The official blog of Denise M. Baran-Unland, author. Discover her books for all ages at bryonyseries.com.
Showing posts with label Tommy Connolly. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tommy Connolly. Show all posts
Thursday, April 19, 2018
Thursday, March 2, 2017
BryonySeries Throwback Thursday: Tommy Connolly, Addiction, and Vampires
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Tommy Connolly, Addiction, and Vampires
Author's note: Thank you, Tommy Connolly, for approving the following blog post, anf for giving others a glimpse at the reality of those drowning in addicition.
If you’d like to understand a vampire’s insatiable thirst for blood and the lengths he goes to get it, read Tommy Connolly’s blog at www.tommyconnolly@blogspot.com.
No, Connolly is not a vampire. He’s a Chicago-area stand-up comedian turned actor with two, non-speaking, on camera roles in the upcoming Fox police drama, “The Chicago Code,” and the upcoming movie, “Contagion.” Connolly has also done a commercial for Firestone.
However, Connolly’s career is not the main topic of his blog. There, Connolly speaks bluntly and freely about his decades-long life as a functional alcoholic, the exultation in recovery, and his new-found freedom in Jesus Christ.
After re-reading a Herald News story I had written about him, I realized the patterns, excuses and compulsions Connolly fought perfectly described the attitudes and behaviors of some of the vampires featured in Bryony, as well as their co-dependent significant others.
John Simons, a nineteenth century pianist and composer, loathes his vampire state and proposes a trade to Bryony’s main character, Melissa Marchellis, a 1970s fourteen year old girl who has become obsessed with John’s young bride, Bryony, after she writes a report on her.
Wishing to test an ancient remedy for vampirism, John proposes a trade: regular, minute amounts of Melissa’s blood, immunotherapy-style, for a hoped-for return to human life in exchange for a trip back to the Victorian era to live as Bryony. For Melissa, despite her mistrust of John and his vampire state, the terms are irresistible. She accepts.
As she moves through a surreal, other-worldly existence, Melissa meets other vampires who don’t necessarily share John’s abhorrence for bloodsucking. This further encourages her to defend his actions and support his desire to rejoin humanity. One vampire, once he gets his fill of blood for the night, simply returns to his normal activities. Another sees being a vampire as an advantage and uses his vampirism to manipulate those around him.
Both Connolly and John Simons wanted out of their crummy existence. The difference is that Connolly eventually did it the right way. John, too, wants deliverance, but unfortunately, only on his terms.
If you’d like to understand a vampire’s insatiable thirst for blood and the lengths he goes to get it, read Tommy Connolly’s blog at www.tommyconnolly@blogspot.com.
No, Connolly is not a vampire. He’s a Chicago-area stand-up comedian turned actor with two, non-speaking, on camera roles in the upcoming Fox police drama, “The Chicago Code,” and the upcoming movie, “Contagion.” Connolly has also done a commercial for Firestone.
However, Connolly’s career is not the main topic of his blog. There, Connolly speaks bluntly and freely about his decades-long life as a functional alcoholic, the exultation in recovery, and his new-found freedom in Jesus Christ.
After re-reading a Herald News story I had written about him, I realized the patterns, excuses and compulsions Connolly fought perfectly described the attitudes and behaviors of some of the vampires featured in Bryony, as well as their co-dependent significant others.
John Simons, a nineteenth century pianist and composer, loathes his vampire state and proposes a trade to Bryony’s main character, Melissa Marchellis, a 1970s fourteen year old girl who has become obsessed with John’s young bride, Bryony, after she writes a report on her.
Wishing to test an ancient remedy for vampirism, John proposes a trade: regular, minute amounts of Melissa’s blood, immunotherapy-style, for a hoped-for return to human life in exchange for a trip back to the Victorian era to live as Bryony. For Melissa, despite her mistrust of John and his vampire state, the terms are irresistible. She accepts.
As she moves through a surreal, other-worldly existence, Melissa meets other vampires who don’t necessarily share John’s abhorrence for bloodsucking. This further encourages her to defend his actions and support his desire to rejoin humanity. One vampire, once he gets his fill of blood for the night, simply returns to his normal activities. Another sees being a vampire as an advantage and uses his vampirism to manipulate those around him.
Both Connolly and John Simons wanted out of their crummy existence. The difference is that Connolly eventually did it the right way. John, too, wants deliverance, but unfortunately, only on his terms.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
BryonySeries Throwback Thursday: A Rather Longish Post on Phobias and Cat Bites
Monday, November 28, 2011
NaNoWriMo Whatever Day It Is and Giving Thanks
Okay, since I've delayed the official Herald News story, here's the incident that (sort of) kicked me out of the National Novel Writing Month.
I love antiques, and my house is full of them. One particularly heavy dresser, with heavy drawers that stick, belonged to my maternal grandmother. On November 9th at 8:15 p.m. exactly (I know because I had just looked at my computer clock and realized I was fifteen minutes later feeding the cats), I decided to grab some cozy flannels and set up for a shower while the kitties were eating.
