Hello, lovelies!  Check out the newest press for my novel, Rosbelle, believe, then go buy the book!    And thanks!

http://news.yahoo.com/harry-houdini-speaks-grave-novel-005021948.html

http://www.prweb.com/releases/2011/11/prweb8922052.htm

I’ve noticed, after reading some of the reviews for the upcoming film, The Rum Diary, that it is repeatedly called Johnny Depp’s “passion project,” as if this word “passion” for a creative project is a bad thing. With an eye roll and a humored sigh, the critics expound, “Oh, that’s just Johnny’s passion project, so let’s humor him and see how it does.” Well, I say, what the hell is wrong with passion? Is passion something to be scoffed at, ignored, shamed? Oh, good lord, Johnny Depp, run and hide, man, you’ve made something that you care about! Have you no shame?

Good grief, what have we bloody become? Passionless idiots without any deep emotions for anything? Do not cry in public. Do not laugh too loudly. Do not hold your lover’s hand. Don’t get angry at injustice! Feel nothing, because feeling is weak. Weak, they say! Weakness! Never let your guard down, and to be on the safe side (which is much better, you cowards), it is easier to feel nothing! Thirst for life? There is no such thing!

Have we really become this apathetic (and pathetic)? This listless and dead? Lifeless clay without heart.

It fascinates me that passion for a creative project should ever be deemed silly. The last time I checked, passion was a key ingredient for art (but, sadly, art is nearly in the coffin too). Johnny Depp apparently really, really, really loved his friend Hunter S. Thompson, and he made this movie as much a tribute to that friendship, as he did an honest film. That should not be taken lightly, regardless of your opinion of Depp, Thompson, or the movie itself. It should be applauded in a world depraved of emotion.

Passion has become a foreigner in our own land. We put up borders, hold up our hands, and laugh, “Go away! We need none of that garbage here.” But, we need it. Oh, good God, we need it. Passion IS life. The universe was not lackadaisical in its creation. It was passionate. It wept, it laughed, it loved … deeply. As we should. Feel something, dammit!

Passion projects? We shouldn’t take those as seriously? Those are the only ones I want to hear about.

There seems to be a lot of discussion about Michael Jackson’s own role in his death. He’s a drug addict, they say, so it’s his own fault. Well, those people are missing a very big point here. Michael Jackson is not on trial. This court case is not about Michael Jackson’s culpability in his own death. This is about Dr. Conrad Murray’s role in Michael Jackson’s death. Period.

Are these people claiming that Dr. Feelgoods shouldn’t be held accountable for their actions? They are guilty of nothing? In my opinion, these types of “doctors” are worse than the drug dealers on the street. You expect those guys to be nefarious, but doctors are suppose to “do no harm.” We should be able to trust doctors. Would you trust Conrad Murray?

For me this whole “blame the victim” crap that they are throwing at Michael Jackson is based on the notion that people who take drugs (for whatever reason) are “bad people” and they get what’s coming to them. That’s heartless. Sure, if you engage in reckless behavior, there are consequences, but this whole thing is akin to blaming a rock climber for unknowingly buying a faulty rope and falling to his death. It was his own fault, because he enjoyed a dangerous sport and knew the risks? The rope maker is not in any way responsible for the person’s death? Really? Now, granted, I believe the rope maker would only be responsible if they knew the rope was faulty and sold it anyway, kind of like those tire makers a few years ago. Essentially, this is exactly what Conrad Murray did with Michael Jackson. He was Michael’s safety rope. Michael wasn’t an idiot, and I’m sure he knew what he was doing was risky. I’m not here to argue about Michael Jackson’s drug issues, but I do know that he was smart enough to realize he needed a doctor to watch over him. His mistake was trusting the wrong guy. No, I’m not condoning MJ’s use of propofol or any drugs, but I don’t think his drug use takes away from Conrad Murray’s culpability in his death. In my opinion, it makes Murray even more responsible. Not only did he violate his oath as a doctor by giving MJ these drugs, he violated MJ’s trust by walking out of the room and leaving him to die, knowing part of his role was to watch over Michael in the event that something did go wrong.

