Write Campaign - 11 Questions (I've been tagged!)

As you know from my February 7th post I am participating in Rachel Harrie's Fourth Writers' Platform-Building Campaign. Every year some of the campaigners tend to 'tag' participants to answer and then create and again 'tag' others with 11 questions. Fellow writer Elizabeth Twist has tagged me with the following questions. Thanks, Elizabeth! These are good questions.

1. What are you reading?

Currently I'm reading Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell. It was a book club pick from my previous job.

2. What is your favourite creative activity that is not writing?

Well, if you're on this site you know my other love is baking and/or eating baked goods. Mmmm, sugar. I have the battle scars to prove it to (3 root canals, 4 if you count one redone). Also naps are pretty sweet.

3. Where or how do you get your best ideas?

Randomly. I've gotten many from walking, being on the subway, waking up in the middle of the night or not being able to go back to sleep. I got some decent ideas bike riding. They really do just smack me in the face at times and sometimes they work and sometimes they don't.

4. If you could magically and painlessly change one thing about your mind or body, what would it be, if anything?

Augh, my lack of will power when it comes to portion control. I need to eat smaller servings and not just eat because I'm bored or stressed or because food is there. It's not going to disappear, I hope. So I wish I had more will power in terms of that and to really pursue what I want and not always second guess or think of repercussions. Wouldn't hurt to be selfish every so often when it comes to my art.

5. What's the scariest movie, story, novel, or scene you can recall?

I don't know if it counts as scary but there was a cringe worthy love scene in Endless Love (Scott Spencer) that went on for awhile in that book. I won't even attempt to go into detail.

A scene that also freaked me out was in Saw 2 when the woman was thrown into the well of needles and had to find a key. That is basically my worst nightmare. Tetanus shot!

6. What's the weirdest thing you believe?

I believe in karma. What goes around comes around and all. Some people may find that to be weird or feel that the world is out to get you but I firmly believe good things happen to good people and sometimes it takes awhile. I do not believe that bad things happen for a reason though. Not all the time anyways.

7. Super strength or super intelligence?

Hard one. I'd say intelligence. Of course that has its downsides as well, but in the end knowledge is power, supposedly.

8. You're granted the ability to become invisible. Where do you go and what do you do? (Bonus question: Are you wearing clothes? I mean, what about YOUR becoming invisible makes your clothes invisible too? This has always bothered me.)

I would LOVE to be a fly on the wall in a politicians office to hear what he/she is saying without the media around. How he/she may feel about issues but what they tell the public be it because they do or don't believe it or purely from a tactical standpoint.

If invisible I would prefer to wear clothes but obviously from a scientific standpoint it may not work and all. I mean it seems that perhaps invisibility of clothes comes into play as a way to get around things in films/books, especially in retaining a PG-13 rating and all.

9. What one change do you think would have the most positive impact on the world as a whole?

Equal rights for all. I think if everyone was truly seen and treated as equals all this bulls*** strife in the world would melt away a lot of issues that we have now. Think of it, why do we have so many wars and such? Because someone is trying to maintain a power over another group. The world just doesn't change.

10. What is the crappiest advice you've ever been given?

Hmmm, I did tell a girl to tell a guy she liked him even though I knew he didn't. This was more than ten years ago when I could be a petty b****. He wasn't rude when he turned her down or anything but I could've looked out for her a bit more.

11. What's your favourite song right now?

I had a thing for Mumford & Son's 'The Cave' a month back but now I'm back into Florence & The Machines 'Dog Days are Over.' That is a great jam!

My turn for questions!

They are as follows:

1. What literary character (any genre) can you most relate to & why? 2. If you could choose between having six months to yourself to pursue your art in a great area with beautiful landscape to write and no worries on money, food, living arrangements but would not be able to have any communication with the outside world whatsoever, would you do it? 3. What do you think is more important: true love or success? 4. What is usually the first thing you do when you get up in the morning? 5. Of all the books pubbed that you have had the pleasure to read which one do you most wish you'd written? 6. Why do you write? 7. If you had to lose one of your senses which would it be? (And yes, I include taste in this.) 8. What is the best memory you have? Have you ever used it in your writing? 9. If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be and why? 10. What is your favorite thing to do before you write? 11. What is the food/drink item you go to most when stressed/upset/irritated? What is the food/drink item you go to most when happy/exuberant/celebratory?

