Mardi Gras and beyond…

I cannot believe I haven’t updated since Christmas. Geeeeeeez, it’s been busy around here.

There was Mardi Gras in all its abundance. I rode in the Nyx parade and had an absolute blast, then walked in the St. Ann parade Mardi Gras day–really wonderful experience. I loved all of the costumes and the camaraderie, and joy.

Since then, I’ve been busy finishing up the final details of the new, very dark book, coming out toward the end of May (I think….). People who have subscribed to my newsletter will get a free novella and the first look at the cover for the book, as well as the opening chapter. (Subscribe by clicking the button in the footer, then filling out your email and name. You will be sent an email to confirm your subscription, and you must click that to finish up the process.)

Meanwhile, here’s a couple of Mardi Gras shots. I’m working on two new books, one dark, one light (with Jenny Crusie), as well as more photos, plus the remodel-the-building saga continues. I’m not sure that one will ever be done.





NYC trip

When Tamar and I were walking around NYC last week, we made a stop at an amazing gelato place (um, Tamar will have to post where it is)… and as we’re standing in there, she’s taste testing all of these wonderfully exotic flavors… you know, things with fruit flavors and strange concoctions that fall into the category of NOT CHOCOLATE. So the clerk/woman turns to me and asks what I’d like to try, and I don’t even need to try anything, I tell her. Just give me the chocolaty-ist chocolate she had and then she asked, “Do you want dark chocolate? Or *really* dark chocolate?” And my head exploded. I went for the dark chocolate because the dark-dark chocolate would’ve probably been like crack and the headlines would read, “New Orleans Woman Takes Gelato Store Hostage, Demands All The Dark Dark Chocolate In The Whole World.” 

Then she asked me if I wanted to put something ON the chocolate or mix something else IN the chocolate, and I was all, YOU DON’T TOUCH THE CHOCOLATE WITH OTHER STUFF. Except chocolate sprinkles or syrup, which she did not have.

And I think I’m being perfectly normal, and I look over at Tamar’s amused expression and realized I may have been showing my Southern a little too much.

I’m going to try to start posting and cross-posting over here several times a week, so hold onto your hats, this may turn out to be a real blog.

Meanwhile, here’s one shot of our walkabout:


The Arcanum experience

After my only brother died, almost two years ago, I felt like I lost my voice. My creativity with words suffered and dried up to driftwood. While I slowly picked up the pieces again and pasted them together, it was painful. I did it because he’d wanted me to, he’d gotten frustrated with me toward the end of his illness that I couldn’t write, but he’d understood, too, why I couldn’t, and he asked me to keep trying. The story I was writing was a brutally dark story completely unlike what I’d written before, (which will come out sometime next year, I think). When I’d started writing it, it was about a woman whose brother was dying, and she had to do something very specific, or he’d die… and if she did do that specific thing, she would die. It was her life, or his, and she chose his. What I hadn’t realized at that time was that my brother was very ill; he hadn’t been diagnosed yet, and as I wrote that first draft, so much of what he was going through made it into the story, in subliminal ways that I didn’t see. Even later, after he was diagnosed, I couldn’t see the similarities, because I hadn’t grasped yet what was going on, what the real story was beneath my determined attitude about the story.

You see, I was absolutely certain he would live. Absolutely. Certain.

I had to be, for him. He needed that positive force to go through the bone marrow transplant, which is far more harrowing than anyone can ever explain to you.

When he beat the rare cancer, and beat the other illnesses surrounding the transplant, and was told he’d go home, that he was cured, I didn’t know we’d lose him 12 days later to a brain infection. And as it happened, as it spiraled out of control, it killed me that I couldn’t rewrite that ending. I couldn’t fix that world with an edit, a re-do. I couldn’t toss out that draft and find another way to tell his story, his real story, and rewrite his ending to a happily-ever-after.

Words. They fled. I pushed and tugged them into the rewrite of the dark story, because I’d promised him I would, but I don’t know that I would have been able to continue if I hadn’t picked the camera back up and started taking photos again after so many years without touching it.

Photos were my way back. I cannot imagine how I’d have gotten through these last two years, missing him, feeling the grief of having to be the one to make the final decisions for him, decisions I never, ever, dreamed I’d really have to make, because my stories? They have happy endings, dammit. So the photos gave me a way to look at the world, and edit what I saw into something akin to art. The more photos I took, though, the more I was aware that I wasn’t taking quality images. I was having to work so hard in post production to get them to look decent, and I am pleased that people liked them, but I knew I was creating much more work on myself by not starting off with a photo of good quality. It’s stunning the difference that can make, but if you don’t know what mistakes you’re making, you don’t really know how to fix it. I downloaded a ton of classes and tutorials, learned what I could, but I needed feedback from other photographers, and unlike being an author, and having friends who could give me feedback, I didn’t really know any other photographers here who were open to questions, and willing to mentor.

I applied for an apprentice position with The Arcanum, a new mentor/apprentice style online photography school. I greatly admired Trey Ratcliff’s photos, and had even taken a couple of his courses (very affordable), but I wasn’t really growing, and I had that itch, finally, to improve. That feeling that this was the artistic catalyst I needed. I have to tell you, I was a little stunned to have been chosen so early in the process of the school by teacher A. D. Wheeler. I remember taking a look at his website when I got the invitation, thinking, “Wow,” and accepting immediately.