So, yes, Conrad Murray should be on trial. He is responsible for MJ’s death, and his actions should offend every decent human being on the planet.

(NOTE, Oct. 1:  I also want to clarify that when I compared MJ’s use of propofol to a rock climber, I was in no way insinuating that Michael was engaging in something recreational or something that he “enjoyed.”)

In 24 minutes you can go through a McDonald’s drive-thru, order, pay, and eat your lunch. Or, in 24 minutes, you could put gas in your car, buy a soda and chips, eat the soda and chips, wash the car windows, and still have a lot of time to spare. Most people only get a mere thirty minutes for lunch at work each day. Twenty four minutes is a good amount of time, and you can do a lot in that time … if you use it wisely. Dr. Conrad Murray wasted twenty four minutes and something really bad happened.

Doctors know time is of the essence. They always use it wisely. And they do not panic. They see tragedy and death all the time. The ability to remain calm is one of the traits needed to be a good doctor. On June 25, 2009, at 11:56 am, Dr. Conrad Murray showed none of the traits required to be a good doctor. He discovered that his “patient,” Michael Jackson, was having a “bad reaction.” Instead of calling 911 immediately, he freaked out, asked a chef to “get help” from security, asked for help from Michael’s young son, Prince, and called MJ’s personal assistant, who lived across town (waiting until 12:13 pm to do this, seventeen minutes after he had found MJ unresponsive!). On that voice mail to the assistant, Murray’s voice was frantic. He never explained to the personal assistant what was going on exactly, nor did he ask the assistant to call 911. Michael’s chef told a similar story, saying Murray was frantic, never asked her to call 911, and never explained what was happening. Based on the nature of Murray’s voice, and not having an explanation for the phrase “bad reaction,” the assistant began calling house security, one of which was on the grounds and rushed to MJ’s room.

By the time security arrived, Michael was obviously dead, yet Murray still did not ask anyone to call 911. Although the security staff said Murray was attempting CPR, he still asked if anyone else in the room knew how to give CPR, as well. As Murray attempted mouth to mouth, he supposedly told the security guard that it was his first time doing the procedure AND that he was doing it because Michael was “his friend.” Excuse me? First time? A heart doctor? AND shouldn’t he have been performing the procedure because he’s a doctor, first and foremost, not as a “favor” for a friend? Geez!

It wasn’t until 12:20pm that 911 was finally called (after Murray also asked the bodyguard to clean up the medications in the room, which is suspect in and of itself). Twenty four minutes after Murray discovered that Michael was unresponsive, he decided to call 911. Twenty four minutes. It doesn’t seem like a long time, but when someone is in desperate need of medical attention, it can mean the difference between life and death. In this case, it meant death. It only took the paramedics four minutes to reach MJ’s house. Imagine what they might have been able to do had they arrived at noon.

As a doctor, it is an absurd notion to think Murray was unaware of his improper behavior. The first response for any doctor in the field is to get help and then begin CPR. You always want help to be on the way while you try to revive the patient. Murray deviated from this norm. He showed a lack of regard for the fragile essence of time (and the fragile state of his patient) and he behaved, in my opinion, in a panic.

I guess Dr. Feelgoods aren’t used to dealing with “real doctor” stuff. The whole scene had the makings of a dark Laurel & Hardy skit. Do you know CPR? No? Call the assistant, does he know? What about the teenage son? Can he help? Isn’t there some emergency number we can call? 9-1-something?

The timeline in this case shows that Murray’s action on that morning were not those of a level-headed doctor. He waited 24 minutes before calling 911. Folks, those mere twenty four minutes, even if you cut out every irresponsible thing he did prior, are enough to establish gross negligence, especially when you consider that it only took paramedics four minutes to arrive at Michael’s house.