As I was shoving the resisting drawer back into place, my calico, Faith, decided at that moment to leap across the room and grab onto the draw to peer inside. I slammed her paw flush into the drawer, leaving her dangling. I never heard an animal scream as she did. I quickly pulled on the drawer, and as I did, Faith, in pain and fright, sank her teeth into my thumb.
Owwww! PAIN!
The drawer popped; Faith dashed away; and I knew I was in trouble. I flew down the stairs and into the bathroom and started washing out the wound in hot, soapy water, forcing the pinholes to bleed. Faith stood at the top of the ladder crying, crying, crying. My thumb was already reddening and swelling, but it seemed impossible infection could be developing so soon. The redness, I told myself, was because I have chronic hives; the warmth I felt was due to the fact I was running my hand under hot water; the swelling and tenderness was trauma to the thumb bone.
I comforted Faith and then showered and climbed into bed, but the status of my thumb bothered me. I remembered the past cellulitis incidents of my children and how rapidly a soft tissue infection could spread. I recalled a neighbor who, after noting a slightly red hair follicule, took a short nap and awakened to a swollen face; he died en route to the hospital. I switched on the light and examined my hand. The thumb was definitely red and swollen. I turned the computer back on and typed in "cat bites."
I learned one could adopt a "wait and see" approach with some dog bites, depending on their severity, but cat bites must always be considered a medical emergency. The combination of their long, sharp fangs and the particular type of bacteria they carry in their mouths meant a bite from them literally injected that bacteria directly into soft tissue. I was already sleepy from the drowsy antihistamines I take at bedtime, so I needed a ride.
Ron had to be at the warehouse in three hours, so waking him up was the worst option. Timothy was already in bed and had to be at work at seven o'clock in the morning. Christopher had been dragging all day and was nearly asleep, but he works from home and had nothing pressing to do the next morning. Sooo, after enduring all of his "you're paranoid" and "this can wait until tomorrow" comments, we were off to the ER.
Confession time. I don't know if it's because I have allergies, chronic hives, and asthma (and have experienced the unpleasant consequences of those afflictions), but I have a medical phobia. I am not afraid of hospitals or needles, but of the substances I have to swallow--or have injected into me--in the name of healing. I fear nasty side effects and allergic reactions. I FEAR them. However, I feared worse what might happen to me should I not treat this a cat bite, so here I was in this unhappy predicament.
The ER trip was straightforward, as I feared it would be. One tetnus shot (My last one was in the summer of 1986) and my choice of two antibiotics. Because I'm allergic to penicllin (big surprise), the protocol is one antibiotic from each of two lists. The nurse rattled off two medicines I'd never had--doxycycline and clindamycin--which meant, if I became allergic to either one, I wouldn't know which one.
Sigh. Decisions.
Let's back up. Just two weeks ago, my daughter and web administrator Sarah Stegall had four wisdom teeth removed. Preoperatively and during the post-op period, she took low doses of prescribed clindamycin. On day nine of her treatment, she emailed me a photo of a pimply-looking rash over her shoulders and chest and asked me if it was subcutaneous emphysema. I called her.
"Subcutaneous emphysema? Do you know what that is?"
"No," she said, "but a friend had it after having wisdom teeth pulled."
"That's not Subcutaneous emphysema, but I am concerned about the rash."
Sarah was not. "It doesn't itch."
"Doesn't matter. Have you ever had a rash like this?"
"No. I woke up with it today."
"I'll call you back."
I researched clindamycin reactions and found it can, indeed, produce a distinct pustular rash. I emailed Sarah and told her to show her pharmacist. She agreed to do it later. I awakened the next morning to frantic texts from Sarah. She was in the ER, rash spreading, throat tightening, in pain with two dry sockets and waging war with the doc on call, who claimed it was impossible to have an allergic reaction to a major antibiotic. Abridged ending 9minus the unprintable comments I had about the doc): antibiotic stopped, new pain meds initiated, and an ER trip to the dentist for socket packing. Fast forward to cat bite.
"Can I take Bactrim?" I'd had drug for the first time last year for a leg abcess (another long story), and I had tolerated it "okay."
That eliminated the doxycycline, but the nurse insisted I still needed the clindamycin. I told her about Sarah's reaction and my phobia.
"Have you ever tried Flagyl? We could use that one instead."
I didn't like that option either because that was another unproven drug for me. SIGH! Yes, I know there's only one way to prove it.
"Well," I said slowly. Rebekah did well with clindamycin. I'll try it."
The nurse brought in the clindamcyin first and suggested I wait half an hour before taking the Bactrim. That way, if I had a negative reaction to the clindamycin, I'd have it in the ER.
Well, I did fine with the Clindamycin, and then the Bactrim, so I was sent home with the next morning's dose and told to expect the hand, which was now as swollen as the thumb, to get worse before it got better. I was also instructed to elevate the hand as much as possible, although typing was not prohibited. Just what a features writer on deadline wants to hear.
By next afternoon, I was running a low grade fever, and the infection was traveling up my arm. The plan was to now temporarily stop the Bactrim and initiate ER IV anitbioitic treatments with a powerful cephalosporin used to treat bacterial meningitis. In theory, so I wouldn't have to be stuck each night for the next five nights was to leave the port in my arm. However, I ended up blowing every vein, so the result was a painful arm by day and a new stick each night.