Best. Decision. Ever.

Andy’s (A.D.) is not only an excellent teacher, but he’s got a knack for choosing people with different skills, so we’re all learning from each other, helping each other through our critique process. But beyond that, they’re all just damned good people. It comes across, immediately, in the warmth and encouragement, and in the feeling that they genuinely want to help–and be helped. There’s a camaraderie fostered throughout The Arcanum, and frankly, I’m impressed with how they’ve managed it across the board–and it really does seem like it’s an across-the-board sort of positive attitude. I think it has, in large part, to do with the leadership of Trey, Peter Giordano, and (I think) Curtis Simmons… but mostly, it’s our teacher’s tone and nurturing that has set such a comfortable learning atmosphere. I love that we all had to start with the basics, and improve from there. Some are going to go pretty quickly through those levels, because they already have mastered those levels, but I have to tell you, there hasn’t been a single person–even the super experienced ones–who didn’t have things they could improve on, even at the basic levels.

It reminds me of my brother, as he went through the levels of his karate. Mike was a 5th degree blackbelt, and in superhuman shape (a reason the doctors think he made it as long as he had–his cancer was so rare, and so difficult to beat, that they were stunned he was still alive even a few days after entering the hospital with what we all thought was a mere staph infection). Mike had a school (which I am very proud to see has continued on with his black belt students teaching in his place), and in that school, he believed in constant practice of fundamentals, and not rushing to get to the next level until you’d mastered the one you were at. It’s always nice to hang a plaque on the wall, or look at a ribbon touting a win, or a promotion, but the bottom line was: could you do the tasks of that level, every time, consistently well? It used to drive me absolutely batshit to try to practice karate with him. I didn’t want to do all of the sit-ups and push-ups and repeating the katas over and over and over and JUSTLETMEPUNCHSOMETHING. (grin) I couldn’t even understand why on earth he’d even want to do that every day, much less teach others every day to do the same basics, over and over and over.

Now? I get it. I just had to find the thing that I was passionate about. (I’m passionate about two things–the writing, and the photography, which are two different ways to tell a story.) I’m thrilled to do the basics, to learn in baby steps, to go out and shoot and repeat those baby steps over and over and improve. I can see the improvement. Let me show you:


Here’s the best shot of the old car that is rusting in the back yard of a couple we know. I had plenty of time that day to take as many photos as I wanted, and I had a pretty decent camera, but this is the best I could get.

Old car


After going through a few beginner levels of The Arcanum, (and some practice in the intervening two years), here’s the shot I was able to get this past Labor Day. I had very little time–we’d been invited for a party, which is going on just past the back of the car–I cloned out some guests and other distractions. Plus, I was losing the light, as we’d been invited over for 6 and with the garage that blocked the light, I was losing all the light by 6:30. I had just a few minutes to set up and grab the bracketed shots. But this time, I understood more about what angle to get, what I needed to have in order to process a decent photo. Here’s the result:

Barbara's old car


The irony is, the more I’m improving on the photography side, the easier the words are coming back to me on the writing side. I’ve got two projects up and writing–one in the draft stage, one that’s a collaboration with women I greatly admire. I’ve got the dark book finished and polished and there are editors circling, so we’ll see what happens to it. And I’ve found my creativity again–I have so many things I want to write, and so many photos I want to take, I’m grateful for every minute I am able to practice both.

Thanks to The Arcanum, I feel like I’m back in the saddle again, doing the things I was meant to do. I know my brother would be beaming right now, so happy for me, so proud.

He would still want me to tell you to be bold. He’d want me to tell you to grab the opportunities you have and run with them. Dream big. Live loud. And never quit learning. It’s never too late to start.

Lake Verret

I have long loved Lake Verret and the surrounding area (particularly Pierre Part). I was never an early morning person, unless my dad woke me up to go fishing, and then I’d bound out of bed and be dressed and ready to go in a nanosecond–something I’ve never mastered for anything else in my life, except photography. This morning, I was at my parent’s fishing camp, and got up before sunrise to take some photos. The best part about the morning was (a) beating my dad up and (b) him joining me out on the end of the pier with his cup of coffee and Sam, his dog.

 morning through the cypress trees

Composite photography and creating cover art…

About 3 months ago, my friend, CJ Lyons, asked me to create a piece of art for her cover for her new book (coming out soon), titled Farewell to Dreams. She then interviewed me about the process, and that interview is up live on USA Today’s blog.

The photo/image is completely composited–I shot the violinist here in the Quarter, and layered in everything you see. It was the first time I’d done this much composite work, and the goal was to evoke the sort of gritty surreal landscape of Fatal Insomnia that this character suffers–she’s dying (you learn this on page one), and she’s in denial about how bad it’s going to get. Meanwhile, her music (she’s a doctor) keeps her grounded and sane and able to survive. She works in a world rife with corruption and the desperate, the poor who are fighting to survive, and the criminals preying on them, and she’s trying to save lives before she loses her own. I was thoroughly moved by the story.

Here’s the artwork: