When my wife and I were dating, my sense of 'wit' would get me in trouble. I liked to keep up a running commentary in the style of MST3K and fire off resounding rejoinders dripping in irony. Yeah, I was that guy. I knew when to turn it down (science lectures, most church services) and when to crank it up (family dinner, English classes). But Mrs. Betty, as some of you know her, dealt me a pretty heady dose of reality. "In every sarcastic thing you say, there's a part of it that's true. A part of it that you secretly think. And I don't like that man who has to sneak around the truth."
And that's a pretty heady intro to what started as a fluff piece. And that's how the piece reveals itself even in it's introduction. I know that as a writer, I've begun work on a story as a flight of fancy or a heartwarming anecdote to have it morph under my eyes into a heartrending, beautiful tale. Just the other night I decided to have some fun and develop an over the top noir anti-hero named O'Reasy (as opposed to hard-boiled). Then PI O'Reasy needed back story.
Then I needed to flesh out his parents.
Then I was talking about his old job.
And out of nowhere, I was writing a story about a second grader named Patrick O'Reasy who got picked on at school and called O'Greasy before he disappeared from the playground. With some work and some digging and polishing and development, I think P. O'Reasy could be a fun story. And not at all the story I expected to write.
A writer who has disappeared from the blogosphere was a hardline writer determinist, that is, he believed that the writer controlled the story. But I think he was forgetting that the truth controls the writer, and Truth, be it buried in our minds or our stories, will out.
You ever get stuck on a name? For a minor character, a major character, a pet, a child, an annoying patron? Well, the annoying patron one is pretty simple. You just describe what they do and put the word patron on the end of it. Like my favorite, Mr. Mumble Singy-Pants Patron.
Sometimes, I'll name a character after a relative or a friend or a teacher I really hated. But most of the time, I try to have fun with it. Allusions to classic literature, to the Bible, to unusual words or words that I enjoy. Sometimes, characters will jump onto the page and hand me their card. "Hello, I'm Tom Bitreik. I am this old and these are my driving phobias." But most of the time, the characters just want to stand around waiting for a name before they'll do anything.
So character names are a bit of a time suck for me, but I love them. I like to pretend I'm clever. Like the names in my Clarity of Night entries here and here.
I'm off to do more yard work. Hooray!!
Sometimes, I'll name a character after a relative or a friend or a teacher I really hated. But most of the time, I try to have fun with it. Allusions to classic literature, to the Bible, to unusual words or words that I enjoy. Sometimes, characters will jump onto the page and hand me their card. "Hello, I'm Tom Bitreik. I am this old and these are my driving phobias." But most of the time, the characters just want to stand around waiting for a name before they'll do anything.
So character names are a bit of a time suck for me, but I love them. I like to pretend I'm clever. Like the names in my Clarity of Night entries here and here.
I'm off to do more yard work. Hooray!!
Mowing the lawn as a homeowner is a radically different experience. Suddenly those green pine cones that used to be awesome because they were everywhere (and they made good ammunition) are definitely NOT awesome.
Just found out I'm going to be at a mandatory retreat on Thursday from 8-3. No computers! I'll miss the Clarity of Night Winners Announcement. Not that I expect to win, but I wanna be around to congratulate the winners. And I want to see how my short list compares. Last year I was way off.
Maybe I can borrow a coworker's iPohne. My celly doesn't even have a camera, much less internet access.
Maybe I can borrow a coworker's iPohne. My celly doesn't even have a camera, much less internet access.
*For short fiction. I don't have a lot of experience with longer forms.*
What is the secret to a successful short story? Is it lyric prose, engaging characters, explosions, tension, fantastic situations? No. Well, you need those things, so don't throw them out, but none of those is the heart of the story. The heartbeat/ life's breath/ point of a story is the Change.
You know how action films can leave you cold and you feel calmer after dramedies? It's because (in the main) action film characters never grow or change while drama revels in it. It doesn't have to be an interruption of a wedding a la The Gradutate or The Other Sister, but your characters must change, grow, mature or devolve.
Whether it's a physical change, an emotional change, a discovery or a death, your character can't just be winsome. That's bubblegum candycorn fiction. Slice of life can be poignant and familiar, but if your MC is in the same state of mind, action and being as when the story started, you've wasted the reader's time. Readers are picky and don't enjoy their time being wasted.
