ANGEL ZAPATA ATTUNEMENT = "WHEN A WRITER MEETS A WRITER COMIN' THROUGH THE WRY"

ANGEL ZAPATA

  ATTUNEMENT =

"WHEN A WRITER MEETS A WRITER COMIN' THROUGH THE WRY"

~ encounter by Absolutely*Kate

Location: GEORGIA

Action: VITALIZING

Remembrance: FOREVER

Roll camera. Hampton Inn.

Pour coffee. Keep it comin.

Here come our protagonists now ~

It was a dark and stormy night . . . No, No, NO!  It was a HOT and abundantly sunny day. "You never get used to the heat, no matter what they say," offered up the non-cliche mortal from the Big Apple who fell in love with a Georgia goddess peach and rolled with his big heart to the rockin' rhythms of deep down South where Ray Charles croons and the Waffle Houses proliferate on desired streetcorners like ... like ... trees. Well, that's what Angel assures me and after finally meetin' up with the savvy dude from swirlcomestances of fate proving (once again) There is no such thing as a coincidence . . . I wouldn't ever doubt this guy's astute utterances. 

Astute?  Big time.  
Bridging multi-genres?  Absolutely. 

ANGEL IS NO APPARITION. Magda photo

Impressive? In a quiet sense of time where time passes by and you wish it never to fizzle and end -- yeah, that kind of impressive. A time your thoughts zap and zing and you feel the moment tug as warmly natural as the hug you just came out of when you met the man not needing a strut to walk his character through the doors of a normal day hotel lobby. He's dressed like Johnny Cash with a train o' thought a'comin. You sense a kinship with writers knowing writers right out loud everywhere. You dash ideas and listen to the said and the unsaid and the quantum mood fuels the air and the coffee in the big container marked robust keeps on a'comin'. You experience attunement in the laughter that whoops out in simultanea when our camera-man takes meticulous to new art forms. You wonder if such emanates as an inner response mechanism which psyches remembered eons before we ever approached this meeting, this moment. 

INTENSITY MEETS BEHOLDER.  ~ Magda photo

He

put

a

spell

  on

me,

did

AZ.

 Yes, I met Angel Zapata, legendary more-than-horror writer, emotions evoker, poetry man of brushstrokes in the colour of linger. Yes, that's precisely and prolifically what his words do. If you've read him, you already know. If you've yet to read him, you're getting ready for the stuff that treats (and tricks?) are made for. His word paintings linger past mists, graves, holograms, screams, howls, soft sighs and below the rumble of psyche rising. The linger stirs thought patterns around and I believe commands them (gently) to resonate out in a whole new array. Gazillions of gruesome and graceful Zapata words in supremacy linger for your carouse at his dark delightful outtasite site, A RAGE OF ANGEL. Evidence of alchemy, how his mind churns mere pentanglings to meaningful magic, exists at the latest rage for scribes, his tight terrific creation of ~ 5x5. 

FACT: Five by five is the best of 25 possible subjective responses used to describe the quality of communications, specifically the signal-to-noise ratio. As receiving stations move away from an analog radio transmitting site, the signal strength decreases gradually while noise levels increase. The signal becomes increasingly difficult to understand until it can no longer be heard as anything other than static.

Thus 5x5 Fiction is that told (and presented), loud and clear. I told you the fella was astute, didn't I?  Doesn't take a wikapedia or a wiki-horror trove Angel told me a clever guy is keeping cross currents on, to multiply that equation. It just adds up. 


That all summarized, sit back, imagine getting to know the more a respected colleague, a fellow presenter of writers on the rise. Across a little table in a big space is all the genuine gracing the gust of an Augusta moment. That's hanging out with a writer whose depth of deft can be sensed without sensing . . . is only scratching the surface of the itch he's turning out in Writers' Worlds ~

Panic Press presents, The Man of Shadows, a horror short story collection by Angel Zapata. From the wicked predilections of children to the varied manifestations of evil personified, The Man of Shadows will have you running for the light. Click to purchase on Amazon.

