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Phyllis Dixon’s Intermission


To an outsider, banking doesn’t seem like the kind of profession to inspire bursts of creativity, but for Phyllis Dixon, that’s how she found her passion for writing fiction. “In a way, it was kind of similar [to my job],” she says, “because one of the things I did was write exam reports, which is the story of the bank and the story of what was going on. We also wrote synopses of some of the borrowers, so you would have to tell their story, too. So it’s kind of the same thing as far as, you know, analyzing a situation and being able to distill that into a story to let people know what’s going on.”

“I traveled a lot [for my job],” Dixon adds. “And so I spent a lot of time in hotels and airports and things like that. Some of the things that people do to kind of pass the time — some people drink, some people knit, some people fool around. And I just stayed in my room and wrote down stories that were swinging around in my head.”

By 2013, Dixon self-published her first novel, Forty Acres, to be followed in 2016 by her second book, Down Home Blues. When Covid hit, she began her third book: Intermission

This most recent novel revolves around four women, who were once part of a 1990s girl group on the brink of stardom before breaking up. At the telling of the story, they reunite for a second shot at success, each of them facing a different crisis in her personal life. What follows, the author explains, is a story of forgiveness and reconciliation — and, as it so happens, a story that occurs mostly in Memphis.  

“The idea came to me many years ago,” Dixon says, “and I just always thought about it, even pushed it to the side and wrote another book before coming back to this idea, and then during the Covid lockdown, I told myself, ‘No distractions, no excuses, no slacking.’ I was just determined. And I said, ‘I’m gonna try and get an agent.’ And I sent out a lot, a lot, a lot of queries. And those stars aligned, and here we are today: I was able to get an agent and a traditional publisher [Kensington Publishing].

“Really,” she continues, “I just want to entertain people. There’s so much going on — so much divisiveness and trauma and tragedy and global warming and all this bad stuff going on. I just want to entertain, tell people a good story, and kind of take their mind off all the bad stuff.”

This Tuesday, Dixon will celebrate the launch of Intermission at Novel with a book-signing and discussion. “I just invite people to come by, and even if they don’t come buy my book — it’ll be available [at the] library — I’d appreciate their support because even with my first two books, Memphis has been very supportive. And I appreciate it.” 

Phyllis R. Dixon: Intermission Book Launch, Novel, Tuesday, July 25, 6 p.m.

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Film/TV TV Features

Mad Men, Matthew Weiner, and Edward Hopper

Spoiler alert: If you aren’t current on Mad Men, be aware of thematic and plot revelations in this review. And, if you don’t know what Mad Men is, Google it and get busy catching up. Also: Consider where you may have gone wrong in your life.

“Previously on” the Flyer‘s TV review page: Contemporary scripted TV is our equivalent of masterpieces of fine art. Our museums and galleries are HBO, AMC, Showtime, the basic networks, FX, Netflix, and Hulu. The Sopranos is a Caravaggio; Parks and Recreation is a Keith Haring. Breaking Bad is Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s The Triumph of Death.

Mad Men is an Edward Hopper. It’s Nighthawks and Chop Suey and Office in a Small City and Intermission and a dozen more, all rolled into one: gorgeous, perfectly designed, lonely, contemplative, sexy, and gender-inclusive. Creator Matthew Weiner paints Mad Men with pure confident brilliance. Mad Men is social commentary with the benefit of decades of perspective.

The big knock commonly advanced about Mad Men is that nothing much ever happens in the show. The times that the show has truly shocked viewers can probably be counted on one hand: A lawnmower comes to mind, as does a man’s severed nipple. But, taking place during the tumultuous history of the 1960s, Mad Men usually prefers to let the big moments happen in the public consciousness and take the personal histories at a more glacial pace. Pacing is actually Mad Men at its most honest: The world may change overnight, but people don’t.

Weiner ramped up for Mad Men as a writer on The Sopranos. His episodes, including “Chasing It,” “Soprano Home Movies,” and “Luxury Lounge,” are more sociological, observational, and digressive than most other Sopranos episodes. Weiner never seemed as interested in the big plot points of the New Jersey crime family as he was with what effect this was having on individuals. In Mad Men, he doesn’t recreate the scenes of those seismic national events but instead focuses on what they mean for the characters — similar to how author James Ellroy explores “the private nightmare of public policy” in his Underworld USA trilogy.

Last Sunday, Mad Men‘s Season 7 signed off until 2015 with “Waterloo,” a half-season finale in the middle of a bifurcated final round of episodes. (Don’t get me started about how annoying a network ploy this is.) But, at this point, I’m ready to stop debating if Mad Men is the best show of all time: It almost doesn’t matter what happens in the show’s final seven episodes, Mad Men has surpassed other great hour-long shows like The Sopranos, The Wire, M*A*S*H, Breaking Bad, and whatever else is presumptively the title-holder. (And comparing the relative value of dramas versus comedies is too difficult and too dependent on preferences. Apples to apples, I’ll take Parks and Recreation over any other comedy and Mad Men over any other drama.)

Until late in Season 7, Mad Men hadn’t yet tipped its hand about ultimate intentions: Is it a show about things falling apart or coming together? As “Waterloo” ends, things are hopeful. Don finally has the inclination and means to simply do and enjoy his work. Sally picked the earnest nerd over the cynical football player. Peggy found her voice. Things may change again in the second half of the season. Mad Men might do its thematic version of the Altamont Free Concert. Either way, it’s a cultural alchemy that is a joy to behold.

Watching Mad Men isn’t like watching paint dry, it’s like watching a great painting dry: Hopper’s Morning Sun oxidizing into immortality.