And I choose to tag the follow fellow campaigners in my group(s):

Gwen Tolios, Jaye Viner, Diane Gillette, Sorcha's Blog, Lori M. Lee, & Yikici.

And feel free to answer the questions posed to me from Elizabeth or the ones I've posed in my comments section or on your own blog. Would love to read.

Happy campaigning! I look forward to hearing/reading about everyone's work.

The CIA (Culinary Institute of America) hosts the Bocuse d'Or 2012 USA

On January 29th four finalists competed in the Bocuse d'Or at the Culinary Institute of America (CIA) in Upstate New York. The winner determined from this event will go on to represent the United States, challenging teams from around the world, in the international Bocuse d'Or World Cuisine competition in France next year. The Bocuse d'Or (a literal golden statue) is named after and molded in the image of renowned chef Paul Bocuse who created this competition in the late 1980s. Bocuse was named Chef of the Century by the Culinary Institute of America for his vision and contributions to the industry. The magnificence of Bocuse's influence was illustrated with a large banner showcasing the visionary.

On a crisp day with plenty of sun bouncing off the lake smack dab in the middle of the CIA campus chefs-in-training, well-respected chefs, fans and foodies and food bloggers alike--along with some celebrities including Top Chef (season 1 contestant) Stephen Asprinio--were present to watch these culinary artists compete.

A cacophony of cowbells and clappers resounded throughout the gymnasium as the four teams raced in the several hours they had, each sectioned off within their own kitchen to create grandiose dishes based around the categories of meat and seafood. The chefs had from 8am to 2pm to present and serve. Allowing the judges about an hour or so afterwards to consider a winner after making notes and deciphering the dishes presented to them for sampling and grading. There was great anticipation from the crowd on the bleachers. Stomping and clapping rang throughout the gym. This competition was as high pressure and intriguing to onlookers in attendance as it would be for sports fans. Each new dish was met with claps and/or awes as if someone had just made a three point free-throw from an impossible distance.

During the competition VIPs could (on a rotational basis) go upstairs to the balcony to sample food made by students and instructors of the Culinary Institute of America as well as samples from sponsors/suppliers Bridor, Nespresso, and Champagne Nicolas Feuillatte and view equipment showcases from main sponsors KitchenAid and Villeroy & Boch.

While waiting in line to be allowed upstairs I appreciated that some CIA students shared samples of items provided upstairs.

As I ascended to the VIP area I could feel the fervor of the events below, fiercely. The audible enthusiasm from attendees floated upwards to the VIP section while bright lights placed a spotlight on the action going on below. Media was kept behind a red velvet rope with an up close view of every dish, every scribble by a judge, every bit of encouragement from the host. Screens sprinkled throughout the balcony in the VIP section provided a close-up view of the lush decorations and judge responses during tasting.

However, the crowd upstairs reveled in much calm viewing and taste testing of their own.

As the competition progressed I enjoyed partaking in the array of items made available by the CIA and speaking with students about their methods for making such tasty bite-sized items--from foie gras made three ways to shrimpcake burgers to bratwursts in pretzel buns to freshly made hummus and tahini to salmon spiked salsa.

A chef stopped by to offer some kind advice as my guest and I ogled the cheese table--continuously refilled--encompassing hard cheeses, smooth cheeses (brie, my favorite), bleu cheese, dried apricots and apple butter to add a level of sweetness, and sliced pieces of toasted baguettes. Everyone was quite amiable and very helpful in regards to my inquisitiveness, especially the youthful student body.