So please, for the sake of your readership, introduce some change, some conflict, some difficult choices in your shorts and flashes. It doesn't have to be big or ostentatious or M. Night Shyamalan twisty. It can just be the decision to simply sit with your dementiated mother.
What is the secret to a successful short story? Is it lyric prose, engaging characters, explosions, tension, fantastic situations? No. Well, you need those things, so don't throw them out, but none of those is the heart of the story. The heartbeat/ life's breath/ point of a story is the Change.
You know how action films can leave you cold and you feel calmer after dramedies? It's because (in the main) action film characters never grow or change while drama revels in it. It doesn't have to be an interruption of a wedding a la The Gradutate or The Other Sister, but your characters must change, grow, mature or devolve.
Whether it's a physical change, an emotional change, a discovery or a death, your character can't just be winsome. That's bubblegum candycorn fiction. Slice of life can be poignant and familiar, but if your MC is in the same state of mind, action and being as when the story started, you've wasted the reader's time. Readers are picky and don't enjoy their time being wasted.
So please, for the sake of your readership, introduce some change, some conflict, some difficult choices in your shorts and flashes. It doesn't have to be big or ostentatious or M. Night Shyamalan twisty. It can just be the decision to simply sit with your dementiated mother.
I have a few drafts in my dashboard, so I'm going to throw them all into one post and clean up around the joint.
1. When you say it more, it means more. Right?:
My infatuation with repetition bloomed when I read Robbe-Grillet's Jealousy. I read a translation since I am not a polyglot. But all that's beside the point. The novel itself is so good and so mind-twistingly psychological. The unnamed narrator watches and watches and watches and his conclusions are confirmed by his (circular) observations and there's a stain on a wall that may or may not be from a squashed centipede and may or may not grow with time. I'd recommend it to readers who enjoy tension and ambiguity and non-direct lines of information and questionable narrators.
2. Rumpel-what?:
I remember the Reading Rainbow production of Rumpelstiltskin. It was two-dimensional cut-out characters that moved across the book's background, kind of like when you fly in a graphic in Photoshop. I've searched and can't find an online video of it to confirm my memory, but I liked the end where R spun around and around before he disappeared in a puff of smoke (I think). Totally unfaithful to the Grimm version (which is more grim) and R's leg sinks into the floor and he rips himself in half. However the story ends, there's not a clear cut moral. Which makes me wonder, other than teaching young girls to break deals with short warty men, why is this story a classic? Well, there's the greed thing.
3. In regards to your kind letter of this Wednesday past:
Most High and August Majesty of the Southern Continents,
Congratulations on your entry. I have no doubt that your touching snapshot will warm the hearts of many a troll, lurker and blogger. The muse is temperamental and she arrives most often the the midst of perspiration. Or mist depending on your typing habits/cartwheeling technique.
The great majority of entries this year are far above the cream/milk line. I've read to the 100 mark and have a list of about 15 to re-read. The comments this year have been smart and to-the-point and complimentary. And ole pjd and Aniket sure get around.
You have no cause to shame at dropping wordcounts. You have a rock-star husband, kids, church people (shudder), and, oh yeah, a billion books to review. And beyond that, it's summertime so everyone depends on Mom to make the plans. Hooray! Writing is happening down in the 'Sip, but it's a slow process here too. If it's important enough you make the time. Currently, USA summertime shows are what's important in Mrs. Betty and I's life. have you seen Royal Pains? Brilliant. Like a beach read without the sand or the reading.
Remodeling is a pain in the tookas, but more time on the front end means less time in patch jobs down the road. I hope.
Mrs. B, Athena and Zora send their love.
Sincerely,
B., CDotU(Jr.)
PS - I thought the delivery driver had tried to deliver but thought our house was vacant and took them home to read to his children. That would have been okay, I guess.
1. When you say it more, it means more. Right?:
My infatuation with repetition bloomed when I read Robbe-Grillet's Jealousy. I read a translation since I am not a polyglot. But all that's beside the point. The novel itself is so good and so mind-twistingly psychological. The unnamed narrator watches and watches and watches and his conclusions are confirmed by his (circular) observations and there's a stain on a wall that may or may not be from a squashed centipede and may or may not grow with time. I'd recommend it to readers who enjoy tension and ambiguity and non-direct lines of information and questionable narrators.
