From the Archives – August 1, 2004

As a writer, I’m always interested in ways to hone my skills; so, from time to time, I do practice exercises. Recently I came across one that set me thinking. The assignment was to spend ten minutes writing down everything you remember about your first grade teacher as a way of developing characters for stories.

Ten minutes, I thought. I can do that. So I sat at my computer.

Two minutes ticked by, and in that time all I could remember was my first grade teacher’s name. It was Mrs. Cary. But was she tall? Thin? Stout? Short? Grandmotherly? Or young? I cannot picture her at all in my mind’s eye.

Five minutes ticked by. I recalled things about my classmates and the school bus that turned around in my front yard, since I lived farthest from Virgil Central School. I remembered the classroom itself and the play yard. Even Darla and David, the twins who lived next door and rode the same bus. They had eight older brothers and sisters, some of whom also piled onto the bus. But beyond her name, nothing stands out about Mrs. Cary.

Do you remember your first grade teacher? If so, maybe you could spend ten minutes writing about him or her and email me some good descriptions. Perhaps we’ll even discover the art of character description together. Send your memories to Anne@AnneBrandt.com. I’d be grateful.

From the Archives – November 5, 2004

The hardest thing I do every day is sit down and begin. And since this activity occurs several times throughout the day, it is always a challenge.

Sit down and begin means to focus on the task at hand and move all other issues to the side. Whether it’s getting out of bed at a certain time or spending an hour practicing piano, I’m not good at it. Never have been.

Take waking up each morning. My mind, which is on full alert, wanders around its universe while my body stays snuggly in place, resisting anything resembling a vertical position. Finally, I arise, but it is with great difficulty and two jolts of caffeine.

Then, if I’m not careful, I can spend an entire day puttering, rearranging this book and that, rereading the newspaper, and checking email. I can play with my hairstyle, redo my nails, and plump the pillows that huddle on my bed. But this isn’t really productive.

What I need to do instead is focus on something I want to achieve, something I want to have finished by day’s end. To do this requires constant guard. If I’m getting up, I can’t rationalize reasons why I shouldn’t. If I’m settling in to write, I can’t answer the telephone. If I’m analyzing data, I can’t be distracted by music in the background.

I don’t know if others have this dysfunctional problem; so if there is anyone else out there, then please let me know how you cope. I could be so much more productive if I didn’t have to force myself to sit down and begin.

From the Archives – June 17, 2016

I’ve never been to Duluth, MN, and might never have come now except for my son Kevin’s plans to participate in Grandma’s Marathon tomorrow. It’s the fortieth anniversary running of this event; and it’s being acknowledged in a big way.

This is Kevin’s eighth marathon; and I’ve traveled some distances to be there for more than half of them. There was Chicago, Lake County, Rome, and Boston. Now Duluth.

We were reminiscing and plotting this morning where I would be along the course to yell Kevin’s name and spur him on. Other runners often just see their families at the finish line. But I try to study the course and figure out where I might surprise and encourage him.

Chicago’s course, for instance, made it easy because it was a narrow loop. I could be at the five-mile point and then walk only a few blocks west, see him again at the nineteen-mile marker, and then hightail it to the finish line. The same was true of the cobblestone route in Rome. But Boston and Duluth are point to point courses. And given the traffic on Race Day it is extremely difficult to wait along the way and then get to the finish line to meet up.

My current plan is to be somewhere near the twenty-two-mile marker. Once Kevin passes I’ll walk the remaining four miles to the finish line, rather than drive through the spectator throngs and rerouted traffic patterns in a city I don’t know. I assure you he’ll get there long before I do. Still, this is our tradition . . .

Perhaps I should ask Kevin to consider only looped routes in the future if I’m to continue following him around the country and the world to yell, “Go Kevin.”

From the Archives – April 7, 2005

My favorite movie in the whole world, “Casablanca,” airs tonight for the umpteenth time. And, for at least half that many times, I’ve watched it. The lead actors and actresses are all dead, since the movie premiered in 1942, but there on the little screen they are as alive and passionate as ever.

Basically, the story revolves around one Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart), owner of a cafй in Casablanca, Morocco, during the Second World War. He’s nursing a wounded heart, having apparently been jilted a few years earlier by a woman he’d met in Paris before the Germans occupied it. He’s come to Casablanca to forget.

But the war has caught up with him. And so too has the woman, played by Ingrid Bergman. Ilse’s married now – in fact, was married when she and Rick had their affair – and is trying to help her husband, a leader of the Resistance, get out of the country. Rick holds the key to their escape.

There are myriad legends that have grabbed hold about the making of “Casablanca,” directed by Michael Curtiz. One was that the script was noticeably loose, that from day to day the actors did not quite know what came next, and that – until the very end – the Bergman character didn’t know if she would stay with her husband or go with her former lover.

If this notion is true, then I think it added to the intrigue of “Casablanca.” The movie itself is about wondering whether the characters get out of their situation alive; in real life, not knowing whether they do or not until the end makes their performances more real.

There are so many lines in this black and white film that have become standards in conversation. “Play it again, Sam.” “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.” “Here’s looking at you kid.” “Round up the usual suspects.” “This is the beginning of a beautiful relationship.” The movie was made on back-lot sets for one million dollars, and the mega-budgets and location choices of today don’t hold a candle.

So if you’re not doing anything tonight, tune in to Turner Classic Movies and catch one of the best of all times. Here’s looking at you.