On Monday night, after the last treatment, and as I was stepping out of the shower, I noticed a familiar-looking rash over my chest and shoulders. It was Day Five of the clindamycin. I called the ER (It was 10:30 at night), rattled off my dilemna, and mentioned my next dose was due in an hour. I was to resume the Bactrim in the morning.The nurse consulted with a doc and told me to stop the antibiotic and see my primary tomorrow.
I did, hoping I had enough germ-busting drugs in my system to skip choice number two from list number two, but I wasn't that lucky. She wrote a one-week prescription for Flagyl. From the very does, swallowed at home in a flurry of anxiety, and, within ten minutes, I felt a tightening of my body from head to toe.
\
Now, let me explain that I experienced a similar reaction to an abundance of epinephrine when I had the pheochromocytoma (an adrenal gland tumor; again, another long story), so I dismissed (sort of) the reaction to my anxiety. I also had the same reaction to H2 agonists last year when a doc prescribed them as a secondary drug for the hives, but that drug also produced a rapid heartbeat, which did not happen with the Flagyl.
Do you see why I have a drug phobia?
Sooooo, since tachycardia was absent, I chalked up the reaction to nerves. The next morning, I hardly felt the squeezing, but the following night, it was back. The following morning's dose was fine and so on, until Friday night when, five minutes after I swallowed my Flagyl, I experienced a pressure so strong, I had difficulty swallowing and typing; my muscles painfully ached. That's when I realized my morning reaction might be milder because I was full of all the antihistamines from the previous night.
Shaking all over, I called my doctor, and she told me to stop the medicine and complete the Bactrim. As a precaution, she suggested I add Benadryl to my anithistamine cocktail, but since I take so many and with "off label" dosees, I decided to monitor my symptoms and go to the ER, if necessary. I was fine.
I did, noticing the Bactrim also caused the same symptoms, just milder, so it's definitely a drug I will use with caution in the future.
So what does this all have with National Writing Month? Well, these allergic reactions and infection treatments took a huge bite (so to speak) out of my already tight schedule, as I frantically rushed to complete the assignments already on deadline.
I did, however, establish a habit of working on the prequel for one hour a day. Basically, I go through every chapter, flesh out the outline in place (not quite to the first draft stage yet), and make lists of the topics needing further research. I have worked my way through nearly a third of the prequel so far and that is one-third farther along than I was October 31.
I also, for the first time, had no assignments bleeding into the four-day Thanksgiving weekend. This meant I made a nice dent into the beginning editing of Visage, of which I am highly pleased.
Finally, I found some wonderful support and understanding in the person of Tommy Connolly, Bryony's media researcher and developer, who recently appeared on Animal Planet's Extreme Animal Phobia series to treat his bat phobia.
Every day, he sent a nice Facebook, "How's the paw," message and encouraged me in my courageous facing of the medicines. While I'm not quite at the stage of saying, "Wow, I'm so glad this happened. Look at all the good that came from it," I'm certainly thankful and appreciative of those things, just the same.
And Faith? Well, she was a little shy the following morning, but we cuddled and made up. Seriously, if she would have slammed my hand in the drawer, I probably would've bitten her, too.
Harder.
I love antiques, and my house is full of them. One particularly heavy dresser, with heavy drawers that stick, belonged to my maternal grandmother. On November 9th at 8:15 p.m. exactly (I know because I had just looked at my computer clock and realized I was fifteen minutes later feeding the cats), I decided to grab some cozy flannels and set up for a shower while the kitties were eating.
As I was shoving the resisting drawer back into place, my calico, Faith, decided at that moment to leap across the room and grab onto the draw to peer inside. I slammed her paw flush into the drawer, leaving her dangling. I never heard an animal scream as she did. I quickly pulled on the drawer, and as I did, Faith, in pain and fright, sank her teeth into my thumb.
Owwww! PAIN!
The drawer popped; Faith dashed away; and I knew I was in trouble. I flew down the stairs and into the bathroom and started washing out the wound in hot, soapy water, forcing the pinholes to bleed. Faith stood at the top of the ladder crying, crying, crying. My thumb was already reddening and swelling, but it seemed impossible infection could be developing so soon. The redness, I told myself, was because I have chronic hives; the warmth I felt was due to the fact I was running my hand under hot water; the swelling and tenderness was trauma to the thumb bone.
I comforted Faith and then showered and climbed into bed, but the status of my thumb bothered me. I remembered the past cellulitis incidents of my children and how rapidly a soft tissue infection could spread. I recalled a neighbor who, after noting a slightly red hair follicule, took a short nap and awakened to a swollen face; he died en route to the hospital. I switched on the light and examined my hand. The thumb was definitely red and swollen. I turned the computer back on and typed in "cat bites."
I learned one could adopt a "wait and see" approach with some dog bites, depending on their severity, but cat bites must always be considered a medical emergency. The combination of their long, sharp fangs and the particular type of bacteria they carry in their mouths meant a bite from them literally injected that bacteria directly into soft tissue. I was already sleepy from the drowsy antihistamines I take at bedtime, so I needed a ride.