2. Rumpel-what?:
I remember the Reading Rainbow production of Rumpelstiltskin. It was two-dimensional cut-out characters that moved across the book's background, kind of like when you fly in a graphic in Photoshop. I've searched and can't find an online video of it to confirm my memory, but I liked the end where R spun around and around before he disappeared in a puff of smoke (I think). Totally unfaithful to the Grimm version (which is more grim) and R's leg sinks into the floor and he rips himself in half. However the story ends, there's not a clear cut moral. Which makes me wonder, other than teaching young girls to break deals with short warty men, why is this story a classic? Well, there's the greed thing.
3. In regards to your kind letter of this Wednesday past:
Most High and August Majesty of the Southern Continents,
Congratulations on your entry. I have no doubt that your touching snapshot will warm the hearts of many a troll, lurker and blogger. The muse is temperamental and she arrives most often the the midst of perspiration. Or mist depending on your typing habits/cartwheeling technique.
The great majority of entries this year are far above the cream/milk line. I've read to the 100 mark and have a list of about 15 to re-read. The comments this year have been smart and to-the-point and complimentary. And ole pjd and Aniket sure get around.
You have no cause to shame at dropping wordcounts. You have a rock-star husband, kids, church people (shudder), and, oh yeah, a billion books to review. And beyond that, it's summertime so everyone depends on Mom to make the plans. Hooray! Writing is happening down in the 'Sip, but it's a slow process here too. If it's important enough you make the time. Currently, USA summertime shows are what's important in Mrs. Betty and I's life. have you seen Royal Pains? Brilliant. Like a beach read without the sand or the reading.
Remodeling is a pain in the tookas, but more time on the front end means less time in patch jobs down the road. I hope.
Mrs. B, Athena and Zora send their love.
Sincerely,
B., CDotU(Jr.)
PS - I thought the delivery driver had tried to deliver but thought our house was vacant and took them home to read to his children. That would have been okay, I guess.
I noticed that I had a few blog hits from when I changed my About Me section to include Locks of Love. So I wanted to put up some information.
Here's the website. If you haven't heard of it, Locks of Love is a not-for-profit headquartered in Florida that is focused on helping individuals under the age of 18 who have long-term hair loss from medical conditions. I've copied the Mission Statement below:
The donation guidelines are here. Basically, if you have an extra 10 inches of hair that hasn't been bleached into oblivion, you're good. My wife donates hair every 2 years. When I grew my hair out, I took two years as well, but I also donated a 14 1/2 inch ponytail. Plus, it had just gotten long enough to hold a tight ponytail/cornrows so I kind of didn't want to let it go. But I got to be bald for a while and that was fun as well.
PRO TIPS:
Get your dead ends trimmed every month or so.
Eat fresh fish or take fish oil capsules regularly. This not only promotes hair/nail strength and growth, it also does good things for your heart.
Use conditioner.
Invest in ponytail holders or as my wife calls them 'pull-backs.'
Depending on how well you know your stylist/ how soft-hearted your stylist is, you might get a free haircut. Lay on the charm.
And now, the picture.
Here's the website. If you haven't heard of it, Locks of Love is a not-for-profit headquartered in Florida that is focused on helping individuals under the age of 18 who have long-term hair loss from medical conditions. I've copied the Mission Statement below:
Our mission is to return a sense of self, confidence and normalcy to children suffering from hair loss by utilizing donated ponytails to provide the highest quality hair prosthetics to financially disadvantaged children. The children receive hair prostheses free of charge or on a sliding scale, based on financial need.
The donation guidelines are here. Basically, if you have an extra 10 inches of hair that hasn't been bleached into oblivion, you're good. My wife donates hair every 2 years. When I grew my hair out, I took two years as well, but I also donated a 14 1/2 inch ponytail. Plus, it had just gotten long enough to hold a tight ponytail/cornrows so I kind of didn't want to let it go. But I got to be bald for a while and that was fun as well.
PRO TIPS:
Get your dead ends trimmed every month or so.
Eat fresh fish or take fish oil capsules regularly. This not only promotes hair/nail strength and growth, it also does good things for your heart.
Use conditioner.
Invest in ponytail holders or as my wife calls them 'pull-backs.'
Depending on how well you know your stylist/ how soft-hearted your stylist is, you might get a free haircut. Lay on the charm.