My favorite item served was the shrimpcake burger. I had to hold myself back from getting seconds so that I could try more. After having a shrimp cake at Mesa Grill earlier that week I was in seafood heaven. The CIA shrimp cake burger had the texture of a crab cake with the breaded exterior and the seafood and other items minced together into a thick patty on a sesame seed bun with a type of tangy tartar sauce. Overall it was delicious and had a bit of sweetness added to the mix. It definitely hit the umami tastebuds. Something else I was a fan of was the Nicolas Feuillatte Champagne. It had a light sweetness to it and was not as heavy, alcohol-heavy, as some champagnes I have had in the past. It was a perfect cleanser after trying various dishes that were mild in spice and high in flavor. I have a feeling the bartender started counting how many I had (three, but some glasses were more full than others). Feuillatte is definitely a brand I will look for to bring to future social events. Very tasty.

During a lull in the competition we headed to the cafe to partake in the generosity of sponsor KitchenAid in providing us lunch. I was amazed at the offerings and quickness (and again, friendliness) of the students staffing the cafe. The whole place was run as expertly as a kitchen in a fine dining restaurant. One student showed me how to use their computer order machine where you just punched in what you wanted, got a ticket, the kitchen got a ticket, and you waited. Swift and fast! Many eateries could learn a thing or two from how organized the CIA runs their eateries for students and visitors. As an aside the brisket sandwich I had was delicious. While I'm not a fan of Swiss cheese on my sandwiches the brisket itself was not too soft but a perfect consistency for a sandwich and held together well. It was dry with a bit of juice so that you could fully experience the flavor of the meat.

By the time announcements were to be made of the victor much of the VIP section had emptied. Some leaving to head back to their respective areas after a long morning and early day of competition viewing. Many attendees were steadfast in remaining to hear the final decision. In the end Jerome Bocuse (son of Paul) helped announce the winner: Chef Richard Rosendale of West Virginia. (Fellow food blogger Amy also noted her take on the competition via her blog.)

The Bocuse d'Or was fun to watch. It was nice to be up close (or closer) to see a food competition at work. Having watched many Food Network challenges it was intriguing to see how intense it could get and how invested viewers were. But, I was also amazed and in awe of the gorgeous CIA campus. Even though it was bitter out the sun illuminated the beauty of the brick buildings on campus. Colorful plaques noted what each building held and students in white coats and Crocs shuffled back and forth from the building where the Bocuse d'Or was being held to their dorms and other areas.

CIA was a homey place with greenery and a lovely backdrop of fields and mountains. The sun set as the competition came to a close, as visitors drove off, and as CIA students packed up for the night. I was glad to visit both the CIA and the Bocuse d'Or, and couldn't help but consider what my future would have held had I pursued an education in food and not writing primarily. Absorbing the vastness and recalling the kindness of those around I couldn't help but think that the Culinary Institute of America would've been a great choice to pursue my other love.

Big, huge, massive thanks to Jackie "The Diva" Gordon and Rachel Barbarotta with Digitas & KitchenAid for allowing us food bloggers to attend!

My NYCMidnight Submission 2012 (Short Story)

Either I'm a glutton for punishment or I love me a challenge! Let's go with the latter shall we? I entered the NYCMidnight Short Story Competition again which took place over the course of eight days from 11:59pm on January 20th to 11:59 pm on January 28th. I stayed up that Friday awaiting my challenge and found that the genre I received, again, was romantic comedy. This time there was a character as well as a subject to work into your story. My character was a 'daredevil' and my subject was 'a rise to the top.'

[Oh, I should also note an update to my previous NYCMidnight post. I didn't make it to the next round of the Flash Fiction contest. But the horror story I wrote, "First Date," for the second challenge ranked very high, within the top three for that portion. However, the high ranking for the second challenge didn't help since I ranked so low in the first. Ah well.]