Ron had to be at the warehouse in three hours, so waking him up was the worst option. Timothy was already in bed and had to be at work at seven o'clock in the morning. Christopher had been dragging all day and was nearly asleep, but he works from home and had nothing pressing to do the next morning. Sooo, after enduring all of his "you're paranoid" and "this can wait until tomorrow" comments, we were off to the ER.
Confession time. I don't know if it's because I have allergies, chronic hives, and asthma (and have experienced the unpleasant consequences of those afflictions), but I have a medical phobia. I am not afraid of hospitals or needles, but of the substances I have to swallow--or have injected into me--in the name of healing. I fear nasty side effects and allergic reactions. I FEAR them. However, I feared worse what might happen to me should I not treat this a cat bite, so here I was in this unhappy predicament.
The ER trip was straightforward, as I feared it would be. One tetnus shot (My last one was in the summer of 1986) and my choice of two antibiotics. Because I'm allergic to penicllin (big surprise), the protocol is one antibiotic from each of two lists. The nurse rattled off two medicines I'd never had--doxycycline and clindamycin--which meant, if I became allergic to either one, I wouldn't know which one.
Sigh. Decisions.
Let's back up. Just two weeks ago, my daughter and web administrator Sarah Stegall had four wisdom teeth removed. Preoperatively and during the post-op period, she took low doses of prescribed clindamycin. On day nine of her treatment, she emailed me a photo of a pimply-looking rash over her shoulders and chest and asked me if it was subcutaneous emphysema. I called her.
"Subcutaneous emphysema? Do you know what that is?"
"No," she said, "but a friend had it after having wisdom teeth pulled."
"That's not Subcutaneous emphysema, but I am concerned about the rash."
Sarah was not. "It doesn't itch."
"Doesn't matter. Have you ever had a rash like this?"
"No. I woke up with it today."
"I'll call you back."
I researched clindamycin reactions and found it can, indeed, produce a distinct pustular rash. I emailed Sarah and told her to show her pharmacist. She agreed to do it later. I awakened the next morning to frantic texts from Sarah. She was in the ER, rash spreading, throat tightening, in pain with two dry sockets and waging war with the doc on call, who claimed it was impossible to have an allergic reaction to a major antibiotic. Abridged ending 9minus the unprintable comments I had about the doc): antibiotic stopped, new pain meds initiated, and an ER trip to the dentist for socket packing. Fast forward to cat bite.
"Can I take Bactrim?" I'd had drug for the first time last year for a leg abcess (another long story), and I had tolerated it "okay."
That eliminated the doxycycline, but the nurse insisted I still needed the clindamycin. I told her about Sarah's reaction and my phobia.
"Have you ever tried Flagyl? We could use that one instead."
I didn't like that option either because that was another unproven drug for me. SIGH! Yes, I know there's only one way to prove it.
"Well," I said slowly. Rebekah did well with clindamycin. I'll try it."
The nurse brought in the clindamcyin first and suggested I wait half an hour before taking the Bactrim. That way, if I had a negative reaction to the clindamycin, I'd have it in the ER.
Well, I did fine with the Clindamycin, and then the Bactrim, so I was sent home with the next morning's dose and told to expect the hand, which was now as swollen as the thumb, to get worse before it got better. I was also instructed to elevate the hand as much as possible, although typing was not prohibited. Just what a features writer on deadline wants to hear.
By next afternoon, I was running a low grade fever, and the infection was traveling up my arm. The plan was to now temporarily stop the Bactrim and initiate ER IV anitbioitic treatments with a powerful cephalosporin used to treat bacterial meningitis. In theory, so I wouldn't have to be stuck each night for the next five nights was to leave the port in my arm. However, I ended up blowing every vein, so the result was a painful arm by day and a new stick each night.
On Monday night, after the last treatment, and as I was stepping out of the shower, I noticed a familiar-looking rash over my chest and shoulders. It was Day Five of the clindamycin. I called the ER (It was 10:30 at night), rattled off my dilemna, and mentioned my next dose was due in an hour. I was to resume the Bactrim in the morning.The nurse consulted with a doc and told me to stop the antibiotic and see my primary tomorrow.
I did, hoping I had enough germ-busting drugs in my system to skip choice number two from list number two, but I wasn't that lucky. She wrote a one-week prescription for Flagyl. From the very does, swallowed at home in a flurry of anxiety, and, within ten minutes, I felt a tightening of my body from head to toe.
\
Now, let me explain that I experienced a similar reaction to an abundance of epinephrine when I had the pheochromocytoma (an adrenal gland tumor; again, another long story), so I dismissed (sort of) the reaction to my anxiety. I also had the same reaction to H2 agonists last year when a doc prescribed them as a secondary drug for the hives, but that drug also produced a rapid heartbeat, which did not happen with the Flagyl.
Do you see why I have a drug phobia?
