Ferhat Göçer

I was watching American Idol the other night and a Harvard grad/White House intern belted out some lovely lyrics. She's beautiful too. Tall and skinny, long blonde hair...guys better line up for this girl. (But you're too intimidated, I know! Excuses...)  My point...some people are lucky in more ways than one.
Ferhat Göçer is another one of those people. If I need to be sick, I want him to be my doctor, because the sound of his voice would just make it all better!

A little bio about him:

He was born in Sanliurfa (way out in eastern Anatolia, off the radar so-to-speak). He graduated from Istanbul University with a medical degree and went back to Sanliurfa for his residency. When he finished, he headed to Istanbul as a surgeon at Haydarpasa Hospital. Not bad for a kid out of Sanliurfa, I tell you.

But he also has a degree from the State Conservatoire for his voice. His style blends east and west, with folk music playing a big part in his work. In October 2005, he released his first album, showcasing his special blend. I'm happy to say I was able to buy his latest on iTunes.

I've got all of his music. In fact, one of his songs was on my playlist for Burnt Amber. I'll translate the lyrics, because I can't find a good one anywhere:

Cennet - Heaven


What's it to me, if the world ends
If it's going to end, let this road of life come to an end
I have no fear, inside I'm full of satisfaction
I lived love with you for a lifetime
Even the lines on my face are named after you
You are the reason for every breath
If I come back to this world my love
I will look for you and find you again
I wouldn't trade heaven for one strand of your hair
I'll love you as long as my life allows


Ferhat gocer - cennet
Uploaded by sayit. - Explore more music videos.

It's a little tricky translating the specific turns of phrase he used, like living love, but I hope you get the idea. (If you scroll down to the bottom of the page, I have a playlist.com widget and this song is there too.)

And that part about coming back to this world to find her...yeah...that's Haydon :)

In this, case the lyrics happened to fit my story, but sometimes it's the other way around.  Are there specific lyrics that inspire you to write? Or do you just use the sentiments from a song?

In the housekeeping department...
The new blog schedule is M-W-F, posting at 6 am. :)

See you Wednesday!

Shahmeran-> Melusine-> Nixie

Image by NURETTIN MERT AYDIN via Flickr

Today I'm over at The Quintessentially Questionable Query Experiment (Q3E) with Matt Rush, and since some of you may be popping over from there, I thought I'd show off the kind of stuff I love: World Folklore. I say "world" because every society has a version of the tale you thought you knew. I like to find the connections between them all, and my favorites have Eastern Roots.

Shahmeran really belongs on a Wednesday with the other goddesses, but I thought I'd roll her into a post about Tarsus and it's historic sites. That's where she's supposed to live, in a cave not far from the city. There are also blood stains in the Roman bath that belong to her. Fair enough? (That's the cave up there on the right.)

Important notes:

• Shah = queen & Meran = snake
• The Shahmeran is a beautiful woman who is a snake from the waist down. Forever young, she is the queen of the snakes, wise and benevolent with healing powers. She passes her powers down to her daughter when she dies.

So the story of the Shahmeran goes like this:

The Meran are a peaceful lot, and wish to live in their watery caves without interference from the outside world. But one day a young man named Cansab falls into a well (or a cave, depending on which story you follow). He can't get back out, so the Meran take mercy on him and allow him to stay with them.

LetsGoTurkey.org

Cansab constantly wants to return home, so Shahmeran finally agrees. She warns him to stay away from the baths, because his skin will turn to scales and reveal that he has been with the Meran. Cansab also promises to keep the way to the Meran cave a secret. Which of course, he can't.


The Shah of the people (or whatever else you want to call the guy in charge) falls ill, and someone mentions that the Shameran is the cure. All the citizens are draggged to the bath, one by one, to find out who knows the Meran secrets. (Apparently, the turning-into-a-snake-when-you-touch-water thing wasn't one of the secrets.) Cansab avoids being captured for a long time, but eventually he's found out and "persuaded" to reveal the location of Shahmeran's cave.


The Shahmeran is killed in a battle at the roman bath (which his why her blood stains the walls there still) and then she's cut into three pieces. The first piece is given to the vizier who hatched the evil plan. He is poisoned by it and dies, but the second piece is given to the Shah and he is healed. As a reward, Cansab is given the third piece and he becomes incredibly wise. The Shah makes Cansab the new vizier.