Angel's premier collection, The Man of Shadows shows man not myth exploring greater fear factors. When we met, I pulled no punches in sweet resource management; pulling forth a colourful array of sugar packets to illustrate tableside the prolifics and ramifications of writers sailing higher the destinies of writers in the upcoming HARBINGER*33. I told you the man's astute, didn't I? He saw the enrichment of the final chapter, "THE TREASURE CHEST" a brimming coffer of availability of the books and sensations of 33 stellar authors featured in stories and as personnas on the starboard side, as well as 33 heralds' glistening gold where their writings are told (and sold). He heard these heralds' voices at the rail ~ 33 salutes from writers to writers sailing destinies. He telescoped his "Aye" to eye the magnitude of 33 ports of call where multitudes of authors stretch their scribing tendencies. The quantum promotion/publishing touting his well-deserved talents and oh so many more is the stuff authoring destinies are made for ~

Writers Sailing Writers' Destinies
A Herald of Greatness to be.

~ Badge of honour by Laurita Miller

Hitting horizons. Then exceeding them.  Billowing sails with wonder taking on far-reaching fair winds. Angel Zapata, I predict, shall exceed any genre his AmaZing mind expresses to the worlds he is destined to reach. 

ABRACADABRA BACKATCHA ~ Zapata pic

Believing in believers, I realize the import of happening to be in Angel's home port on a trip taken to bolster family. There's no such thing as coincidence, and my hero Dad is on target once more in teaching by example ~ The true riches we carry are the people we are fortunate to know the more in our lives' journeys. I'm fortunate to know the wonders of writers. I'm fortunate and grateful to know Angel Zapata yet the more, and that Harry Sanderford rogue surfer/cowboy who phoned right into our meeting of the energized minds. Now I wonder how that happened? 

So when are you and I going to encounter?

Trust your fates to those winds.

There are days you just meet Angels. ~ Pilarcik pic

<-- What HE said before she said is still hanging up on his raging walls right here!

~ Absolutely*Kate,

returning next weekend with ~
  THE VILLAGE SMITHY
. . . as time travels on . . .

WHAT BRANDY AND WRITERS POUR . . . (FlashFiction)

"GOLDEN TRUTH, SPEAK YOUR STUFF" ~ Pic ala disou13

WHAT BRANDY

AND WRITERS  POUR

~ By Absolutely*Kate

"Clara -- Bow, 

  Greta -- Garbo,

  Marilyn -- Monroe.

"Cooper drank Gable
  under the table -- 

 Montgomery the Clift

 got Joe DiMaggio miffed."

From under the archway with the red peeling fleur de lis wallpaper into the darkened dining room shushed my tentative muffle of a whisper. I was enough in awe of him at the time that my psyche wasn't feigning frightened. "Is that a mantra? A limerick? What's he doing? Where's he going with this?" The silver fox stammering the luscious Hollywood litany in the next room was the legend my reading mind had grown more grown-up on. Fortunate I was to have met up with his gal Friday after work on Tuesday at the Double Diamond Cafe. She was shiny. I liked her spark. 

We arranged to meet on Wednesday at lunch for a burger and a chocolate malt. That wasn't the last straw. Thursday we danced til dark. Now, she'd honoured me with this nifty invite to meeting my literary hero. I felt more like a blustering boy peeking around a crazy corner called consciousness than a suave man on the make.

"He's warming up. He has to tone his decibel to resonate  writer's rhythm. He only finds himself when he gets lost like that," Molly explained softly, her hand rubbing a pathway up my back, nearing my shoulder. Both were soft, her honey lilting voice and the warming hand I wished never to leave that trail.

"But what happens if he doesn't?"

"There'll be a piper's orchestration to pay. There'll be glass shards to sweep up in the morning. Come on. I'll introduce you."

"No, nonononononoo. He's busy. He's working." I backed up, bumped into, then neatly sidestepped a leather ottoman placed precariously at the side of the sidebar. What it was doing in the dining room, I wondered if I'd ever be lucky enough to come back to find out. But I liked the lay of the great writer's land. And I certainly liked the press of Molly's precious hand.