Sooooo, since tachycardia was absent, I chalked up the reaction to nerves. The next morning, I hardly felt the squeezing, but the following night, it was back. The following morning's dose was fine and so on, until Friday night when, five minutes after I swallowed my Flagyl, I experienced a pressure so strong, I had difficulty swallowing and typing; my muscles painfully ached. That's when I realized my morning reaction might be milder because I was full of all the antihistamines from the previous night.
Shaking all over, I called my doctor, and she told me to stop the medicine and complete the Bactrim. As a precaution, she suggested I add Benadryl to my anithistamine cocktail, but since I take so many and with "off label" dosees, I decided to monitor my symptoms and go to the ER, if necessary. I was fine.
I did, noticing the Bactrim also caused the same symptoms, just milder, so it's definitely a drug I will use with caution in the future.
So what does this all have with National Writing Month? Well, these allergic reactions and infection treatments took a huge bite (so to speak) out of my already tight schedule, as I frantically rushed to complete the assignments already on deadline.
I did, however, establish a habit of working on the prequel for one hour a day. Basically, I go through every chapter, flesh out the outline in place (not quite to the first draft stage yet), and make lists of the topics needing further research. I have worked my way through nearly a third of the prequel so far and that is one-third farther along than I was October 31.
I also, for the first time, had no assignments bleeding into the four-day Thanksgiving weekend. This meant I made a nice dent into the beginning editing of Visage, of which I am highly pleased.
Finally, I found some wonderful support and understanding in the person of Tommy Connolly, Bryony's media researcher and developer, who recently appeared on Animal Planet's Extreme Animal Phobia series to treat his bat phobia.
Every day, he sent a nice Facebook, "How's the paw," message and encouraged me in my courageous facing of the medicines. While I'm not quite at the stage of saying, "Wow, I'm so glad this happened. Look at all the good that came from it," I'm certainly thankful and appreciative of those things, just the same.
And Faith? Well, she was a little shy the following morning, but we cuddled and made up. Seriously, if she would have slammed my hand in the drawer, I probably would've bitten her, too.
Harder.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
NaNoWriMo Day #8 and How Soon Before "Bryony" is Available?
Bryony Prequel, Section One, Chapter 3: Check!
Word Count: 842
Very soon, I hope!
Now that the "red tape," has HOPEFULLY been resolved (and which details, I also hope, can be shared in another blog), I'm meeting with Bryony's book designer on Friday, and we're picking through my notes in the proof copy.
Again, hopefully, we shall finish that last bit of editing (a result of over-editing at this point, but that, too, is a long story), re-upload the manuscript to the printer, find that the red tape has been finally cleared, and order (another hopefully) what should be the last proof copy.
We're targeting a Thanksgiving Day release date. Please send up prayers, well-wishes, nice thoughts, etc., that we're a go this time.
In the meantime, there's been plenty to keep me busy: the usual and customary family drama (and a few additional mountains, too), the prequel to outline, the completion of the press kit (another photo shoot tomorrow), homeschooling, and the welcoming of my third grandson.
I've set aside the editing of Visage (for now) in favor of the prequel and helping to edit Tommy Connolly's (Bryony's media researcher and developer) upcoming book: Soul Parole: Making Peace with my Mind, God, and Myself.
In the book, which is based on his blog (www.tommyconnolly
I also have, in various stages of beginnings or completions, two press releases about two outstanding volunteers, a press release about a new hip procedure, a story about a family's fight against polycystic kidney disease, how a youth ministry internship changes a journalism student's life, and an American Idol-type competition.
Coming up this week is a local resident's first CD, a woman who designs fashion-conscious clothing for medical patients, An Extraordinary Life piece on a man who fabricated his original jewelry, and an empath. Also, thankfully, next week's schedule is also full. Plus, I'm on the look-out for a pet story for next Tuesday.
Wish me luck!
Word Count: 842
Very soon, I hope!
Now that the "red tape," has HOPEFULLY been resolved (and which details, I also hope, can be shared in another blog), I'm meeting with Bryony's book designer on Friday, and we're picking through my notes in the proof copy.
Again, hopefully, we shall finish that last bit of editing (a result of over-editing at this point, but that, too, is a long story), re-upload the manuscript to the printer, find that the red tape has been finally cleared, and order (another hopefully) what should be the last proof copy.
We're targeting a Thanksgiving Day release date. Please send up prayers, well-wishes, nice thoughts, etc., that we're a go this time.
In the meantime, there's been plenty to keep me busy: the usual and customary family drama (and a few additional mountains, too), the prequel to outline, the completion of the press kit (another photo shoot tomorrow), homeschooling, and the welcoming of my third grandson.
I've set aside the editing of Visage (for now) in favor of the prequel and helping to edit Tommy Connolly's (Bryony's media researcher and developer) upcoming book: Soul Parole: Making Peace with my Mind, God, and Myself.
In the book, which is based on his blog (www.tommyconnolly
I also have, in various stages of beginnings or completions, two press releases about two outstanding volunteers, a press release about a new hip procedure, a story about a family's fight against polycystic kidney disease, how a youth ministry internship changes a journalism student's life, and an American Idol-type competition.