And no snake alive doesn't know this story, so that's why they bite people.



wikipedia

When I visited Tarsus, I didn't see the bath, but I did visit a cave. Supposedly, the Seven Sleepers were buried alive in it. But I tell you...Shhh....it's the cave of Shahmeran. Why do I think that? Several reasons:

1. There's another Seven Sleepers cave near Ephesus, and it's more likely to be from the correct time period for that story.
2. There are trees outside the cave in Tarsus covered in prayers. You know, little strips of cotton tied to the branches. (This one in Cappadocia is plastered with wishes.) Lots of girls tie one on for protection.
3. The cave is supposed to heal whatever ails you, which is what the Shahmeran was known for.
4. There a story about someone who fell down into the cave and couldn't get out. Might that be Cansab?
5. It feels kind of damp in the cave, like there's water somewhere down at the bottom. Just right for a Meran hideout. There are lots of underground springs feeding the rivers in the area.

So what does this have to do with Melusine and a Nixie? Full circles.

Well, it's a long story, but it starts with Mersin (near Tarsus, btw). That's where my DH is from and I lived there for a while. The town has a Deniz Kizi (mermaid) story that I researched a bit, without success. But then I started to write the tale of KizKalesi and stumbled on Melusine of Lusignan, France, because my MC's mother was a Lusignan. (I tracked some geneology. Crusaders came from Western Europe, you see.)

Melusine was human most of the time. She was wise and beautiful, and her noble husband adored her. But one day a week, she bathed and reverted to nixie form. (Kind of like Cansab did when he was forced to take a bath, see?) She forbade her husband to see her on that day, but he peeked and she freaked. (In some tales she turns into a dragon.) Then she hopped back into her river and was never seen again. (She must have known what happened to Shahmeran!)

Melusine had a double tail, but her namesake may have been Byzantine. In fact, her namesake may have been from Armenian Cilicia, specifically from the capital city of Tarsus. (Bingo!) Like my favorite post on goddess culture, the stories intertwine. And you know that story spinning stuff that starts rolling in your head....but I'm not going there. I'm working on the djinn. (But I do have one character named Melisende. Couldn't resist!)

TTFN!

Related Articles:

Starbucks with a shot of Byzantine

Some famous Nixies:




you know where this came from!

 




In churches across Europe
@St-Pierre de Bessuéjouls
via ParadoxPlace.com

 

Sirene of Warsaw
coat-of-arms
wikipedia



Message in a Bottle



Moshe Bursuker via UrbanGlass.org

Did I say I was giving up Thursday posts? That was my evil twin. I can't seem to stay away....

So here we go: Stylish Blogger Award below!

I'm over at The Quintessentially Questionable Query Experiment (Q3E) with Matt Rush today and tomorrow. He's posted my craptastic query for constructive criticism. Please head over there and let me know what you think. I know it's too long, (aka my shortened synopsis) and it feels plot driven. However, underneath all that is a story with an amazing theme of the MC finding her place in the two worlds....I just need to find the query muse so I can let it out! Anybody seen her lately?

What's all this got to do with Message in a Bottle? (Genie not included!)

Querying feels like I'm on a desert island...tossing a query into the sea and hoping for a response...and guess what ...a hundred million castaway queries are looking for a home! I wanted to get the lyrics up here, but then I found this amazing clip for Guitar Hero. The song expresses my anxiety pretty well. Trying to keep up with the darn buttons in this game illustrates it even better! LOL. Ahh! Demented laughter. I'm really going over the edge. :D





And, as a friend pointed out to me the other day, the Kevin Costner movie Message in Bottle is awesome too. Rent it, if you haven't already.

I also have some housekeeping today:

Deniz Bevan gave me the Stylish Blogger award the other day and I need to:

• Thank and link back to the person who awarded me this award.
• Share seven things about myself
• Award a recently discovered great blogger(s)
• Contact the blogger(s) and tell them about the award

So here goes:

1. You might have guessed, if you follow me enough, that Sting is my absolute favorite musician. I could listen to him 24/7.
2. When I lived in CT, I had an amazing English garden. Here in NC, red clay and drought thwart my every effort. I miss my Casablanca lillies! (They're my favorite flower.) Does this count as two things?
3. My last name is Snow Abiad and that translates to Snow White. And I write anti-princess stories. the irony does not escape me...
4. My high school French teacher, Ms. Cassidy, used to call me La Neige. I almost used the name for my blog, but I wasn't sure people would get the meaning. Maybe I'll create a fun little signature for the bottom of each post. What do you think?
5. My favorite color has always been turquoise. Now it reminds me of the Mediterranean. Apparently, that is the only thing I share with Grace Kelly. :D
6. I don't like fresh ginger. That's the only flavor I can't have in my food, so Thai is out for me! I do like ginger ale though.
7. I guess you already know...I love ruins. The acanthus an artisan coaxed out of the stone centuries ago, waiting for me to touch it and connect. The hidden history, waiting for me to rediscover it. The potential for a great story to unfold in my head!

And finally, I pass the Stylish Blogger award on to:

Sarah Fine at The Strangest Situation.

If you haven't stopped by her blog yet, her specialty is psychology and YA lit. Must read stuff there, I tell you!