And now, the picture.
The Queen posted about it and since I'm on my second tuna salad sandwich and taking a break from reading Vino stories (I'm all the way up to #65. Did you get yours in?), it sounded like a good idea to me to count up how many I've read, as well.
I've read several bits and pieces of things, but I'll try and stick to the ones I've read in total. Bold means I've read it. Bold Italic means I recommend it. 26 total, 10 recommended. Some of the others I'd recommend just for historical, allusory value, but I tried to keep it real for this post. Kinda miffed that Leaves of Grass made it but Lyrical Ballads didn't. Hmph, American elitism.
1. War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy
2. 1984, by George Orwell
3. Ulysses, by James Joyce
4. Lolita, by Vladimir Nabokov
5. The Sound and The Fury, by William Faulkner
6. Invisible Man, by Ralph Ellison
7. To The Lighthouse, by Virginia Woolf
8. The Illiad and the Odyssey, by Homer
9. Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen
10. Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri
11. Canterbury Tales, by Geoffrey Chaucer
12. Gulliver’s Travels, by Jonathan Swift
13. Middlemarch, by George Eliot
14. Things Fall Apart, by Chinua Achebe
15. The Catcher in the Rye, by J. D. Salinger
16. Gone with the Wind, Margaret by Mitchell
17. One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
18. The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald
19. Catch-22, by Joseph Heller
20. Beloved, by Toni Morrison
21. The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck
22. Midnight’s Children, by Salman Rushdie
23. Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley
24. Mrs. Dalloway, by Virginia Woolf
25. Native Son, by Richard Wright
26. Democracy in America, by Alexis de Tocqueville
27. On the Origin of Species, by Charles Darwin
28. The Histories, by Herodotus
29. The Social Contract, by Jean-Jacques Rousseau
30. Das Kapital, by Karl Marx
31. The Prince, by Niccolo Machiavelli
32. Confessions, by St. Augustine
33. Leviathan, by Thomas Hobbes
34. The History of the Peloponnesian War, by Thucydides
35. The Lord of the Rings, by J. R. R. Tolkien
36. Winnie-the-Pooh, by A. A. Milne
37. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, by C. S. Lewis
38. A Passage to India, by E. M. Forster
39. On the Road, by Jack Kerouac
40. To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee
41. The Holy Bible, Revised Standard Version (Not if we're being picky, no, I haven't read that specific edition.)
42. A Clockwork Orange, by Antony Burgess
43. Light in August, by William Faulkner
44. The Souls of Black Folk, by W. E. Du Bois
45. Wide Sargasso Sea, by Jean Rhys
46. Madame Bovary, by Gustave Flaubert
47. Paradise Lost, by John Milton
48. Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy
49. Hamlet, by William Shakespeare
50. King Lear, by William Shakespeare
51. Othello, by William Shakespeare
52. Sonnets, by William Shakespeare
53. Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman
54. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain
55. Kim, by Rudyard Kipling
56. Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley
57. Song of Solomon, by Toni Morrison
58. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, by Ken Kesey
59. For Whom the Bell Tolls, by Ernest Hemingway
60. Slaughterhouse-Five, by Kurt Vonnegut
61. Animal Farm, by George Orwell
62. Lord of the Flies, by William Golding
63. In Cold Blood, by Truman Capote
64. The Golden Notebook, by Doris Lessing
65. Remembrance of Things Past, by Marcel Proust
66. The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler
67. As I Lay Dying, by William Faulkner
68. The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemingway
69. I, Claudius, by Robert Graves
70. The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, by Carson McCullers
71. Sons and Lovers, by D. H. Lawrence
72. All the King’s Men, by Robert Penn Warren
73. Go Tell it on the Mountain, by James Baldwin
74. Charlotte’s Web, by E. B. White
75. Heart of Darkness, by Joseph Conrad
76. Night, by Elie Wiesel
77. Rabbit Run, by John Updike
78. The Age of Innocence, by Edith Wharton
79. Portnoy’s Complaint, by Philip Roth
80. An American Tragedy, by Theodore Dreiser
81. The Day of the Locust, by Nathaniel West
82. Tropic of Cancer, by Henry Miller
83. The Maltese Falcon, by Dashiel Hammett
84. His Dark Materials, by Philip Pullman
85. Death Comes for the Archbishop, by Willa Cather
86. The Interpretation of Dreams, by Sigmund Freud
87. The Education of Henry Adams, by Henry Adams
88. Quotations from Chairman Mao, by Mao Zedong
89. The Varieties of Religious Experience, by William James
90. Brideshead Revisted, by Evelyn Waugh
91. Silent Spring, by Rachel Carson
92. The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money, by John Maynard Keynes
93. Lord Jim, by Joseph Conrad
94. Goodbye to All That, by Robert Graves
95. The Affluent Society, by John Kenneth Galbraith
96. The Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame
97. The Autobiograhy of Malcom X, by Alex Haley & Malcom X
98. Eminent Victorians, by Lytton Strachey
99. The Color Purple, by Alice Walker
100. The Second World War, by Winston Churchill
I've read several bits and pieces of things, but I'll try and stick to the ones I've read in total. Bold means I've read it. Bold Italic means I recommend it. 26 total, 10 recommended. Some of the others I'd recommend just for historical, allusory value, but I tried to keep it real for this post. Kinda miffed that Leaves of Grass made it but Lyrical Ballads didn't. Hmph, American elitism.