In my opinion, Murray’s behavior was that of a guilt-ridden man, trying to save his own butt. He was frantic because Michael died and it was his fault. Instead of trying to save Michael, he attempted to save his own ass. He went about a ridiculous attempt to revive MJ on his own. I believe he did not want any official medical professional to witness his terrible disregard for his patient’s well-being. Murray knew damned well that he was engaging in reckless, dangerous behavior with his patient, not to mention unethical and illegal. And in a last ditch effort, Murray attempted to clean up the evidence of his ill deeds. The desire for his own survival, that was more important to Conrad Murray. His own damned ass. Not the dying man. He could wait … and that wait of twenty four minutes made a huge difference.

Just imagine, if Murray had responded differently on that afternoon. What if Michael could have been saved? It’s too early in testimony to judge whether or not Michael was already dead when Murray found him, but if there was even a slim chance that he could have survived, shouldn’t Murray have responded in a manner that would have saved him instead of running around like a chicken with his head cut off? How can his actions on that day be justified? Twenty four minutes, people, just think about that … less than a half hour. What if it had transpired differently?

And while I’m on it, I don’t get these Conrad Murray “supporters.” If he was a friend, a family member, fine, that I get, but otherwise, what is there to “support?” This is a man who knowingly did something unethical. He was not naive. AND he asked for large sums of cash to do it. His intent was not to “help” Michael Jackson. It never was. It was about making money, at whatever the cost. He played a dangerous game, and he lost, and Michael Jackson died. What this is really about, for most of those “supporters,” is a deep dislike of Michael Jackson. You don’t like MJ, fine. You think he’s a perv, fine. BUT that doesn’t mean you support criminal behavior because of it! In my opinion, there’s no question of Murray’s guilt. He ordered the drug. He made it available. What Conrad Murray did was illegal, stupid, and immoral. Are those things worth making banners of support and standing outside all day in the hot sun, because Michael Jackson didn’t float your boat? That’s what some people want to get riled up about? Geez f-ing louise. Would they let Murray tend to their loved one? Without a doubt, these are the lamest humans on the planet. Bar none.

The whole sorted affair is disgusting. It unnerves me that we live in a society where a man can demand an exorbitant amount of money from a rich celebrity to do him great harm, and people aren’t riled up over that and that alone. Our society is far too accommodating of this behavior. Far too complacent.

More info about the Houdini code at the Wild About Houdini site and in Magic magazine.

And don’t forget to check out my novel, Rosabelle, believe!

One of these kids is doing his own thing …

When I was a little girl, I always liked that segment on Sesame Street, the kid off by himself “doing his own thing” while three other children played the same game. They were all followers, but the other kid, he was a leader, his own person. I wanted to play with that kid. I wanted to be that kid.

In real life, I later learned, “doing your own thing” gets you labeled as “different” (and it’s not meant in a flattering way). As a young girl, awkward and shy, I felt like a complete outsider. No one supported my dreams; everyone told me what I most wished for was truly impossible. I wanted to tell stories, write books, be an actress, make movies … none of these things seemed to be in the realm of impossibility. But, no, I was told, they indeed were. I was “doing my own thing” and it needed to stop.

Where was the real kid that I could look up to that was doing his own thing too? As remarkable as it sounds, that person was Michael Jackson. I saw this smallish man on stage, red sequined jacket, flooded pants and shiny socks, one beaded glove … now that was a guy doing his own thing. Never in my life had I seen anyone so unabashedly honest. For me, that’s what honesty is about, being true to your nature, not following trends, liking what you want, doing what you want, never following (learning but not copying), living your own life on your own terms, being the truly only you.

His influence, well into my adulthood, shaped my life and career. I remember one of the first things I ever heard him say (and this is not a direct quote): They told me I would never have the best selling album of all time, so I set about proving them wrong. He still has that achievement today (and we all know, so many more).  A little poor kid from Indiana did exactly what he wanted (never stopping, never listening to doubt), so I figured that a poor girl from Arkansas could achieve great things too.

