The 3:57 by William E. Spear is still Between Seasons. From January through June, a blog post or podcast, and often both, was made each week.
However, and to the great comfort of Writer/Producer Spear, are no scheduled program releases in July. However, he is using the month to prepare the next series titled IT SUITS HER.
The story is about two people – Maxie Williams and Celia Court – who meet in a tailoring shop. For the record, “collide” is more accurate. Both are desperate for better futures. But, will either land in a better place?
Twenty-one episodes have been written, theme music is nearly complete, and artwork will be revealed soon. Even Spear is rehearsing his voice. You’d think he’d get a better narrator.
Episode One of IT SUITS HER premieres on 1 August. We’ll see you then.
On July 4, 1776, the Second Continental Congress unanimously adopted the Declaration of Independence, announcing the colonies’ separation from Great Britain.
It is also the first Tuesday of a new month. Throughout the year, The 3:57 by William E. Spear has started a new series on the first Tuesdays of January through June. As a reminder, these are the first episodes of stories we’ve started this year:
On this particular Tuesday, The 3:57 announces it is Between Seasons. The program is developing a new series titled IT SUITS HER. The following is a brief description:
“Maxie (Williams) is an actor whose previously brilliant career disappeared with a serious drinking illness; Ceel (Court) ran away from a miserable home life and is working at an equally miserable job. Both are struggling and desperate to build better futures. When their lives collide, will they land in circumstances that suits either of them?”
Show notes for IT SUITS HER
Seven episodes have been written and are working their way to the recording studios for a premiere on 1 August. However, an excerpt of the first episode, as told by Maxie, is below:
Good evening. I’m Maxie Williams. I am on my way an appointment and need to pick up my suit from a tailor in downtown Flemington.
Before I can retrieve my suit from the said tailor I will need to navigate Celia Court. She is easily the most obstinate . . . the most infuriating . . . the most annoying person I have ever met.
It is like looking in a mirror and seeing myself thirty years younger.
That encounter will come later. For now, she is balancing her boyfriend and job by way of her cell phone. If you lean a bit closer you can hear her.
“Hello. . . . I can only talk for a moment. . . . No, I’ll be there later.” Celia whispered into her cel phone: “We don’t close the shop until nine. . . . I can’t, Mr. Clarkson will hear me.”
Mr. Clarkson, the owner of the shop, elsewhere and as far away as possible without being on the street, bellowed: “Miss Court!”
Celia bent closer to her cell phone and whispered lower: “I have to go. Mr. Clarkson might . . .”
“I might what, Miss Court?” Clarkson boomed.
End of excerpt.
That’s all for now. We will look for you in August.
A regular accounting of the The 3:57 published on the first Monday of each month.
Monday 3 July 2023
Re: Midyear Status and Between Seasons (since when do we have seasons?)
Dear All,
Greetings and salutations. It is my hope this finds you well.
The 3:57 by William E. Spear has arrived at the midpoint of 2023 and a reflection upon the first six months seems appropriate. Start with a reminder of the initial objectives: 1) Post each week on the program’s blog and 2) Release a podcast episode on the second and fourth Tuesdays of each month.
Permit consideration of these accomplishments:
Season One has been concluded. Brew another pot of celebratory coffee for that alone.
Stories ranged from turning 64 (ON A FROSTY MORN) to an allegorical view of Russia invading The Ukraine (DEAD AIR) to a non-verbal janitor in central New Jersey, U.S.A (SEVENTEEN).
For 26 consecutive weeks, a blog post or podcast episode was released every single week.
Of note, in April, May, and June both a blog post and podcast episode were released each week.
Of further note, in June was A FORCE OF POETS. The release schedule included the following:
The program will be Between Seasons in July. Writing, voicing, and producing each story is exhilarating and exhausting and Season One was a blast. Stepping away from the microphone for four weeks is a welcome break.
However, The 3:57 will not be idle. Season Two is in the works and on 1 August the premiere episode of IT SUITS HER will be released. It will feature the characters Maxie Williams and Ceel Court.
Maxie is an actor whose previously brilliant career disappeared with a serious drinking illness; Ceel left a miserable home life and is working at an equally miserable job. Both are struggling and desperate to build better futures. When their lives collide, will they land in circumstances that suits either of them?
A FORCE OF POETS, PODCAST EPISODE FOUR – Phillis Wheatley
ORIGINAL DATE: 27 June 2023
(Theme for A Force of Poets comes up)
The next poet offers praise to start and end the day and an ode for a safe crossing of the Atlantic Ocean.
Hear those and more on . . . The 3:57 by William E. Spear.
(Theme for A Force of Poets comes up)
Hello my name is William Spear and this is our series titled A FORCE OF POETS.
Our fourth poet is Phillis Wheatley.
She was born in Gambia, Africa in 1753 and captured by slave traders in 1761. Her first name was changed to that of the ship that brought her to America where she was sold to the Wheatley family of Boston, Massachusetts.
