity, on the second-hand market, a used Trabant sold for more than double the price of a new one, says Eli Rubin, an associate professor of history at Western Michigan University. Why were people paying so much for such a junky vehicle? Well, there wasn’t anything else.
East Germany's other car, the Wartburg, a steel beast (well, critter, anyway) with twice the horsepower as a Trabant that went for thrice the price, was produced for export (and Party VIPs). Indeed, despite its few amenities and poor reliability, East Germans considered themselves lucky just to get a Trabant. The average waiting period was 10 years.
When the Wall Fell-
Despite its many problems, a total of 2,818,547 Trabant 601s were produced—all of which became obsolete on November 9, 1989.
On that day, the Berlin Wall fell. With the grotesque scar that had marred Germany removed, the poor Trabant’s days were about over. Richard Leiby, a longtime editor at The Washington Post who wrote a book on the unification of Germany, says with its puny engine and lack of pollution controls, the Trabant was “clearly inferior to just about any automobile manufactured in Europe.”
Many Trabants were sold for as little as a few marks. Others were simply given away or abandoned as families fled to Western Europe. One reason for this was that European nations didn’t want them. Trabants spewed four times as much pollution as typical European vehicles, the historian Victor Sebestyen notes in Revolution 1989: The Fall of the Soviet Empire, which meant they did not meet emission standards in other European nations. But that didn’t stop thousands of Germans from using them to migrate westward on what some remember as “the Trabi Trail.” (In Czechoslovakia, the event was dubbed the Trabi Invasion.)
The Trabant’s Legacy-
Despite being a dreadful automobile, quite possibly the worst ever produced on a mass scale, the Trabant holds an important place in history. It is the car that “gave Communism a bad name,” a vehicle so inferior to automobiles produced in Europe and America that few could deny the system’s failings. It became, in short, a joke. Some 33,000 Trabants are still in existence today.