For me, it is not merely about the music or the dance. It is about what he represented. As my sister so poignantly said, Michael Jackson was like Edward Scissorhands and every great outcast from every fable ever told. The difference is that Michael Jackson lived it, and folks, that takes brass ones, cojones the size of Texas.

That man with a soft-spoken voice instilled in me a desire to live without fear without doubt without compromise. Without his influence and guidance, I would not be me. Without him, my courage may have languished dormant, never having the guts to try. But, today, I most certainly do. What most people fear, what most people call bizarre, I run toward. I’m still on the outside, the fringe, and I plan to stay there, because you know, in the end, those are the ones who make a difference, those are the ones who change the world, those are the ones we notice and remember. Thank you, Michael, for doing your own thing.

Michelle Cushing

There are few artists left in Hollywood. Everyone is out to make large sums of cash. Nothing else. Hollywood is one giant corporation choosing what products to sell to the masses. They care naught about art, and with such a high profile and their minions of celebrities, I worry that they have influenced society to accept this in every medium. You see, art is expression. An artist feels something, or has something important to say, and expresses this via some form, creating either a film, book, song, or painting. If that artist would like to make money off his/her art, which is acceptable, they must bow before the corporation in hopes that this entity will validate it, but that’s just the problem – a corporation cannot validate art. They are incapable of such a thing. They can only deem it a sellable product. Will this make the company (not the artist) money?

As a society, we must realize that any item with a large corporate logo attached tells you one thing – someone thought this would sell. They did NOT think it was art. Now, that is not to say that things released by corporations cannot be art. There are plenty of artists who have made a good living selling their art via a company. They were fortunate enough to create a legitimate piece of art that someone thought could also be a product. My point is that ART should NEVER be validated by corporations. We should stop believing that a company logo deems something “good” or “worthy.” Large publishers are not in the business of selling quality. Movie studios cannot tell you what film is good, and the music companies have no clue what songs are brilliant. They can only decide what can be packaged like a Twinkie and sold to you for profit.

I had a friend who worked at one of the large publishing houses, and she told me, after I graduated college about to embark on a writing career, that I should never get discouraged by any rejection letters, because her company “published crap.” A good marketing campaign can take a piece of dog poop and package it with a fancy bow and sell it as a “brownie.” That’s what they do all the time. I could give examples of “famous artists” in either music, film, or literature, but I’m not in the business of cruelty. How many famous people are the absolute “best” at what they do? Some are indeed, some most certainly are not.

Fame does not equate talent, but there is a bias (especially in Hollywood) that fame, along with it’s cohort cash-money, are qualities of art. Last time I checked, fame and money were irrelevant. There was a film teacher who once said that legitimate film-makers are the “ones making money.” Naturally, this caused a group of film students to groan, and they had every right too. Selling a film must mean you are talented? Nope. Vincent van Gogh never sold a painting during his lifetime. He wasn’t a “legitimate” artist? Of course he was. The real artists are the ones who are sitting at home working on their craft because they felt a need to express a feeling or an idea. There’s probably an eighty-year-old woman who cleans houses for a living writing the great American novel, but it’ll never get published, because old ladies aren’t marketable. AND, it’ll never get read by the public, because it doesn’t have a label attached to it.

As a novelist, I’ve experienced this time and again. Mulberry Bark, they say, what publisher is that? Michelle Cushing? Never heard of her. She hasn’t written a “real novel.” Real novels have a corporate label. Corporations, they’ll say, are good at judging talent. For many years, author Jack Kerouac carried his famous book On the Road in his backpack. Publishers shunned it like the plague. Eventually, after six long years, it was published. If corporations validate art and talent, that means On the Road wasn’t a “real novel” and Jack wasn’t a talented writer until such-and-such publisher said so. That “thing” in his backpack was nothing of value. Same words. Doesn’t matter. Apparently meant nothing … until it was a product to be sold. A large publisher’s name on the book jacket means one thing – we thought this would make money. The publication of On the Road doesn’t take away from Jack Kerouac, the artist, because he was already one to begin with, but the public decided, based on a corporation’s decision to sell his book, that his writing was something of worth and he was a “real author.”