In 1784, she died of complications from childbirth.
But during her life she became the first African American and second woman after Anne Bradstreet to publish a book of poems.
Wheatley’s book, POEMS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS, RELIGIOUS AND MORAL, published in 1773, included the following: – A FUNERAL POEM ON THE DEATH OF C. E. AN INFANT OF TWELVE MONTHS – TO HIS HONOUR THE LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR, ON THE DEATH OF HIS LADY. MARCH 24, 1773 – TO S. M. A YOUNG AFRICAN PAINTER, ON SEEING HIS WORKS
This episode focuses on AN HYMN TO THE MORNING, AN HYMN TO THE EVENING, and ODE TO NEPTUNE.
From A FORCE OF POETS . . . this is PHILLIS WHEATLEY.
(Theme for A Force of Poets fades under and out)
An Hymn to the Morning Attend my lays, ye ever honour’d nine, Assist my labours, and my strains refine; In smoothest numbers pour the notes along, For bright Aurora now demands my song.
Aurora hail, and all the thousand dies, Which deck thy progress through the vaulted skies: The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays, On ev’ry leaf the gentle zephyr plays;
Harmonious lays the feather’d race resume, Dart the bright eye, and shake the painted plume. Ye shady groves, your verdant gloom display To shield your poet from the burning day:
Calliope awake the sacred lyre, While thy fair sisters fan the pleasing fire: The bow’rs, the gales, the variegated skies In all their pleasures in my bosom rise.
See in the east th’ illustrious king of day! His rising radiance drives the shades away— But Oh! I feel his fervid beams too strong, And scarce begun, concludes th’ abortive song.
Wheatley’s next is . . .
An Hymn to the Evening Soon as the sun forsook the eastern main The pealing thunder shook the heav’nly plain; Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr’s wing, Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.
Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes, And through the air their mingled music floats. Through all the heav’ns what beauteous dies are spread! But the west glories in the deepest red:
So may our breasts with ev’ry virtue glow, The living temples of our God below! Fill’d with the praise of him who gives the light, And draws the sable curtains of the night,
Let placid slumbers sooth each weary mind, At morn to wake more heav’nly, more refin’d; So shall the labours of the day begin More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin.
Night’s leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes, Then cease, my song, till fair Aurora rise.
The third and final offering from Wheatley is . . .
Ode To Neptune On Mrs. W———‘s Voyage to England.
I. WHILE raging tempests shake the shore, While AElus’ thunders round us roar, And sweep impetuous o’er the plain Be still, O tyrant of the main; Nor let thy brow contracted frowns betray, While my Susanna skims the wat’ry way.
II. The Pow’r propitious hears the lay, The blue-ey’d daughters of the sea With sweeter cadence glide along, And Thames responsive joins the song. Pleas’d with their notes Sol sheds benign his ray, And double radiance decks the face of day.
III. To court thee to Britannia’s arms Serene the climes and mild the sky, Her region boasts unnumber’d charms, Thy welcome smiles in ev’ry eye. Thy promise, Neptune keep, record my pray’r, Not give my wishes to the empty air.
(Theme for A Force of Poets fades up and under)
You’ve just listened to Phillis Wheatley the Fourth and Final Poet of A FORCE OF POETS.
Theme music is through the courtesy of QubeSounds at PixaBay.
The Three Fifty-seven is written and produced by William Spear.
A FORCE OF POETS, Episode Three – Christina G. Rossetti
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Full Transcript –
A FORCE OF POETS, PODCAST EPISODE THREE – Christina G. Rossetti
ORIGINAL DATE: 20 June 2023
(Theme for A Force of Poets comes up)
The next poet wonders WHAT’S IN A NAME? and hints at telling her secret.
Hear both stories on The 3:57 by William E. Spear.
(Theme for A Force of Poets comes up)
Hello my name is William Spear and this is our series titled A FORCE OF POETS.
Our third poet is Christina G. Rossetti.
She was born in December of 1830 in London and died in 1894. Her writing includes the following: – GOBLIN MARKET about hideous creatures selling fruits such as “grapes fresh from the vine, and pomegranates full and fine.” – IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER which is her telling of the nativity story. – And, REMEMBER when she tells her lover to “Remember me when I am gone away // Gone far away into the silent land // When you can no more hold me by the hand.”
This episode focuses on two other poems: WHAT’S IN A NAME? and WINTER: MY SECRET.
From A FORCE OF POETS . . . this is Christina G. Rossetti.
(Theme for A Force of Poets fades under and out)
What’s In A Name?
Why has Spring one syllable less Than any its fellow season? There may be some other reason, And I’m merely making a guess; But surely it hoards such wealth Of happiness, hope and health, Sunshine and musical sound, It may spare a foot from its name Yet all the same Superabound.
