Backing Up Barry

Plus upcoming events and a new prompt.

This seems like a safe space to tell you. I’m a Barry Manilow fan. I started young. I wrote the origin story a few years ago and feel compelled to share a version of it here.

CONFESSIONS OF A FANILOW

Long before I heard the term “codependence,” I had an unbalanced relationship with a man I idolized beyond all sense of reason. I was five years old. He wrote the songs that made the young girls sing. He had no idea who I was and still, for more years than I care to admit, I clung to the hope that he would. I had a silver bumper sticker on my bedroom door, a gift from my Nana: Barry M. Loves Lara T. His poster-sized perm filled the space above my bed. I liked his sad eyes and the moon-shaped medallion against his collar. There was a smudge by his ear where I’d pressed my mouth to talk to him.

Two young Fanilows. (I’m on the left in the fashionable shirt.)

I couldn’t say how or why but even then, I sensed it: There was safety in following another into obsession. It was easier than figuring out what was going on in my small, murky head.

Fast forward to age 19. I wore blue corduroys that buttoned just under the knee and ballooned like Oompa Loompa pants, the uniform for all Interlochen Arts Camp employees. As Concert Officer, I held a walkie-talkie and a clipboard. I supervised the daily recitals for campers and ushered the performances in Kresge Auditorium, the moneymaker, where the summer roster matched my pre-teen record collection: Dolly Parton, Aretha Franklin, Willie Nelson and Barry Manilow.

Barry was the reason why I’d put up with the uniform. At last, we’d meet. He’d learn about our special intimacy: the nights in the living room when my parents didn’t look up from their books, allowing me to focus on dance steps, nights I wore a shawl with pom-poms and listened to his live album on repeat, the one where he joked about Brooklyn and his beagle named Bagel. I knew that he was talking to the stadium of people who’d paid to hear him, but also just to me. He spoke like my grandfather, who grew up on the Lower East Side.

Bagel and Barry

At Interlochen, as though ordained, a beautiful rumor spread. Barry would need a backup choir for his Kresge concert, and that choir would be comprised of staffers. Are you kidding? I asked my boss, a trumpet player who led the marching band at a large university.

“I wish,” he said. “You want to be in it?”

It was that simple. This was before Facebook. (Or even MySpace.) I called everyone I could think of. The camp paper did an interview and I told them about the poster. What I didn’t tell them was my wish. You, he’d say. I need you. Come on tour with me for the rest of my life. A post-college plan.

But when it came time to rehearse, Debra Byrd, his longtime backup singer, taught us the parts in a musty shed behind Kresge. At sound check B. sat in the last row with a microphone, invisible from stage, his scratchy voice saying, “Tenors. Think about where you’re going.” Something zipped inside me, hearing him speak, a flash of recognition. This was our true beginning! He asked if someone could bring a cup of tea with honey.

During the encore, we filed on for “I Write the Songs” and, for one moment, he turned with arms spread, dazzling in a well-fitted jacket, the Great Oz revealing the singers behind the curtain. He beamed at us, strangers on a platform. The auditorium roared.

And then it was over. Debra gave us t-shirts: Greatest Hits and Then Some Tour, 1993.

I couldn’t leave. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. It wasn’t supposed to end, ever. But there was someone outside his dressing room who wouldn’t budge, a man in a sleeveless shirt and bow tie, like a Chippendale dancer who’d taken a wrong turn. I cornered his percussionist, but he couldn’t help me either.

For a long time, I walked around the campus in the dark, my insides like shrunken balloons. It was like the night, peering under their bed to find the tea set, when I’d discovered that Santa was really my parents. All that Barry love. It was just my relatives making stickers and buying posters. I’d devoted all that time to something that wasn’t real.

Willie Nelson came, and Dolly. They didn’t need altos. I went back to college and got a part in Godspell. My roommate gave me a poster of Barry, a recent one, and I hung it on my wall out of habit. I tried, in a moment of weakness, to arrange “Copacabana,” but the horn parts were tricky and I quit. There were so many songs better suited to my voice—like “My Funny Valentine.” I finished that piece and my a cappella group loved it. I took the solo for myself.

PROMPT: Who was/is your Barry Manilow? What do you love about this person beyond all sense of reason? Write for five minutes or so without rereading, without worrying about getting it right. Let me know how it goes in the comments below.

And join me online tomorrow night (Wed., Nov. 29, 7 pm ET) for Pick Up the Pen (details below) and tell me about your fandom Zoomface to Zoomface.

Yours in ink and song,

Lara

UPCOMING EVENTS:

Tomorrow! ONLINE: PICK UP THE PEN, a Community Drop-In Session (Monthly)

WHEN: Wednesday, November 29, 7:00 - 8:00 pm ET

One hour of freewriting to get the ideas churning. I supply the prompts. All are welcome.

WHERE: Zoomland

NEW: In honor of NaNoWriMo (the finish line!), this session is “pay what you wish.” ($20 per participant suggested.)

*ONLINE (anywhere) or IN PERSON (if in Berkshire County, MA): Writing Coach
If you have a writing project (short or long; beginning, middle or near-end) and need friendly guidance/support, please reach out. I look forward to reading your work!

Working with Lara Tupper for private manuscript guidance on my novel felt like a dream-come-true. Not only was it a joy to connect with her, but she was able to home in on exactly what my manuscript needed. Even though I have experience as an editor, showing someone else my work for the first time is extremely difficult for me. My sensitive-artist soul appreciated Lara's perfect blend of compassionate encouragement and insightful, critical feedback. Now, after completing the rewrite, I can see how she helped tighten the manuscript to bring out the best it could be.

- Ali Keehn, Former Assistant Editor at Philomel Books, (div. of Penguin Putnam, Inc.), and Former U.S. Editor at Barefoot Books 

WINTER WORKSHOP SERIES (online)

Submissions are now open through Dec. 15!

2024 New Year Workshop dates: Five Mondays from 6:00 - 8:00 pm ET. January 15, 22 and 29; February 5 and 12

What it is: The workshop series is for writers looking for accountability, camaraderie and support. The series runs for five weeks; each weekly session is two hours. Participants form close bonds and learn from each other in this intimate, productive and FRIENDLY series.

Workshop format: We'll meet on Zoom. You'll read participants' drafts  ahead of time and come prepared with reflective feedback. I'll provide brief lessons on elements of craft (point of view, dialogue, structure, scene-building, etc.) and give you prompts to work on between our sessions. Attendance at all five sessions is required. Class size will be limited.

Lara who?

Lara Tupper is author of the short story collection Amphibians (Leapfrog Press; winner, Leapfrog Global Fiction Award) and the novels Off Island (Encircle; finalist, Housatonic Book Award) and A Thousand and One Nights (Harcourt and Untreed Reads). A graduate of the Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College (MFA in Creative Writing), she taught at Rutgers University for many years and now presents writing workshops online and in person. She is founder of Swift Ink Stories, a platform for creative expression. Her latest album, This Dance, is a tribute to her favorite jazz and pop tunes. She is a proud member of the BMIFC (Barry Manilow International Fan Club) and cares for six adorable hens. www.laratupper.com

Why it’s called Swift Ink Stories:

Writing can be done in short, sweet bursts and doesn't have to be painful. So, just pick up the pen.