Coming up this week is a local resident's first CD, a woman who designs fashion-conscious clothing for medical patients, An Extraordinary Life piece on a man who fabricated his original jewelry, and an empath. Also, thankfully, next week's schedule is also full. Plus, I'm on the look-out for a pet story for next Tuesday.
Wish me luck!
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Ireland, Legacy, and a Marriage Proposal
Immortality and noteriety are the two reasons why Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara, agreed to become an Irish vampire in Bryony. This makes Ed the first "real" Irish vampire, since Ireland has no distinct vampire mythology (until now).
In the selection below, Tommy Connolly, a member of the Bryony team, shares the memorable trip to Ireland with his father. The trip had but one mission--to seek out and visit a town named Connolly--but for Tommy, it alsoincluded a spontaneous decision to begin building his own family legacy.
Tommy is a recovering alcoholic; he blogs about his experiences at http://www.tommyconnolly.blogspot.com/. He plans to release a collection of those blogs, Soul Parole: Making Peace with my Mind, God, and Myself, in December.
On February 21, 2002, my Father and I left for a seven day trip toIreland.
We weren't in for the touristy side of the country, so we rented a car and started driving. We leftDublin with only one planned point on the trip and that was to visit the town of CONNOLLY in County Clare Dublin Ireland America
The "Ring of Kerry" winds and climbs along route N-70 on the southwest coast of the Emerald Isle. I loved everything about the awe-inspiring island. The coast was like heaven. Every fifty feet was a spectacular panorama of peat bogs, inlets, hills, fields, stone fences, and breathtaking flowers. The vastAtlantic lay beyond. God truly was inspired when He painted Ireland
Driving takes exceptional skill for visitors and townsfolk alike. Sheep run free on the roads in herds, color-coated so the owners can recognize their stock. When driving on the opposite side of the road, there are no railings or shoulders, but plenty of deep cutting cliffs and slopes. If you slide off the shoulder, eternity will greet you. There are also roadside chapels, painstakingly crafted, in the middle of nowhere, with amazingly ornate statues and seats for prayer. Those driving past can give praise for the beauty or, at least, thanks for making it around the sheep.
We moved through the last few days of our adventure and stopped in a tiny coastal town called Sneem, population six hundred. Here wasIreland
As we parked our "smart car" sized Renault in front of the pub of my father's choice, there wasn't a soul to be found. Nothing, nobody, zippo. It was like that ghost town in the Brady Bunch episode with Jim Backus (Mr. Magoo and Thurston Howell the Third) as the crazy miner. Thank God, Mr. Brady was able to knock the jail cell key down with that rope of belts. Ooh! I get the chills remembering the intrigue and ingenuity of Father Brady.
Anyway, there was no one around and we walked from colorful shop to colorful shop. All were trimmed in bright reds, brilliant greens, and other eye-catching hues…and all were locked. We returned to the car and sat perplexed at the silence. It was as if the whole town vanished. We were planning to move down the road when, at the end of the main street, we heard the gong of a church bell. Gong!......Gong!......Gong! The doors flung open, and the whole town spilled into the street right where we sat awestruck. Someone had died, and I think all six hundred townspeople attended the funeral. They scurried back to their shops and continued their business in the colorful town.
We asked for directions to the best bed and breakfast and drove back to check in. It was a quaint home with a spectacular view of a lake and the ocean beyond. I could have stayed there forever. We returned to the pub for dinner. I have mixed emotions by confessing I only had nonalcoholic beer inIreland
Dad enjoyed a few beers, but the country, as a whole, intoxicated me. The people, sights, and charm of the Emerald Isle live up to the hype. Still very much sober and full of nonalcoholic beer, I told my dad I was going exploring. That expedition was a street of about a quarter mile. At the end of the way was a typical English phone booth, bright red and stark sitting on the edge of Sneem. I walked toward the booth and saw it butted against a tiny bridge with a bubbling creek snaking and crawling underneath and through the idyllic village.
As I followed the course of the river, it flowed gracefully into a lake, then into the ocean beyond. Even though it was ten o’clock, sunlight still cracked through the skies above. The vision magnificently burned in my mind. I thought of my roommate, partner in crime, and best friend sleeping soundly back in the states. She was everything I had ever pictured and my perfect foil. Where I was weak, she was strong. When I was miffed, she was relaxed. She was a great mother, and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. We had been living together longer than my three other marriages combined, and I was inspired by the moment’s beauty and grace.
I can be impulsive. It comes with my nature. It was four o’clock in the morning back at home, and I knew Squeaky wouldn't be waking for another hour, but I was consumed. I was driven! I felt my heart leap and sing that THIS was the moment, even though I was an ocean away from her. I dialed the states direct, and she answered the phone slightly startled, and a wee irritated, by the early morning call. She accepted the charges, and I rambled endlessly about the beauty of Sneem and the events of the day. After a few minutes of rambling like a kid who downed a bowl of sugar, my focus returned to my mission.
