V I E W S NATIONAL WRITERS ASSOCIATION LOS ANGELES
Mark Edward makes magick at Mo’s
By LaVonne Taylor
Photos by Arturo Ruiz
ist performance as he matured. The jaw-dropping fun can be explained, he says, by closely observing the audience volunteers. He claims there is no magic involved, and no woo-woo factor, just plain old garden-variety paying close attention. Is he psychic? He lets the audience decide.
On May 15, 2010, mentalist Mark Edward kept the National Writers Association Los Angeles chapter glued to their chairs as he performed feats that defy explanation in our everyday world. A veteran of years of magic performance, Mark Edward turned to mental-
Barri Clarke volunteered for a demonstration. Above, we see her back-to-back with Mark Edward concentrating on the secret image she has drawn on a sheet of paper. As she focuses on the image Edward draws an image on
JUNE 2010
a corresponding piece of paper held against his chest. In the next photo, they reveal their images and voila! Their drawings are essentially the same! How does he do it?
Courtesy of ACD Systems Digital Imaging
He’s not telling, at least in the meeting. He does, however, love to share what he learned beginning at his magician grandfather’s knee, so he has written a bevy of books that explain a lot of what he does in his very unusual profession. (See book reviews of three of his volumes on page two.) As an active member of an organization called Skeptologists, he is also a dyed-in-the-wool debunker of con artists and charlatans who make their living off susceptible people. (See his fascinating blog at http://www.skepticblog.org/author/edward/.) About fifteen members of the group showed up at the meeting as guests to support Edward as he entertained us. Go to his beautiful Web site at http://www.themarkedward.com for a taste of what NWALA members experienced on Saturday, May 15, 2010. You can view all of his many books and even order them directly from the site.
PRESIDENT’S CORNER
A buzz for alarm While returning to my apartment complex from Ralphs grocery store and parking my car, the other day around 6:00 p.m., I noticed a repetitive buzzing noise emanating from the apartment above where I park. Once in the courtyard I tried to trace the sound, but had trouble, so I asked a girl swimming in the pool, “Are you cooking anything? I think I smell something burning.” She assured me that she was only swimming, not swimming and simultaneously cooking. I called the apartment manager, but he was not answering, so again I went down to the courtyard to explore. This time I was able to zero in. What I found was a locked first floor apartment filling up with smoke! Peering in the kitchen window, I detected a pot on the stove fuming away. No one answered, so I called the fire department. My neighbor Deborah came out and said, “I think there is someone sleeping on the couch!” and began pounding on the door shouting, “Miriam! Wake up!” Simultaneously, this girl, in a daze, woke up and opened the door. A huge wave of gray
smoke emerged out of her front door and she said preposterously, “Everything’s okay. There’s no problem.” Just then twelve firemen arrived and hoisted up machines to blow the vast amount of blinding, choking smoke out of her apartment. A bedraggled twenty-something Miriam sat on her patio in a heap, crying and all the thirtyand forty-something neighbors came out to gossip. Back in my apartment again, as I threw together dinner for my one guest and proceeded to eat. I thought I again heard another smoke alarm that had this annoying, persistent beep but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. I kept jumping up from the table, still chewing food, to check the three smoke alarms inside my apartment. Just when I sat down and put another bite in my mouth, the sound repeated. I kept saying to my guest, “Did you hear that?” thinking I was going mad. I had been such a hero the first time around, and now felt foolish. I went out to listen at my neighbor’s doors, came back, ate a little more and then even went
down to the parking lot below but the beeping persisted no matter where I went. Finally I hit pay dirt. The cell phone in my pocket was making this tiny, almost imperceptible darn noise. Perhaps the battery was going dead. I’m relieved I didn’t have to call the fire department the second time. It would have been rather embarrassing if twelve more fireman had shown up and had pointed their fire hoses at my pocket. My cell phone would have been ruined by all that water and I might not have even had a spare few seconds to say in protest: “Everything’s okay. There’s no problem!” — By Tom Howard
BOOK REVIEWS
The magick of Mark Edward Graphick by Mark Edward Please don’t ask me what possessed me to pick up Graphick: Handwriting Analysis for Fun and Profit by Mark Edward, but I am glad I did. This book is geared as an instruction manual to the science of graphology and is sincere and carefully written, despite the tongue-in-cheek spelling of the main title. Mark Edward lays out point by point how a “professional intuitive counselor” can carefully analyze a client’s signature, piece by piece and provides insight into how he works personally to establish trust and impart some useful insights into his or her character.