"Oh you Chickenshit scribe, come on. He can't hurt a fly with its wings peeled back at twenty paces."

"Yeah right, and you know that metaphorically, you're playin' me. I've heard of aggravated dissent though. There's bodies they haven't found, I hear tell. He gets cranky, zany and conceives new profanities to profuse when he doesn't take to someone or something . . . well, ya know?"

"Yeah, I know, I know. I've been his publicist for years. Who do you think plants colourful rooted tidbits to modern day media Heddas? You seen any Norma Desmond look-a-likes hoppering around when you came up the boulevard at sunset?"

Imagining the net results she must get with such articulate volley skills, I backhanded a ready compliment, "Well geeez Molly, you're no hag. You're a looker. You've got class where other dames just sweat it out. You're the tip, you're the top -- "

"Hustle your handsome ass before your lose your cool Cole Porter. Jerome doesn't wait long when he hankers his brandy handy."

Though still subdued, I couldn't very well suppress a snort at Moll's flaunt and flair for quick retorts. So rhetorically I retorted back towards the backside of how hips swayed when swathed tight and narrow in a grey silk pencil skirt. (Oh baby, those defining lines swished where they swathed.) "So you're tellin' me Jerome prefers his snifter swifter?"

"Jerome wasn't built in a day, Harvey. A PR dame worth her own renown has to fan flames to fire up a good writer's fame."

"COME IN, COME IN. I hear you two children doling idle prattle. You call that 'dialogue'? I drub it drivel. And bring some extra snifters." Rumbling up a chuckle, he was on a raucous roll ~ "Good golly Miss Molly -- brandy is medicinal to all."

Molly crossed her eyes, then sent wiggly eyebrows to trajectories not yet charted in the common cosmos. "Here we go again," she lilted from her poised perch 'pon the tapestry arm of his armchair, purposely positioned at the epicenter of his golden writer's lair. Shades of amber, tones of gleaming gold, over all, new and old. Bookcases upon bookcases, side tables generous with crystal decanters alongside sink-into leather club chairs with fussy antimacassars arranged upon the back, plump pillows, gilded frames of friends and possibly foes, as I recalled this titled titan's penchant for speaking the force of what truths moved him. That was the worth of his girth. He held nothing back. Never a hack. And now Hollywood had come calling for a "tell all". Jumpin' genre to kindle his writing nook for sure.

She had a swell way of laughing that accompanied understated delivery. There came a catch to her throat which begged to be touched. The laugh, not the throat. Not yet. I wanted to grasp out for it as if it was a blown bubble floating to be freely caught. I wanted to feel Molly's laugh slide a slick little pounce into my hand. Bet it would pulsate before it popped.

Reveries don't ruminate long though when the floor show's about to begin its beguine, if you know what I mean. Jerome Beauregard Chandell was an illusion sitting still but playing broadly to the room. Like the beat, beat, beat of a streeted Gershwin parade, he was promenading Broadway with one hand in the air waving galley proofs and the other stroking the bulbous snifter as if it was a "5:00 serving girl" from back in studio mogul days. It's true what they say - There's no biz like show biz and his grin was spots and kleigs, all in ~

"Brandy takes away vagrant chills!" He boomed. He sipped. "Brandy is comprised chiefly of antioxidants and moratoriums ." He savoured length to his swallows, tilting his head to nudge Molly's re-pour, adjusting body comfort further into the hold of the regal wingback as the crackling fire understudied like a sound effects foley. Cliches worn tight as the crimson velvet smoking jacket I couldn't believe I was seeing, crinkled the room. "The better the stronger the brandy the better the stronger the benefits! Why whole sections of corrupt pockets can be emptied open with the proper brandy a man of reason realizes. This is an indisputable secret of dignity I bestow upon the two of you." 

He pronounced his edicts without rancor. I wanted to swim long and lanky through them, or maybe, it was the handy brandy's swirl causing me these crosscurrents of good tide-ings. I smirked somewhat to myself at the familiar ease of puns, but I sensed in this scene my higher self learning, as if opening pages from a different side of a book not oft seen.

Molly assented with the smirk of a curvy smile and a nod tangled in tresses, but affectionately so. I watched as a voyeur on the shelf behind Thorndike and Barnhart's unabridged dictionary as JB reached his irrepressible non pen-hand possessively to tantalize a runaway honey strand ever so gently behind one pale pink ear. My own deep swigs were warming up a higher rise that couldn't keep still. My less furtive steps paced discovery 'round the great writer's room. I watched my fingers fondle leather spines. I heard my eyes snap-count how many rows lined up by colour grouping tomes hailed authors this more than mortal wordsmithy had lent a hand, ear or some folded moola to over their mutually climbing eras. Legend. Smooth and rich, like what he wrote. Like what he drank -- prolifically.

In my fuzzy imagination I realized I wanted to do what the Zenith console on the mahogany buffet was cueing up to do -- I wanted to give Molly "a kiss to build a dream on", but some fella's dreams are another man's opus. Jerome B. Chandell could certainly settle the score on opuses. Or was it opi? The Corvoisier was settling in.

"Cardiovascular traumas would behave like good little twits with proper brandy consumption," Jerome pontificated, one finger daring hyperbole to over-dramatize points into thin air, "and bar exams would be readily passed by moderate drinkers lingering longevity!"

Molly winked. It was slow. It was sedatious. Just the sight of that wink tasted delicious. Even from across the room where I had been watching the world still spin from the globe-eye view I'd bumped it into. She hit me hard with those heaters somewhere above Argentina. Slow as silk that knows how to sheath itself, saturated Molly's voice, "We can go now Harvey."

~ ~ ~

"CLICKETY'CLACK"  pic: TimothyKHamilton

CHAPTER ONE:

Old movies were made to be sung. Not wasted too young. You had to pour a good movie. You had to drink it in. You had to taste swirl and breathe amber. That's what bottled up Breathless the stuff that Hollywood was made for. I understood this like the solid sanctity of rolling credits, standing in line one chilly night in November AT THE BIJOU.

~ ~ ~ 

Clickety-clack, clickety-clack, quoth the mighty Remington back. Precisely. Prolifically. Preponderously, I intuited a writer lost when found. Reverently, I put my snifter down, accepted Molly Mahoney's soft proffered hand.

The leading lady always got the good exit lines: "He's writing again. We can go. The proofing comes tomorrow."

(c) 2010 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

Premiering AT THE BIJOU

Absolutely*Kate is a playful writer, but a soulful writer . . . with moxie. The world needs more moxie. Join her with your own wordsmithery AT THE BIJOU come the New Year's return to the acclaimed ~ Double*Feature Tuesdays and Thursdays.

 Submit concepts, manuscripts

and ever high hopes in the works to ~

Absoltutely*Kate - AT THE BIJOU:  

RiverviewStudios@gmail.com

Yeah. That's the ticket. 

Flash your fiction . . . with addiction.

We thank*you the way we know best ~ wholeheartedly

for Celebrating in such great grandeur Our Very First Year.

Your hoots and hollers, hushed whispers,

popcorny grins and city snickers

are all part of the drama when

Writers' Raves become Readers' Faves.

Theatre for the mind will do it every time.

Tell your colleagues, tell your pals, tell your Ma and Pa

 ~ but check that we're running a clean act first.

~ Absolutely*Kate

and our fine staff of renown

*AT THE BIJOU*

HOW'S THAT MOVIE END? ~ Calling all Writers! Calling all Druthers!

AN ENDING'S JUST AN ENDING, ISN'T IT?   ~ Pic ala Express Monorail

HOW'S THAT MOVIE END?

~ By . . . "YOU" 

Does he get the girl? Does she happily-ever after the guy? Do they live? Do they die? Will the audience know why? Or time after time will they try and get by?

You're in the theatre. Credits roll. Were you content with how the whole shebang reeled out? Do you druther another way it could've gone?

*AT THE BIJOU* is poking the mind's eye of all great writers to show their druthers ~ to tell how it coulda, woulda, shoulda been told . . . the way you'd like to see another potential meaning to the screening. Be creative . . . wax eloquent or flash bold.  ~ Choose a movie. Give us your druthers, will'ya?