I started to sob as I confessed my unwavering love for her and the kids. I said the magic words: "Will you marry me?" She began sobbing too, the good sobbing of course. Her first response was, "Are you serious?" I gushed as tears spilled around me and shouted, "YES! I have never been more sure of anything!" She shot back excitedly, "You traveled toIreland
God I loveIreland
In the selection below, Tommy Connolly, a member of the Bryony team, shares the memorable trip to Ireland with his father. The trip had but one mission--to seek out and visit a town named Connolly--but for Tommy, it alsoincluded a spontaneous decision to begin building his own family legacy.
Tommy is a recovering alcoholic; he blogs about his experiences at http://www.tommyconnolly.blogspot.com/. He plans to release a collection of those blogs, Soul Parole: Making Peace with my Mind, God, and Myself, in December.
On February 21, 2002, my Father and I left for a seven day trip to
We weren't in for the touristy side of the country, so we rented a car and started driving. We left
The "Ring of Kerry" winds and climbs along route N-70 on the southwest coast of the Emerald Isle. I loved everything about the awe-inspiring island. The coast was like heaven. Every fifty feet was a spectacular panorama of peat bogs, inlets, hills, fields, stone fences, and breathtaking flowers. The vast
Driving takes exceptional skill for visitors and townsfolk alike. Sheep run free on the roads in herds, color-coated so the owners can recognize their stock. When driving on the opposite side of the road, there are no railings or shoulders, but plenty of deep cutting cliffs and slopes. If you slide off the shoulder, eternity will greet you. There are also roadside chapels, painstakingly crafted, in the middle of nowhere, with amazingly ornate statues and seats for prayer. Those driving past can give praise for the beauty or, at least, thanks for making it around the sheep.
We moved through the last few days of our adventure and stopped in a tiny coastal town called Sneem, population six hundred. Here was
As we parked our "smart car" sized Renault in front of the pub of my father's choice, there wasn't a soul to be found. Nothing, nobody, zippo. It was like that ghost town in the Brady Bunch episode with Jim Backus (Mr. Magoo and Thurston Howell the Third) as the crazy miner. Thank God, Mr. Brady was able to knock the jail cell key down with that rope of belts. Ooh! I get the chills remembering the intrigue and ingenuity of Father Brady.
Anyway, there was no one around and we walked from colorful shop to colorful shop. All were trimmed in bright reds, brilliant greens, and other eye-catching hues…and all were locked. We returned to the car and sat perplexed at the silence. It was as if the whole town vanished. We were planning to move down the road when, at the end of the main street, we heard the gong of a church bell. Gong!......Gong!......Gong! The doors flung open, and the whole town spilled into the street right where we sat awestruck. Someone had died, and I think all six hundred townspeople attended the funeral. They scurried back to their shops and continued their business in the colorful town.
We asked for directions to the best bed and breakfast and drove back to check in. It was a quaint home with a spectacular view of a lake and the ocean beyond. I could have stayed there forever. We returned to the pub for dinner. I have mixed emotions by confessing I only had nonalcoholic beer in
Dad enjoyed a few beers, but the country, as a whole, intoxicated me. The people, sights, and charm of the Emerald Isle live up to the hype. Still very much sober and full of nonalcoholic beer, I told my dad I was going exploring. That expedition was a street of about a quarter mile. At the end of the way was a typical English phone booth, bright red and stark sitting on the edge of Sneem. I walked toward the booth and saw it butted against a tiny bridge with a bubbling creek snaking and crawling underneath and through the idyllic village.
As I followed the course of the river, it flowed gracefully into a lake, then into the ocean beyond. Even though it was ten o’clock, sunlight still cracked through the skies above. The vision magnificently burned in my mind. I thought of my roommate, partner in crime, and best friend sleeping soundly back in the states. She was everything I had ever pictured and my perfect foil. Where I was weak, she was strong. When I was miffed, she was relaxed. She was a great mother, and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. We had been living together longer than my three other marriages combined, and I was inspired by the moment’s beauty and grace.
I can be impulsive. It comes with my nature. It was four o’clock in the morning back at home, and I knew Squeaky wouldn't be waking for another hour, but I was consumed. I was driven! I felt my heart leap and sing that THIS was the moment, even though I was an ocean away from her. I dialed the states direct, and she answered the phone slightly startled, and a wee irritated, by the early morning call. She accepted the charges, and I rambled endlessly about the beauty of Sneem and the events of the day. After a few minutes of rambling like a kid who downed a bowl of sugar, my focus returned to my mission.
I started to sob as I confessed my unwavering love for her and the kids. I said the magic words: "Will you marry me?" She began sobbing too, the good sobbing of course. Her first response was, "Are you serious?" I gushed as tears spilled around me and shouted, "YES! I have never been more sure of anything!" She shot back excitedly, "You traveled to
God I love
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Meet Tommy Connolly, Matt Coundiff, and Kristina Skaggs!
Please welcome the two newest members of the Bryony team: Tommy Connolly, who will be assisting with marketing, and Matt Coundiff, the illustrator for the interior images of the official Bryony cookbook: "Memories in the Kitchen: Bites and Nibbles From 'Bryony.'"
Tommy Connolly is a Chicago area actor, writer, voiceover artist, and comedian, who has appeared in such productions as "Chicago Code," "Shameless," "Contagion," and "Chasing Hollywood."