1. War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy
2. 1984, by George Orwell
3. Ulysses, by James Joyce
4. Lolita, by Vladimir Nabokov
5. The Sound and The Fury, by William Faulkner
6. Invisible Man, by Ralph Ellison
7. To The Lighthouse, by Virginia Woolf
8. The Illiad and the Odyssey, by Homer
9. Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen
10. Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri
11. Canterbury Tales, by Geoffrey Chaucer
12. Gulliver’s Travels, by Jonathan Swift
13. Middlemarch, by George Eliot
14. Things Fall Apart, by Chinua Achebe
15. The Catcher in the Rye, by J. D. Salinger
16. Gone with the Wind, Margaret by Mitchell
17. One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
18. The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald
19. Catch-22, by Joseph Heller
20. Beloved, by Toni Morrison
21. The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck
22. Midnight’s Children, by Salman Rushdie
23. Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley
24. Mrs. Dalloway, by Virginia Woolf
25. Native Son, by Richard Wright
26. Democracy in America, by Alexis de Tocqueville
27. On the Origin of Species, by Charles Darwin
28. The Histories, by Herodotus
29. The Social Contract, by Jean-Jacques Rousseau
30. Das Kapital, by Karl Marx
31. The Prince, by Niccolo Machiavelli
32. Confessions, by St. Augustine
33. Leviathan, by Thomas Hobbes
34. The History of the Peloponnesian War, by Thucydides
35. The Lord of the Rings, by J. R. R. Tolkien
36. Winnie-the-Pooh, by A. A. Milne
37. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, by C. S. Lewis
38. A Passage to India, by E. M. Forster
39. On the Road, by Jack Kerouac
40. To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee
41. The Holy Bible, Revised Standard Version (Not if we're being picky, no, I haven't read that specific edition.)
42. A Clockwork Orange, by Antony Burgess
43. Light in August, by William Faulkner
44. The Souls of Black Folk, by W. E. Du Bois
45. Wide Sargasso Sea, by Jean Rhys
46. Madame Bovary, by Gustave Flaubert
47. Paradise Lost, by John Milton
48. Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy
49. Hamlet, by William Shakespeare
50. King Lear, by William Shakespeare
51. Othello, by William Shakespeare
52. Sonnets, by William Shakespeare
53. Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman
54. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain
55. Kim, by Rudyard Kipling
56. Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley
57. Song of Solomon, by Toni Morrison
58. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, by Ken Kesey
59. For Whom the Bell Tolls, by Ernest Hemingway
60. Slaughterhouse-Five, by Kurt Vonnegut
61. Animal Farm, by George Orwell
62. Lord of the Flies, by William Golding
63. In Cold Blood, by Truman Capote
64. The Golden Notebook, by Doris Lessing
65. Remembrance of Things Past, by Marcel Proust
66. The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler
67. As I Lay Dying, by William Faulkner
68. The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemingway
69. I, Claudius, by Robert Graves
70. The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, by Carson McCullers
71. Sons and Lovers, by D. H. Lawrence
72. All the King’s Men, by Robert Penn Warren
73. Go Tell it on the Mountain, by James Baldwin
74. Charlotte’s Web, by E. B. White
75. Heart of Darkness, by Joseph Conrad
76. Night, by Elie Wiesel
77. Rabbit Run, by John Updike
78. The Age of Innocence, by Edith Wharton
79. Portnoy’s Complaint, by Philip Roth
80. An American Tragedy, by Theodore Dreiser
81. The Day of the Locust, by Nathaniel West
82. Tropic of Cancer, by Henry Miller
83. The Maltese Falcon, by Dashiel Hammett
84. His Dark Materials, by Philip Pullman
85. Death Comes for the Archbishop, by Willa Cather
86. The Interpretation of Dreams, by Sigmund Freud
87. The Education of Henry Adams, by Henry Adams