WHICH MOVIE

DO YOU DRUTHER

AN ALTERNATE POSSIBLE ENDING TO BE?

Write it!

Send it:  AT THE BIJOU

"Movies!" ~  Absolutely*Kate

@ RiverviewStudios@gmail.com

Smooth operators are standing by

LET'S SEE ANOTHER POSSIBLE WAY
A MOVIE ENDING could Druther to BE.

POPPIN' FRESH ~ pic ala Express Monorail

Tell our rambunctious audience Your Movie,

set up a brief setup into your scene,

then share your druthers with another way
a possible ending could glean . . .

WE'LL SCREEN 
"DRUTHER ENDINGS"
ON WINTER TUESDAYS

*AT THE BIJOU*

~ Absolutely*Kate

and our fine staff of renown

Hey Har ~ You wanna hear how I think Butch and Sundance
survived all odds? Huh? They did. I'm real darn sure of it.

"WE ARE ONE" ~ ~ ~ AT THE BIJOU

LET THE PARTY SAIL, AT THE BIJOU!  ~ Dramatic pic ala Cobalt123

Birthday! Celebration. 

One Whole Year!

Psyched am I,

psyched for all of you too,

We're all such a pizazzy part

past the popcorn and the possibilities

of FIRST YEAR

*AT THE BIJOU*!

Clickonallourstars!

Knw them ever the mre.

Tis the juxtapsition of their wrds

which precede the way they linger

on yur mind . . . 

Absolutely*Kate 

Amy Hale Auker 

Angel Zapata 

Anthony Venutolo 

Aura 

Awards 

B. R. Stateham 

Barry J Northern 

Barrymore 

Ben Roethlisberger 

Bob Clay 

Bogey 

Boss Gabardine 

Brad Rose 

Brett Favre 

Broadway 

Bugs Bunny 

Carrie Clevenger 

Charles Bukowski 

Christina Vincent 

Circus Claude 

CLIFFHANGER 

Columbo 

Cup of Coffee 

D. D. Peattie 

Dad 

Daffy Duck 

Daniel Stine 

Dark Goddess of the Moon 

Dean Martin 

Debbie Lamedman 

Dialogue 

Doris Eaton 

Dr Seuss 

Drew Brees 

Eddie 

Edoardo Mungiello 

Eric Beetner 

Eric J Krause 

Erin Cole 

F. Scott Fitzgerald 

Fab Feb Film Fest 

Fiction Groupie 

FIRST BIJOU TALKIE 

Florenz Ziegfeld 

Frank Lloyd Wright 

Frankie 

Franny 

#Friday Flash Fiction 

G. K. Chesterton 

Gene Tierney 

Genevieve 

Glinda 

Godot 

Grinch 

Gypsy Rose Lee 

HARBINGER*33 

Harry B Sanderford 

Hazar Worth 

Heartspeak 

Hekate 

Hill o'Beans 

Humphrey Bogart 

Ian Rochford 

Independence Day 

Istanbul 

J Dane Tylor 

Jack Dempsey 

Jack Kerouac 

Jason Henry McCormick 

Jeanette Cheezum 

Jelena Vencl Ohlrogge 

Jim Bronyaur 

Jodi MacArthur 

John Wiswell 

Joie de vivre 

Joker 

Jon M Strother 

Karen Schindler 

Kenny Mayne 

Kevin Michaels 

Kim Soles 

Kozel Beer 
(I'm part Kozel in my Czechoslovakian heritage, 
but it took the initmitable Paul Brazill 
to swig me knowledge of this family brew.
THANKS PAUL!)

Lady Moon 

Lamont Cranston 

Laura Eno 

Laurita Miller 

Lee Hughes 

Leon Jackson Davenport 

Leonard Cohen 

Linda Simoni-Wastila 

Lombardi 

Lonely Street 

Love 

Lucky Shot 

Lydia Stefanovska 

Mabel Jean Krenicki 

Madam Z 

Madge 

Majik 

Malcolme Allen 

Manny 

Maranella 

Mary Lou 

Matthew Magda 

Mean Joe Green 

Message-in-a-Bottle 

Miami 

Michael J Solender 

Michael R. O'Connor 

Michael Terence McNerney 

Mike & Mike 

Mike Whitney 

Mint Julep 

Mom 

Mother 

Mongo 

Movies 

MOXIE! 