However, Tommy's passion is inspiring others. After 28 years of battling addiction and depression, Connolly shares his journey to recovery in his blog (www.tommyconnolly.blogspot.com) and in his book, "Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, God, and Myself," which will be released in November.
Matt Coundiff is an illustrator, professional wrestler, and the manager and tattoo artist at A Thin Line Tattoo in Plainfield. He is also starting a T-shirt and design company. Matt's goals are to support himself with his art and to grow as a person and as an artist. For more information, visit www.athinlinetatoo.com
I'd also like you to meet writer Kristina Skaggs. Her short story, "Dead Serious," will be posted on the "Harold Masters Literature Class" page on the BryonySeries website (www.bryonyseries.com)and will be the BryonySeries blog featured short story tomorrow. Be sure to check it out!
Kristina read this story at an event last night, and she impressed everyone with her humor and interesting twist on a normally serious subject.
Have a great day!
Tommy Connolly is a Chicago area actor, writer, voiceover artist, and comedian, who has appeared in such productions as "Chicago Code," "Shameless," "Contagion," and "Chasing Hollywood."
However, Tommy's passion is inspiring others. After 28 years of battling addiction and depression, Connolly shares his journey to recovery in his blog (www.tommyconnolly.blogspot.com) and in his book, "Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, God, and Myself," which will be released in November.
Matt Coundiff is an illustrator, professional wrestler, and the manager and tattoo artist at A Thin Line Tattoo in Plainfield. He is also starting a T-shirt and design company. Matt's goals are to support himself with his art and to grow as a person and as an artist. For more information, visit www.athinlinetatoo.com
I'd also like you to meet writer Kristina Skaggs. Her short story, "Dead Serious," will be posted on the "Harold Masters Literature Class" page on the BryonySeries website (www.bryonyseries.com)and will be the BryonySeries blog featured short story tomorrow. Be sure to check it out!
Kristina read this story at an event last night, and she impressed everyone with her humor and interesting twist on a normally serious subject.
Have a great day!
Sunday, January 30, 2011
eHow Limerick Lesson Applied
Comedian, actor, and Bryony fan Tommy Connolly (http://tommyconnolly.blogspot.com/), studied yesterday's post, discarded his standard limerick opening line of, "There once was a man from Nantucket...," and penned quite the limerick in honor of Bryony's author.
There once was a writer, Denise,
Who wrote with a faith-driven ease
She delivered a message
Of hope not opression,
And our father in heaven is pleased.
Of course, Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara, would disapprove, since he believes limericks should insult, not praise, but Bryony's author, feeling thoroughly humbled, graciously accepts it, and will try to live up to it, for today, at least.
Happy Sunday, everyone!
There once was a writer, Denise,
Who wrote with a faith-driven ease
She delivered a message
Of hope not opression,
And our father in heaven is pleased.
Of course, Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara, would disapprove, since he believes limericks should insult, not praise, but Bryony's author, feeling thoroughly humbled, graciously accepts it, and will try to live up to it, for today, at least.
Happy Sunday, everyone!
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Tommy Connolly, Addiction, and Vampires
Author's note: Thank you, Tommy Connolly, for approving the following blog post, anf for giving others a glimpse at the reality of those drowning in addicition.
If you’d like to understand a vampire’s insatiable thirst for blood and the lengths he goes to get it, read Tommy Connolly’s blog at http://tommyconnolly.blogspot.com/.
No, Connolly is not a vampire. He’s a Chicago-area stand-up comedian turned actor with two, non-speaking, on camera roles in the upcoming Fox police drama, “The Chicago Code,” and the upcoming movie, “Contagion.” Connolly has also done a commercial for Firestone.
However, Connolly’s career is not the main topic of his blog. There, Connolly speaks bluntly and freely about his decades-long life as a functional alcoholic, the exultation in recovery, and his new-found freedom in Jesus Christ.
After re-reading a Herald News story I had written about him, I realized the patterns, excuses and compulsions Connolly fought perfectly described the attitudes and behaviors of some of the vampires featured in Bryony, as well as their co-dependent significant others.
John Simons, a nineteenth century pianist and composer, loathes his vampire state and proposes a trade to Bryony’s main character, Melissa Marchellis, a 1970s fourteen year old girl who has become obsessed with John’s young bride, Bryony, after she writes a report on her.
Wishing to test an ancient remedy for vampirism, John proposes a trade: regular, minute amounts of Melissa’s blood, immunotherapy-style, for a hoped-for return to human life in exchange for a trip back to the Victorian era to live as Bryony.
For Melissa, despite her mistrust of John and his vampire state, the terms are irresistible. She accepts.
As she moves through a surreal, other-worldly existence, Melissa meets other vampires who don’t necessarily share John’s abhorrence for bloodsucking. This further encourages her to defend his actions and support his desire to rejoin humanity.
One vampire, once he gets his fill of blood for the night, simply returns to his normal activities. Another sees being a vampire as an advantage and uses his vampirism to manipulate those around him.
Both Connolly and John Simons wanted out of their crummy existence.
The difference is that Connolly eventually did it the right way. John, too, wants deliverance, but unfortunately, only on his terms.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)