88. Quotations from Chairman Mao, by Mao Zedong
89. The Varieties of Religious Experience, by William James
90. Brideshead Revisted, by Evelyn Waugh
91. Silent Spring, by Rachel Carson
92. The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money, by John Maynard Keynes
93. Lord Jim, by Joseph Conrad
94. Goodbye to All That, by Robert Graves
95. The Affluent Society, by John Kenneth Galbraith
96. The Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame
97. The Autobiograhy of Malcom X, by Alex Haley & Malcom X
98. Eminent Victorians, by Lytton Strachey
99. The Color Purple, by Alice Walker
100. The Second World War, by Winston Churchill
Make up characters before you write that awesome book!
Below is my entry to Clarity of Night's In Vino Veritas contest.
Loren did one. I did one. The Queen will do one. Right? I want to be seeing everybody's best flash on the web! C'mon Deb!
Less than two days left. Contest closes on Wednesday @ 11pm Eastern Time (GMT -5 hours).
House Red
by B. Nagel
Harold Gordon wanted to own a quiet bar, so he cut the house red with cranberry juice and wouldn’t serve beer or straight liquor. The lads smoked enough that they couldn’t taste beyond the fuzz in their mouths and the sugar of the juice encouraged them to line-up and boast sophistication. The girls knew the secret but liked the lads un-drunk, so they kept it under their hats.
Harold drank straight juice from a cut crystal goblet: to push the product and keep up appearances. You can’t have a teetotaling bartender. But Harold never drank, except in the dawns after closing. As the rising sun prismed the cleaned glasses above the wiped down walnut stretch, Harold scratched his words into journals and poured dusty bottles from his private cellar, but never more than a single glass. His father George had shot himself, twice, under a sea of absinthe.
Harold, focused, needed only one.
“In vino veritas, intones the priest of the vine, the sheep-herd, the spiritual peddler. ‘Enter paradise and dance to the rhythms of the stars. Eat of the fruit and it is good. Drink of the fruit and be God.’
In the drunk man’s grasping hand is also lust and joy and anger and love and lies. In wine, entwined.
I drink the wine of my father, and my father’s thirst is not slaked. I will slake the thirst with my own wine, and find my own hydration.”
- -
Please feel free to comment on the entry at C.o.N.
Loren did one. I did one. The Queen will do one. Right? I want to be seeing everybody's best flash on the web! C'mon Deb!
Less than two days left. Contest closes on Wednesday @ 11pm Eastern Time (GMT -5 hours).
House Red
by B. Nagel
Harold Gordon wanted to own a quiet bar, so he cut the house red with cranberry juice and wouldn’t serve beer or straight liquor. The lads smoked enough that they couldn’t taste beyond the fuzz in their mouths and the sugar of the juice encouraged them to line-up and boast sophistication. The girls knew the secret but liked the lads un-drunk, so they kept it under their hats.
Harold drank straight juice from a cut crystal goblet: to push the product and keep up appearances. You can’t have a teetotaling bartender. But Harold never drank, except in the dawns after closing. As the rising sun prismed the cleaned glasses above the wiped down walnut stretch, Harold scratched his words into journals and poured dusty bottles from his private cellar, but never more than a single glass. His father George had shot himself, twice, under a sea of absinthe.
Harold, focused, needed only one.
“In vino veritas, intones the priest of the vine, the sheep-herd, the spiritual peddler. ‘Enter paradise and dance to the rhythms of the stars. Eat of the fruit and it is good. Drink of the fruit and be God.’
In the drunk man’s grasping hand is also lust and joy and anger and love and lies. In wine, entwined.
I drink the wine of my father, and my father’s thirst is not slaked. I will slake the thirst with my own wine, and find my own hydration.”