— By Tom Howard Tenebrae by Mark Edward This most unusual title for a compendium of articles refers to the last three days of Holy Week in the Catholic church, during which candles were successively extinguished. The cover diagram is also very striking: a large, long-haired figure with rays of light coming out of his head grips a stunned boy dressed in a loincloth, who is perhaps a shepherd amidst his sheep. If you by chance have been searching for a manual on how to conduct a seance, display card trick mentalism, or use special fortune cookies to amaze your friends, this is the book for you. The best feature of Tenebrae by far is the clever and humorous last chapter called “Lady’s Night,” which is an excerpt from Edward’s book, Psychic Blues. This true story of a well paid, underfed and mistreated entertainer who spends a harrowing evening at an all female Christmas party doing Tarot readings, will have you laughing up a storm. At the same time this story gives the reader more insight into the world of the working psychic who goes out of his way to give a positive reading. — By Tom Howard Handsprings by Mark Edward Mr. Edward is unfailingly charming as he tells us how to read palms. The technique is not just to read palms, but also to read people, which most of us do on an unconscious basis much of the time anyway. It’s just that he takes people-reading to the next level. Doing a little reconnoitering at a gettogether before setting up your palm-reading corner doesn’t hurt either. His laugh-out-loud anecdotes of some of the readings he has given are alone worth the price of the book. He digresses a bit to tell us the story of his undercover work to expose a con artist who had a palmistry store front, but who really had no interest, training, or skill. The experience, though disappointing for him, was typical, claims Edward. Once you learn what all the folds, lines, and cross hatches on a palm mean, according to Edward there is really no woo-woo factor involved in palmistry. It is mostly down-toearth lay psychology and caring about people that makes a good practitioner. — By LaVonne Taylor
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MEMBERS’ SHOWCASE The aerobics class
By Charlotte Hoyt
The Ladies Aerobics class meets every Tuesday and Thursday morning for a grueling hour and a half workout. It could very well be called “the geriatric aerobics class” for we’re not spring chickens! Our instructor, Molly is a doll – petite and charming and seventy-seven years young with the body of a teenager. At 9:30 sharp we start our warm-ups. We begin a series of stretches – stretching body parts that haven’t been manipulated for a few days. We are in a large studio in loosely formed lines facing a mirrored wall running the length of the studio. Molly stands, back to the mirror, facing us. We follow her, repeating each exercise till she thinks we are “warm.” I don’t think some of the movements are very nice – in fact, if we performed them in public, some old biddy would be sure to call the police.
pounds each, so I toss them on a table while trying not to lose step. My shoulders creak and my biceps burn as the wicked witch shouts “ten more!” Now, for the really keen part! I spread my mat (sapphire blue to match the new sweat pants) on the floor and hit the deck! We are starting the cruelest punishment known to humankind: the leg lifts. What Demon Molly doesn’t realize is that my legs are about a
I’m trying to remember the words to the Navy fight song – “Anchors Aweigh”? And the Army and Marines also come to mind. I’m mentally shouting, “Go, Navy, sink the Army,” ever loyal to my Navy husband! We have walked about one and a half miles and the weights in my hands now weigh five
By Don Peyer
In spite of hard times and the tribulations of living through the Great Depression, I can look back and say that as a child I did not suffer from a lack of good food. Mother, who came from a large farm family, knew how to cook, and she knew how to plant a garden. Dad, also from a large farm family, was skilled at gardening and providing. Even though my first remembrances were living in town, I don’t recall any time that they did not have a big garden with tomatoes, cabbages, beans, potatoes, cucumbers, and more.
I, being tall, am standing in the back row watching the derrieres of the other victims when, suddenly, I am reminded of a fruit bowl. I read somewhere that most women’s bottoms are apple-shaped. Actually I can see five apples, two pears, and an orange! Stifling giggles, I walk fast to the water cooler and squelch my smirks. We have warmed up for thirty minutes and now, our army sergeant turns on her boombox. Today is “Sousa” day – the marches are loud and fast. We begin walking, more or less in time to the music, from one end of the vast room to the other. We are chasing Molly while she counts out the repeated arm exercises – ten, nine, eight, seven, and so forth. I have a one-pound weight in each hand since we all know “resistance is good.” We are walking furiously and flailing our arms about, “up down-out down-ten, nine eight, etc., etc.