 Yes? No?
 Think I need to work on the size....



(Btw...Roni Loren is also hosting a contest for a query crit from Anita Mumm of the Nelson Agency.)



Related articles

• Message in a bottle (tammyheff.wordpress.com)

Behemoth

Cover of Behemoth (Leviathan) Today I'm switching gears from parallel worlds to another of my favorites: alternate history.

Scott Westerfield's Behemoth is the latest installment of his Leviathan series. My son gobbled them both up over the holidays, and last week I did too.

Here's the blurb from Amazon:

The behemoth is the fiercest creature in the British navy. It can swallow enemy battleships with one bite. The Darwinists will need it, now that they are at war with the Clanker powers.

Deryn is a girl posing as a boy in the British Air Service, and Alek is the heir to an empire posing as a commoner. Finally together aboard the airship Leviathan, they hope to bring the war to a halt. But when disaster strikes the Leviathan's peacekeeping mission, they find themselves alone and hunted in enemy territory.

Alek and Deryn will need great skill, new allies, and brave hearts to face what's ahead.

The Leviathan series is set in a steampunk version of World War II Europe and Westerfield came up with a clever way to trick kids into some more history with his cast. Darwinists genetically engineer fantastical animals, but Clankers opt for fantastical robotic creations. Resistance to Darwin's ideas and the feminist theme (girl posing as a boy, etc.) are a great introduction to issues of the period that are so relevant, even today.

I really liked Leviathan, but I was kind of upset the map in the book had Constantinople written over Istanbul, even if it was an aside. I gave Westerfield the benefit of the doubt and he surpassed my expectations in every way. Much of Behemoth is set in Istanbul, not Constantinople, and he explains the reasoning behind the name confusion. He also did his homework on the various ethnic groups living in the city at that time... Levantines, Armenians and Jews. A robotic djinn and a Kurdish snake goddess are thrown in for good measure. (LOVE that! Separate post about her later. ;)) Cultural references are so effortlessly made that I can't wait for the next installment, which is probably going to be set in Japan.

I should also mention the amazing drawings. Hugo Cabret is my all time favorite, but this series really grabs my attention. The pages of the book are stark white, providing contrast to the intricate charcoal drawings by Keith Thompson.

Related articles

• With "Behemoth," Westerfeld's Leviathan saga becomes the perfect hit of escapism [Book Review] (io9.com)
• The art of Leviathan, part 1: An interview with Scott Westerfeld
  
  
  
  

International Romance - Corsica

Sadly, this is the last post in the International Romance series. I've really enjoyed hosting these amazing women and I learned some interesting and fun things about each one. If you missed the previous posts, be sure to read the adventures of Nicole Ducleroir in Africa, Katie Mills in France, and Jessica Bell in Greece!  Today we have the lovely Joanna St. James (bottom right) - live from Corsica...

Turning Weirdness into a Resource

First of all, thank you Carolyn for having me over at your blog today. I am deeply humbled to be in such great company; now everyone bend in and listen close to me story.

By blood I am a Nomad, with artistic license I can now say I have wanderlust just like Jack Kerouac. When the hubs got a job offer in Corsica, I jumped at the opportunity, before he could blink twice or accept the job offer I quit my job and pulled out my trusty old notepad, the writer in me had gone all tingly.

Before moving to Corsica, my stories had been set in Iowa or in a fictional town called Whisper. I needed some more zing in my settings than Iowa cornfields had to offer, so off to Corsica I went and you have to agree its beautiful and inspiring.

I live right by the Mediterrenean sea and it turns at least three different kinds of blue every day, in the morning its more of an emerald blue, in the afternoon its more of a real blue and in the evening it turns into an amazing shade of purple. I have ledges and rocks where fictional characters can fall to their deaths if I were so inclined. I have a billion watch towers, beautiful flowers, villas and when I need glam, royalty or fast cars, the Principality of Monaco is just a flight or ferry ride away.

Even better yet, I have learnt a lot from the people, and yes Mediterrenean guys are HAWT! The girls are not so bad either but am just gonna go back to my mediterrenean hotties; passionate men amazing with babies, olive skin, perfect dressers and I have not found any with a bad tushie either, and if these don't float your boat, we always have the Frenchmen to fall back on - always arrogantly good looking, in a maddening way (ask creepyquerygirl - she's got her a hottie like that at home).

The unexpected bonus for me has been the passion in the people here; for a Brit seeing guys kiss everyone - even strangers - passionately twice on the cheek was very inspiring for me. They have taught me a lot about passion here. It's very common to see couples arguing with raised voices in public and no one even raises an eyebrow because they still sound all lovey dovey in the midst of it all.

So here is how a typical, passionate, lovey dovey heated argument goes - and I just go by their body language because my French or Italian is not good enough to decipher the accent most of the time: The woman is all sulky and attention seeking. She raises her voice but that pout is always present - you can tell she is still trying to look cute. The guy is arguing back but he does it in a dejected tone because he knows he cannot win, he is just arguing with her so she gets her much needed attention. He eventually gives up and throws his hands up in the air; she smiles and they continue moving - he has just given her the one thing she wants.

That is the kind of passion I want to leap off of my pages.

Joanna St. James


Thanks, Joanna! I am so jealous you get to live next to that amazing water! (And I wish I could pout and shout at the mall without a million people staring at me!) Here's a visual for everyone to drool over:

Calvi, Corsica via Wikipedia 



Related articles

• Napoleon (apostcardaday.blogspot.com)

Dolmuş



via Wikipedia

 There are lots of choices for getting around Istanbul. You can stroll through the old markets, grab a Taksi (no x in Turkish) back to your hotel, catch a tram and head to the next museum on your list, or hop on a Vapur ferry heading across the Bosphorus. Bus lines crisscross the neighborhoods and there are a couple of metro lines too, slowly expanding under the city. (Digging through all those layers of history takes a long time. Workers have to stop to catalog archeological finds every few minutes! I'll do a separate post on Friday.) If you're brave and want to rent a car, make sure it's an automatic. You don't want to roll back down the steep streets.

Another affordable option is the Dolmuş. Tourists might not like to cram into a crowded minibus, but locals find it the easiest way to get anywhere fast - all across Turkey. Most people without cars, and even those who do, use the dolmus every day.

Unlike a taxi, the dolmuş has a determined route, but will stop at any corner you choose. There are maps available of the larger minibus routes, but the smaller ones basically work like this...

Wait at the corner until one stops, or try to flag one down if they don't see you. Ask the boy where he's headed. (There's usually a boy hanging halfway out the side door who handles fares and passengers). Hop on, and tell the boy when to stop.

Today's dolmuş is a boxy minibus, but it wasn't always that way. Up until the 70s, Istanbul was full of old American cars filling the role. You could fit a lot of people in the backseat of a DeSoto! Climbing out must have been fun though.



via Food Vagabond


You should really visit Ayak for an amusing first-hand story about the village dolmuş! Thanks for the link, Ayak! :)

Related articles

• Istanbul Boosts Options For Ferry Travel, Its Most Beautiful and Relaxing Way to Commute (treehugger.com)
• Istanbul transit fares increased (gadling.com)

Tale of the Ranunculus

via Jane.siet @ Flickr

It's been a while since I've written about Flora and Fauna, and the spring flower catalogs are getting me in the mood for blooming colorful stuff! So, I thought I'd tell you my Tale of the Ranunculus.

This story is from the days when my Turkish wasn't so great, so you'll have to forgive the fill-ins. I don't remember why we were headed up to the mountains that afternoon either, but my inlaws loaded us into the back of their car. DH and I settled in for a ride. 

The side of the road was scattered with small, stuccoed homes, all faded to a washed out beige by the strong Mediterranean sun and covered in grey dust from passing traffic. The real scenery was further out, in the foothills around us.

I was focused on the silver glimmer of faraway olive groves when the Romork tractor pulled out in front of us. My father-in-law clicked his cheek, as if he was calming his horse, and downshifted to accomodate the farmer. A few cars were winding down the opposite side of the road, so we waited for them to pass. We were about to cross into the other lane when my mother-in-law demanded we stop instead. (We always did what she said.)

A few minutes later, we were reversing to a village house surrounded by a low, concrete block wall. No one had bothered to stucco the wall and along the top, someone had assembled a collection of old olive oil cans. A sight hardly worth stopping for. 

My mother-in-law got out and purposefully went over to one of the cans. A curious face poked through a curtained window and then quickly reappeared to welcome us at the wall.

Here I'll paraphrase:

MIL: What a lovely flower this is!
The ruffled, blood-red bloom barely lifted it's head over the top of the can, but my sharp-eyed MIL had seen it when we passed at 30 mph.
Peasant: Thank you! It's a (I don't remember what she called it!).
MIL: Where did you get it?
Peasant: (I got the gist that it was a wildflower.) You're welcome to take this one!
She flashed a toothless smile at all of us and we were on our way, rusty, yellow can in hand.

I felt sad taking the only spot of color from that woman's world. It was my first lesson in "don't admire it too much, because they'll give it to you." But the peasant woman's smile and generosity have stayed with me long after the flower died, so maybe she had the right idea.

In the language of flowers, ranunculus symbolizes radiant charm. It belongs to the buttercup family and does grow wild. It's also poisonous to livestock, so I wonder if the woman was weeding her fields as she potted them up for herself. I'm sure she never guessed I'd be writing a blog post about her all these years later!

Anyone else have a buttercup story to tell?