The short story first round took place over my birthday week and since I had festivities galore that planned (one word: pies!) I was hoping to be able to draft and write a story I could at least tolerate before the work week began. Luckily after receiving my assignment I thought up a premise I liked and scribed over 3000 words that first weekend. Over the course of the week I edited it down to slightly under the maximum word count of 2500 words. I can only hope that there's enough romance and comedy to earn it being categorized as rom-com. Last year I didn't like my piece but placed in the top 5 and after re-reading it a few times grew to enjoy what I created. This piece is 'meh.' But who knows. I'd like to make it to round two for once after being in the short story, flash fiction, and microfiction competitions last year, however if I placed well again I'd be happy. All-in-all I do enjoy the contests and will not rest until I have succeeded! <Insert maniacal laughter here.>

So, without further ado. I present my latest romantic comedy Walk of Shame:

“Are you out of your freaking mind?” Ricki says. She’s leaning against the door frame of my office, arms crossed in her blasé stance. But she’s giving me the Eyebrow. Raising it just enough that the person on the receiving end questions their motives. She used it often when we dated.

“It does sound…unwise,” Layla agrees. Her trademark scent of jasmine is pungent. She sits across from me while I remain behind my desk eyeing the latest sales figures for Sam & Sons Sports Equipment. We’re not in the red, but we’re getting there.

“I know it sounds extreme, but we’re a national sporting goods company. If we don’t believe in our product, who will?” I’m in charge since Dad decided to be a silent partner after the accident. I’m the one who has to think of the best ways for us to get back on top in a bad economy. So I should be the scapegoat for my idea.

Ricki sputters but doesn’t say anything else. She looks beyond me to the view of the city.

Layla rises from her chair. Her red suit hugs her body. Her skirt is short but it’s within regulation. She sits on my desk, crosses her legs giving me a peak of what she has on underneath, not much I can tell you.

“Nate,” she coos. “I know this seems like a good business plan but…”

I insist I’ll be fine. “I’ve climbed Mt. Everest, jumped from the Grand Canyon, skydived in Nepal.” I begin. Gaining momentum I push my chair back and point at the scene outside my window, at the adjoining sister building made of glass, steel, and plaster standing sixty feet from us and declare, “Eighty stories and sixty feet is a cake walk compared to what I’ve seen. I believe in our product and I need to do this.”

Layla gives me short applause while I mentally high-five myself for being a damn good salesman.

“Alright then. But this is it, okay? No more stunts.” Sneaking a peak at Ricki Layla makes a show of kissing me on the lips, pressing her whole body against me. I pull away quickly avoiding Ricki’s eyes.

Layla brushes past Ricki with a smirk on her face. Ricki stays back. She’s in one of many plaid skirts she owns. She wears her favorite pair of Converse sneakers. And her hair is sexy as hell in a messy bun, a pencil keeping it in place.

“You realize you’re not a Frenchman and this isn’t the seventies?” she asks.

“Of course.”

“Good, just wanted to make sure,” she says before leaving.

#          #          #

An hour earlier my assistant Javon played with the projector and my laptop trying to get my presentation up.

I was pumped, everyone else looked bored. Layla and her publicity team sat on one side of the oval meeting table. Sales and distribution were on the other.

Ricki was in back as the HR representative. Before going mute Dad said it was mandatory to have HR at sales meetings since one of the directors had tried to off himself. It was cited that this may have been prevented had we listened to what he was saying via a PowerPoint he made entitled ‘Life is Bullshit.’ In our defense most of us thought he was bitter because his nubile wife had just left him for someone her own age, and that perhaps he’d have learned his lesson after his sixth marriage.

I asked Javon if he was almost ready. He had a crease in his brow signaling he was either going to throw a tantrum or an object.

“Not working, Nathan,” he grumbled.

“Call, IT,” I said.

He glared at me but acquiesced. Employees would rather Google the hell out of something to figure out how to fix it themselves before going to IT. Holed up in a dank area of the office on a floor no one goes to except for supplies everyone considers IT hidden dwarfs, something out of Lord of the Rings. Whenever we call we suspect that they have a set recording and no one is actually there.

“Hello?” Javon said into the intercom.

“What’s the problem?” a voice crackled on the other end.

“Projector isn’t working with the laptop.”

“Is the device plugged in?”

“Yes.”

“Is it on?”

“Of course it’s on.”

“Did you jiggle the handle?”

Javon slammed his hand on the table. “Sonuvabitch!”

Ricki cracked a smile. She asked if Trevor could come by and help. At that the line went dead. Within two minutes he appeared.