The Great Depression couldn’t stop the great cooks
Microsoft Clip-Art
yard longer than hers (this actually allows me to do only one lift while she does two). It doesn’t matter. Just as the real pain grabs my thighs and I feel my abs start to quiver, I hear our executioner shout out the dreaded words, “ten more!” One of the apples in the front row begs for mercy! Finally, we start the cool down. We are sitting with legs crossed, yoga fashion, and the music takes us to “Swan Lake.” I am a swan, at peace with the world, swaying gently from side to side and thinking lovely thoughts. Some of the ladies are meditating. Not me – I’m saying a prayer of thanksgiving – it’s over! We all thank our little angel, Molly, for another inspirational morning. I struggle to my feet, roll up my sapphire blue mat and make a mad dash to the coffee place for a tall iced latte and a gigantic blueberry muffin.
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As soon as I was able, when I was about eight years old, I was given the job of going to the meat market daily to get meat for the evening meal. I was told what to ask for at the butcher’s – usually twenty-five cents worth of pork chops or round steak or soup meat, etc. Mother would never order hamburger because she didn’t trust what went into it. She made her own hamburger by grinding round steak. She cooked thick little patties that were delicious enough to eat on the plate without ketchup or any other condiments. There were no prepackaged meats then. The butcher, Joe Schatz, would cut it for me and wrap it in butcher paper. He was a grumpy, overweight man who had trouble with his feet. He wore high work shoes with the top of the toes cut out to relieve the pressure on his corns and bunions, probably from being on his feet all day. He had his own slaughterhouse out in the country. If he gave me what Mother saw as a bad piece of meat, I had to go right back and tell him what she said and he had to give me a better piece. The daily trip was made necessary because we didn’t have either an icebox or a refrigerator. It was a long walk, but I didn’t mind because we continued on page four
continued from page three
would have meat for supper that evening. Mother always made her own sauerkraut from the cabbage that we grew. I helped her by shredding the head on a large board with blades in it. She packed it in a big crock down in the cellar, adding salt and then a round wooden cover that fit inside the crock. Then she topped that off with a heavy rock to add pressure to the ingredients. Over time, the cabbage became sauerkraut and only tasting it told us when it was ready. Sauerkraut was usually Sunday noon dinner fare with a roast – chicken, pork, or beef. Either mashed potatoes or potato dumplings with gravy, sometimes stuffing with the chicken, accompanied this. Nobody ever touched her skill at stuffing except my wife, Jokki, who learned from her. We also had vegetables and maybe something pickled like cucumbers or beets. Occasionally we had cranberries or pickled crab apples. Fruit pies were Dad’s favorite dessert, and mine too. We usually had a crab apple tree or had access to crab apples. They were delicious when Mother pickled them in quart jars or made them into a sauce, which was a great dessert. Potato dumplings were something my mother learned from her mother, a recipe my great-grandmother brought from Bohemia. Some people won’t eat these dumplings, claiming they are too heavy for their diet. One of the relatives surprised us by making the dumplings but made one crucial mistake. According to the recipe, the round dumplings must be formed by hand from the potatoes and flour so they barely hold together before dropping them into the salted boiling water. This lady used a blender to mix the potatoes and flour. The result was some very dense and gummy dumplings. Nevertheless, I gave her credit for attempting to please us. Another caution I observed was cutting them in small pieces on the plate and drenching them with gravy. They are not diet food, but neither are candy and ice cream. During weekdays when Dad worked, the evening supper was the big meal of the day, because Dad carried his lunch to work. When we could afford it, we always had meat, whether it was from the meat Microsoft Clip-Art market or a pheasant shot in the wild or a mess of fish from one of the many lakes surrounding us. During my high school years, when we lived in the Dietz farm, Dad built a chicken coop on a fenced acre and raised chickens. Other foods I enjoyed were Mother’s slightly browned potato patties, her freshly baked bread, cinnamon rolls, and kolacky, pronounce “kolachky.” Kolackies were a Bohemian roll with prune, apricot, or poppy seed filling. With cooks like my mother, Clara, and wife, Jokki, I have never suffered from a lack of tasty food. It is a wonder that I don’t weigh in at a ton.