Murder-Mystery 

NELLE 

New Jersey 

Newport 

NFL 

N O I R  

Ohio 

Oscar 

Pamila Payne 
 

Paris  
   
Passion 

Paul D Brazill 

Paul de Denus 

Paul Phillips 

 PAUL PILARCIK 
 
Peggy MacFarland 

Peppers & Zen 

Peter McNiff 

  Peyton Manning 

Phantom of the BIJOU 

Phil 
 

Playwright 
  
Popcorn 

Popper 

Positivity 

Private Eyes 

Prof 

Punxatawney 

Rabbit, Rabbit 
 

Ray Bradbury  
 
Richard M Johnson 

Ritz 

Robert Crisman 

Robert Morschel

Roller Derby 

Rudee Valley 

Ryn Cricket 

Salvatore Buttaci 

Sandra Davies 

 Santa 

SECOND BIJOU TALKIE 

  Sexy
 Sexy-Touch 
Shadow 

 Show Must Go On 
Snap, Crackle, Pop 

Snuggems 
Star

Steeler*Kate 
Steelers 

 Sugar 
Sugar/Wendy Staley 

  Super Bowl 

 Sweet Chili Philly 

Teresa Cortez

 Thank You 

Thanksgiving 

 *AT THE BIJOU* proudly presents
  SUSAN CROSS interviewing

ARLO GUTHRIE!


 The NOT 

"The Prints and The Popper"
Murder-Mystery Matinee 

Theatre 

 Thorton Wilder 
Three Kings 

  Thriller 
Tides
  Time 

Tony The Tiger 

TopFlite 

Toys 

Turkey 

Valentine 

Virginia 

Vortex 

Water 

Watergate,
Woodward & Bernstein 

Watering Hole 

Wholeheartedly 

Wind 
"Chasing the Wind" SERIAL 

Wise Guy 

Wish 

WRITERS 

W R I T I N G 

Youghiogheny River 

Zelda 
( also see Madam Z ~ She knows all, tells all )

Zelda Fitzgerald 

Zen 
Ziegfeld Follies
Ziegfeld Goil  

Wow. 

All that. All of you. 

One year.

Rather 
connotates
the word
cheer.

Thanks for sitting in our red velvet rows,

shows after grand writers' shows.

"Grow along with me. The Best is yet to be."

(I think Robert Browning would be proud to let me spotlight his classic line)

~ Absolutely*Kate

and our fine staff of renown*

*AT THE BIJOU*

Theatre for the Mind,

WHERE WRITERS' RAVES ARE READERS' FAVES

About that spectacular photo way back up there . . . Amazing Balloon Aerialist Performance:

Before you pass this image by, thinking it is an abstract or Photoshopped creation, look closer. This zoom shot from very far away shows an aerialist performing like a trapeze artist, suspended from giant balloons filled with helium and tethered. The performer had an act that lasted about 15 minutes near the finale of the All Souls Procession, but one had to look closely to see what was happening. This was off to the south of the main stage area as the crane lifted the traditional urn to the pedestal that would soon be ablaze, taking the urn's load of wishes, memories, messages, and prayers for All Souls to a fiery ceremonial finish.

ALWAYS SPECIAL AT THE BIJOU GRATITUDE to HARRY, PROF, JEANETTE, SUGAR, ZELDA, ANTHONY, KEVIN, PAUL & PAUL, ERIN, ERICs, LAURITA, CARRIE, PAMILA, LINDA, SAL, JOHN, MUSIC MIKE, J DANE T + ... Yikes! Scroll back above ~ the credits rolling are a'plenty ...  

plus our thousands of readers

that's why "WE ARE ONE". 

~ Humbly,  ~ Happily

and on to Harbinger*33

~ Absolutely*Kate 
(c) November, 2010