I shouldn’t notice another guy but Trevor’s nothing like we thought of IT. The guy was broad shouldered and all-around chiseled. I thought I was good looking but for fuck-sake this guy was a Calvin Klein model. All the women and Javon drooled over him, even Layla gawked. But Ricki, his actual girlfriend, barely acknowledged his presence or good looks even after he winked at her.

Ricki and I locked eyes. I cocked my head to the side in a way that said “Really? That guy?” She in turn gave me the Eyebrow, which said “You dumped me, remember?” I didn’t have a facial gesture for that.

Once everything was set up I stood up. I looked at no one in particular, but found my focus kept sliding to Ricki. She didn’t look up from sketching, something I knew she did in her spare time since she studied art and not human resources in college.

I announced my idea while the video that inspired me played. The film was from the seventies, black and white and wobbly. A video of a Frenchman with balls of steel doing a tightrope walk between the Twin Towers rolled. This man held a beam in heavy winds taking his sweet ass time walking between two buildings that used to be the largest in the nation. This guy was lithe and agile and everything I remembered myself being before I hunkered down to run the company. Before my mother died in a freak accident. Before the Towers were no more and people were too afraid to ride in airplanes let alone be daredevils in their everyday life.

In the film the man was a speck against the Manhattan skyline. But in reality he was a trendsetter. A guy who wanted to do it because he could. I missed that feeling of just doing it. The rush of succeeding and feeling dizzy and hard all over. I felt myself getting erect right then and had to reel it back.

By the time I finished faces stared at me with mouths agape and eyes wide. One of the distributors slowly raised his hand.

“You’re saying you want to use our latest rock climbing rope to scale between two high rises?”

“Exactly.”

“As a publicity tool?”

I pointed at him. “Exactly!”

At my declaration Ricki squinted at me as though she didn’t recognize me.

Javon ran out of the room screeching. But no one else spoke. Silence turned into murmurs turned into intrigue weaving throughout the room. People said it sounded terrifying but glad it wasn’t them putting their ass on the line. They were excited, more than I’d seen them in months and I’d done that, as their boss. As a man with all the balls in the world.

#          #          #

On my desk is a picture of my parents smiling in neon skydiving suits. They had a priest come up several thousand feet in the air with them as they renewed their vows. I could barely hear them pledge their love to each other as the pilot signaled it was time for them to make their exit.

A month later, Mom died. Hangliding accident.

A tap at the door disrupts my thoughts. Dad’s in the doorway. He grins but I can tell by the lines etching around his mouth it’s forced.

“Nate.”

“Dad,” I reply.

“So…” he drags it out so that I fill in the gaps.

“You heard about what I’m doing next month?”

“I did.”

I lean back in my chair. “You don’t approve?”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Then…” it’s my turn to force his hand.

“I want to know why you think you need to do this.”

“Sales are down.”

“And?”

“We need to put our face out there again. Well, my face as the new head.”

“Anything else?”

“Sales are down.”

“You said that.”

“It’s worth repeating.”

Dad clears his throat. “I miss the thrill of it all too, Nate. I do. But some things lose their luster.”

“I know.”

“And you shouldn’t do this because you feel you have to.”

I lean on my desk. Folding my fingers together into a steeple I assure my father that I want to do this.

“If that’s the case then fine. But be careful. I can’t…” he chokes up. He covers his mouth as if to sneeze but I know he’s sucking back a sob. As his son I ignore it, allow him to have this moment of weakness.

He knocks on my desk three times. His way of exiting a room.

That night Layla comes over dressed in nothing but an overcoat and heels. She parades around and tells me to tell her how sexy she looks. It’s odd being directed to do so but I say it.

She snarls at me as she undresses, gets on all fours climbing on my bed and smacks me in the face.

“Ow!”

She looks stricken for a second but stiffens up. “You want excitement? I’ll give you excitement!” she yells. We tussle around, moan each other’s names. In reality her name isn’t the one on the tip of my tongue.

#          #          #

Time moved faster than I would have liked. I sit at my desk dressed in a goddamn leotard. What I won’t do for this company.

All day people have been coming in, rapping on my door already halfway in the office asking if I’m ready, mentally stable. Noting that the press is here. That there are orders up the wazoo. That people are going to post videos on the Internet and if all goes as planned the company will be a success again.

Thirty minutes before I’m to go to the roof someone knocks. Ricki appears behind the door and slowly shuts it behind her. She’s in her usual garb, same sneakers on. Never heels.

“Hey Frenchie.”

“Ricki,” I say admiring her from afar.

“Nice outfit. Do they have it in your size?”

For the first time in awhile I smile because I want to and not because it’s called for.

“The fact that I got into it at all is a feat in itself.”

“I believe you.”

“Are you here to try and talk me out of it?”

“At this stage of the game? Nah,” she waves the idea away. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Really doing.”

“A little nervous.”

She nods. “Sounds normal.”

I miss how relaxed things were with Ricki. Not getting beaten up as foreplay was a plus. I could be with Ricki then head off to bungee jump or for a business meeting and return to see her with a new item occupying her time.

“Hey! Bought a banjo!” she’d say holding her prize up.

Ricki embraced my wild side. Sometimes she’d join me, sometimes she wouldn’t. She’d put her head on my shoulder and inquire about events making me relive the whole experience right down to sweaty palms and fuzzy headaches from the intensity of it. But after awhile the jumps and the feeling of my heart in my chest didn’t matter as much as being with her. When I found myself snuggling with her instead of going out jet skiing with friends one Sunday morning, I knew I had settled down and it scared me.

On top of that I overheard her tell someone she was falling in love with me.

“I dunno how he feels about me though,” she added.

Of all the things I’d done, from convincing zookeepers to let me climb into tiger cages or jumping from a moving helicopter into the Baltic Sea hearing her say she loved me took my ability to breathe. My knees wobbled so hard I had to lean against the wall as I slid away.

That night I ordered in and broke up with Ricki. I told her we were too close, more friends than lovers. It almost felt true.

I was amazed she wanted to stay friends let alone be cordial. Especially once I started dating Layla and she paraded it around the office.

Speaking of, another knock reveals Layla. She gapes at Ricki before letting me know we have to go.

“Times up,” she says with some finality.

“Be right there. I need a minute.”

“Alright. Ricki…” she begins but I stop her.

“Ricki and I have something to discuss.”

Layla’s manicured nails scratch at the enamel but she grins and closes the door.

I get up from my seat and take a deep breath as I move towards Rickie. She smells faintly of roses.

Squeezing my hand she says, “Do this for you, Nate. Okay? Not for the business, or your mom God rest her soul.”

I nod. Lowering my head to hers our foreheads meet.

“I’m sorry,” I say because I am.

“For what?”

“You know what.”

“I’d rather have you as a friend than not have you at all. You know that.”

I open my mouth to speak but Layla barges in. Ricki and I are still close when Layla wedges herself between us telling me its time.

Every step is longer than the next until we finally get to the roof. It’s windy as hell up here.

From across the way I see cameras on the adjoining building. Media swarms our highrise as well. My dad is huddled among the mass as are Javon, other executives, even Trevor. I chuck a chin at Trevor and gesture towards my genitals, noting he may be good looking but I have the balls.

Ricki trails behind as Layla leads the way through the crowd. I feel exposed in this skintight outfit like I should be in Cirque du Soleil.

The questions are generic and so I have generic answers. “Feeling good! Can’t wait to get to the other side and prove how great our products are!” I say as jubilantly as I can.

I’m shoved to the edge. I’m given a beam. I’m asked how confident I feel and if I want to turn back. I shake my head at everything not wanting to give specific answers as bile hits the back of my tongue.

I take another deep breath. Once I’m on the ledge the wind knocks me back a few inches encouraging gasps from the crowd.

I turn and lock eyes with Ricki. No Eyebrow, instead she offers a smile.

“I love you,” she mouths.

Of all the things that frighten me in this moment it’s the fact that I love her too.

 [© copyright 2012 Jennifer Baker-Henry]