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Vitruvian Man, Leonardo Da Vinci. Courtesy of Dover Publishing
THE BANQUET (Con-Verse)
Hate yelled, “Wait, I’m on the way!” Love came by to save the day.
Fear loomed up right on the platter. Joy was there with jewels of laughter.
Pride arrived; she ‘came before the fall.’ Humility soon answered the call.
Anger with his fire came to the feast. Peace danced in pearls to soothe the angry beast.
All of their relatives arrived in a van. After convening, they said, “Let’s make a man.”
— By Mary L. Ports This formula consists of five two-line rhyming stanzas (couplets), which ascend by one syllable count until arriving at a syllabic count of eleven, which is contained in ten lines. This process may be repeated again, if desired, for a longer verse using the same rhyme scheme and meter. Rhyme scheme: aa,bb,cc,dd,ee Meter: 7,7,8,8,9,9,10,10,11,11
VIEWS NEWS Member Kellee Henderson publishes in Patchwork
Photo by Jo Ann Colton
Dear Editor: I’m so excited! The story I wrote about my marriage last summer, “Wedding Wonders,” has now been published and is contained in the anthology book, Wedding Bouquet, by Patchwork Path books. This book contains stories about . . . you guessed it! Weddings!
If you are interested in purchasing this book for yourself or as a gift, please let me know. Although copies may be ordered online on the Patchwork Web site or from the bookstore for $15.95 plus shipping, I have copies available for $12.00 each (plus shipping if you are out of state), editwriteink@q.com or 4875 Silver Spruce Lane, Evergreen, CO 80439. Thanks and tell a friend! Kellee EXCERPT I still couldn’t believe I was getting married … again. During the months and weeks leading up to my wedding I reflected on so many things that had occurred in my life and wondered what had happened to produce the current outcome. After ten years and two children, my first marriage ended. My then husband just couldn’t handle the stresses of taking care of a special needs child and so leaving was his way of dealing with it. I didn’t feel like I would ever remarry. What man in his right mind would want to take on a divorced woman close to forty with two children, one of whom had autism and the behavioral problems to go along with it?
Poetry South is now accepting manuscripts Poetry South (ISSN: 1947-4075) is a perfect-bound national journal of poetry published annually by the Yazoo River Press. SUBMISSION GUIDELINES Submissions are welcome. Poetry South has an open submission policy. They encourage double-sided manuscripts that must be typed and single-spaced with the name, address, and contact information (e-mail). Please use #10 envelopes that are selfaddressed and stamped with sufficient postage to guarantee a return of your manuscript. Otherwise, they will notify the poet of either the acceptance or rejection by e-mail. No previously published material or simultaneous submissions will be considered. Submissions can also be e-mailed to poetrysouth01@ gmail.com. The cutoff date for the receipt of submissions is September 15, 2010, for the 2010 issue, but material may be sent at any time and upon acceptance will be published in the next available issue. Contributors receive one copy.
Have a great summer vacation! We will meet again on September 18, 2010, at Mo’s. Happy Father’s Day to all the Dads out there. Keep the news, stories, and poems coming: lavonne.taylor@sbcglobal .net or send to me at 3040 Aspen Lane, Palmdale, CA 93550-7985 VIEWS is a monthly newsletter published and distributed to the members of the Los Angeles chapter of the National Writers Association and their guests. Meetings take place at 2:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m. on the third Saturday of every other month, except for July and August, at Mo’s Restaurant, 4301 Riverside Drive, Burbank. OFFICERS President – Tom Howard Vice President – Joe Panicello Secretary – Arturo Ruiz Treasurer – LaVonne Taylor CHAIRMANSHIPS Fundraising – LaVonne Taylor Historian/Photographer – Madelyn Beck Hospitality – Mary L. Ports Membership – Jack Clubb Views Editor – LaVonne Taylor
Please send maximum of five poems to: The Editor, Poetry South 14000 Hwy 82 W., #5032, Itta Bena , MS 38941-1400 USA
For more information, call: 323-876-3931 Or click on www.nwala.org
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