Soft-named Summer, Most welcome comer, Brings almost everything Over which we dream or sing Or sigh; But then Summer wends its way, To-morrow,–to-day,– Good-bye! Autumn,–the slow name lingers, While we likewise flag; It silences many singers; Its slow days drag, Yet hasten at speed To leave us in chilly need For Winter to strip indeed.
In all-lack Winter, Dull of sense and of sound, We huddle and shiver Beside our splinter Of crackling pine, Snow in sky and snow on ground. Winter and cold Can’t last for ever! To-day, to-morrow, the sun will shine; When we are old, But some still are young, Singing the song Which others have sung, Ringing the bells Which others have rung,– Even so! We ourselves, who else? We ourselves long Long ago.
Rossetti’s next is . . .
Winter: My Secret
I tell my secret? No indeed, not I: Perhaps some day, who knows? But not to-day; it froze, and blows, and snows, And you’re too curious: fie! You want to hear it? well: Only, my secret’s mine, and I won’t tell.
Or, after all, perhaps there’s none: Suppose there is no secret after all, But only just my fun.
To-day’s a nipping day, a biting day;
In which one wants a shawl, A veil, a cloak, and other wraps: I cannot ope to every one who taps, And let the draughts come whistling through my hall; Come bounding and surrounding me, Come buffeting, astounding me, Nipping and clipping through my wraps and all.
I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows His nose to Russian snows To be pecked at by every wind that blows? You would not peck? I thank you for good-will, Believe, but leave that truth untested still.
Spring’s an expansive time: yet I don’t trust March with its peck of dust, Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers, Nor even May, whose flowers One frost may wither through the sunless hours.
Perhaps some languid summer day, When drowsy birds sing less and less, And golden fruit is ripening to excess, If there’s not too much sun nor too much cloud, And the warm wind is neither still nor loud, Perhaps my secret I may say, Or you may guess.
(Theme for A Force of Poets fades up and under)
You’ve just listened to Christina G. Rossetti the Third Poet of A FORCE OF POETS.
Theme music is through the courtesy of QubeSounds at PixaBay.
The Three Fifty-seven is written and produced by William Spear.
A FORCE OF POETS, PODCAST EPISODE TWO – Emily Dickinson
ORIGINAL DATE: 13 June 2023
(Theme for A Force of Poets comes up)
The next poet wrote about the bigness of the brain, the mystery of dawn, and the power of a smile.
Find out who and the lines . . .
(Theme for A Force of Poets comes up)
. . . here on The 3:57 by William E. Spear.
Hello my name is William Spear and this is our series titled A FORCE OF POETS.
Our second poet is Emily Dickinson.
She was born in December of 1830, in Amherst, Massachusetts U.S.A. and died in 1886. Her work was first published in 1890 and readers have experienced a collection of writing which includes lines such as the following: – “The brain is wider than the sky.” – Or, “Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door.” – And, “They might not need me; but they might. // I’ll let my head be just in sight; // a smile as small as mine might be // precisely their necessity.”
This episode focuses on two poems: SUMMER’S ARMIES and THE PURPLE CLOVER.
From A FORCE OF POETS . . . this is Emily Dickinson.
(Theme for A Force of Poets fades under and out)
Summer’s Armies
Some rainbow coming from the fair! Some vision of the world Cashmere I confidently see! Or else a peacock’s purple train, Feather by feather, on the plain Fritters itself away!
The dreamy butterflies bestir, Lethargic pools resume the whir Of last year’s sundered tune. From some old fortress on the sun Baronial bees march, one by one, In murmuring platoon!
The robins stand as thick to-day As flakes of snow stood yesterday, On fence and roof and twig.
The orchis binds her feather on For her old lover, Don the Sun, Revisiting the bog!
Without commander, countless, still, The regiment of wood and hill In bright detachment stand. Behold! Whose multitudes are these? The children of whose turbaned seas, Or what Circassian land?
Dickinson’s next is . . .
The Purple Clover
There is a flower that bees prefer, And butterflies desire; To gain the purple democrat The humming-birds aspire.
And whatsoever insect pass, A honey bears away Proportioned to his several dearth And her capacity.
Her face is rounder than the moon, And ruddier than the gown Of orchis in the pasture, Or rhododendron worn.
She doth not wait for June; Before the world is green Her sturdy little countenance Against the wind is seen,
Contending with the grass, Near kinsman to herself, For privilege of sod and sun, Sweet litigants for life.
And when the hills are full, And newer fashions blow, Doth not retract a single spice For pang of jealousy.
Her public is the noon, Her providence the sun, Her progress by the bee proclaimed In sovereign, swerveless tune.
The bravest of the host, Surrendering the last, Nor even of defeat aware When cancelled by the frost.
(Theme for A Force of Poets fades up and under)
You’ve just listened to Emily Dickinson the Second Poet of A FORCE OF POETS.
Theme music is through the courtesy of QubeSounds at PixaBay.
The Three Fifty-seven is written and produced by William Spear.
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