For an unknown artist, whatever medium, respectability is an ongoing struggle. Art needs some ridiculous validation by an entity of some sort. Emerging writers, for example, to be taken seriously, need an extra “endorsement” from a noteworthy person, along with a corporate logo. Society won’t give it a chance without praise on the book jacket from a celebrity. Problem is, if you are not already known, it is a struggle.

While I am personally grateful to the wonderful people (my fellow artists) that obliged me with an endorsement, society needs to end this idea that every book, film, or piece of music must be hailed by someone, or something, else. Not only does this create a problem for the starving artists, but for the public, as well. Do we really want a corporation (or a celebrity?!) to tell us what to believe, feel, or know? It becomes a one-sided conversation. There can be no “free expression of ideas” when affluent companies control what “ideas” reach the masses.

This is most evident in the world of film. Think of some of the “ideas” they’ve already given us. Penguins are funny, so are 3D hamsters. When my sister and I began working on films together, I anticipated some road blocks (our films are not about vampire teens and werewolves who coach penguins, which by the way, would get green-lighted at any studio). While it does seem easier for the public to accept an independent film, I never expected that making a movie without a studio would be such an ordeal. I never imagined to be on the outskirts of the industry to such an extent. The truly indie film-maker lives on the fringe like a bum under a bridge. Unless you are wealthy or have contacts, to get anything done, to get any attention, you need a studio behind you. You need the corporation. And they’d just as soon run you over on the freeway. It doesn’t matter how original your story idea is, or how brilliantly you write, how skilled you are with the camera, you just don’t matter. You are as invisible as grey hair in a ball of cotton. There’s politics in all of it, controlling what you watch on the silver screen; every thought, it’s all coming from a slew of corporations with the same ideas and agendas. Scary.

I feel it’s a shame to even write this blog, to ruin it for other wide-eyed dreamers like myself, but sometimes we have to recognize the truth if we are going to make a change. I’m not complaining because my name has never been said in the same breath as someone famous. I’m tired of the idea in our world that I need my work validated.

ART NEEDS NO VALIDATION. From anyone, or anything. It is what it is. If it truly emerged from someone’s heart, soul, or mind, then it is art. Corporations have no heart, soul, or mind. Stop letting them dictate what you buy.

It’s time for an artists’ mutiny! While this endeavor is much like David versus Goliath, we can snatch art away from the corporate pigs. It’s very simple, but we need the public’s help too! People need to buy a book from an independent publisher (or even a self-published book) once in awhile. Stop believing the reviews in the big papers or looking at the bestseller list for a “good read.” When standing in line at the movies, pick an indie film. The most unique stories on screen are from film-makers who saved every dime to make a movie, and some of the most interesting music can be downloaded on an unknown artist’s web site.

If you want to live in a world of art and expression, if you’re tired of seeing the same mass-marketed garbage, then stop allowing these companies to dictate what you should see, hear, or read. Corporations sell products, not art! Never forget that! We can have a renaissance again! As it stands, there is a hidden artistic movement and it needs to be seen – the struggling composers, novelists, screenwriters, poets, musicians, singers, songwriters, painters, film-makers and the like. Sure, the corporations will continue to eat with their gnarly teeth these innocent dreamers, but there are a few of us artists still out here fighting what might be a lost cause, but as Jefferson Smith said in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, the lost causes are the ones worth fighting.

Peace & love,

Michelle

P.S. Yes, I’m aware that I used a Hollywood movie as a frame of reference which is quite ironic.

Google adds Houdini design for his birthday

In a sad note, Houdini’s last surviving assistant, Dorothy Young, passed away yesterday at the age of 103.