- -
Please feel free to comment on the entry at C.o.N.
Worked for most of last week on the house. No project is easy or takes less time than you expect. Remember this.
Went to my lovely wife's family reunion for the last few days. Lots of food, card games, home-made ice cream with peaches. Mmmmm.
Best memory: The version of Goldilocks told to me by Rachel, a six-year old first-cousin-in-law, once removed. For the less genealogically inclined (like myself), she's my wife's mother's sister's daughter's daughter. Phew. I will do my best to report the tale faithfully, less the stamping of feet and other various sound effects:
This is how my daddy told it to me. So, Goldilocks is this girl and her mommy told her that there are bears in the woods and not to go out there but she was bad and she did. There was a house and Goldilocks got tired and so she wanted to go in it. She checked the basement and then she checked the attic and then when she didn't see anyone, she went inside.
In the kitchen there was porridge. There were three bowls and Goldilocks ate one. Then she went into the living room and turned on the tv. The chairs weren't good and she broke one into pieces. So, she went downstairs because the chairs were in the attic. She got tired and went to the basement because the beds were there.
There were four beds. One was just a mattress on the floor so she figured out that they must have had a guest and were taking him back so the bears would be gone for a while. The first bed was very hard and made of bricks. It was also verrrry tall. She climbed up the ladder to try it out. It was too hard. So she went down the slide. It was fun so she did it again and again and again and again. Then she did it one more time. The second bed was a marshmallow and it was made of straw and she sank into it. The third bed was just right and she fell asleep because she was tired.
[This is where the stamping around and sound effect began]
The bears came home. The front door was open and there had been reports of a girl named Goldilocks coming in and breaking things and tearing up bears' houses. They went into the kitchen and the porridge was gone. They went to the attic and the chairs were broken and the tv was still on and it was a movie about a princess. They went to the basement to look in the beds. On the first bed they looked on the slides and found paper towels with glue on them. And tape. Oh, and Goldilocks had cleaned up something she spilled and got paper towels stuck on her bottom with glue and tape. She wasn't on the second bed and they found her on the third bed.
She was asleep and she woke up to the bears looking at her and she screamed and ran home. The end.
Best Story Ever!
Went to my lovely wife's family reunion for the last few days. Lots of food, card games, home-made ice cream with peaches. Mmmmm.
Best memory: The version of Goldilocks told to me by Rachel, a six-year old first-cousin-in-law, once removed. For the less genealogically inclined (like myself), she's my wife's mother's sister's daughter's daughter. Phew. I will do my best to report the tale faithfully, less the stamping of feet and other various sound effects:
This is how my daddy told it to me. So, Goldilocks is this girl and her mommy told her that there are bears in the woods and not to go out there but she was bad and she did. There was a house and Goldilocks got tired and so she wanted to go in it. She checked the basement and then she checked the attic and then when she didn't see anyone, she went inside.
In the kitchen there was porridge. There were three bowls and Goldilocks ate one. Then she went into the living room and turned on the tv. The chairs weren't good and she broke one into pieces. So, she went downstairs because the chairs were in the attic. She got tired and went to the basement because the beds were there.
There were four beds. One was just a mattress on the floor so she figured out that they must have had a guest and were taking him back so the bears would be gone for a while. The first bed was very hard and made of bricks. It was also verrrry tall. She climbed up the ladder to try it out. It was too hard. So she went down the slide. It was fun so she did it again and again and again and again. Then she did it one more time. The second bed was a marshmallow and it was made of straw and she sank into it. The third bed was just right and she fell asleep because she was tired.
[This is where the stamping around and sound effect began]
The bears came home. The front door was open and there had been reports of a girl named Goldilocks coming in and breaking things and tearing up bears' houses. They went into the kitchen and the porridge was gone. They went to the attic and the chairs were broken and the tv was still on and it was a movie about a princess. They went to the basement to look in the beds. On the first bed they looked on the slides and found paper towels with glue on them. And tape. Oh, and Goldilocks had cleaned up something she spilled and got paper towels stuck on her bottom with glue and tape. She wasn't on the second bed and they found her on the third bed.
She was asleep and she woke up to the bears looking at her and she screamed and ran home. The end.
Best Story Ever!
For Loren
In the third hallway of the Silver Key, towered over by hulking headless monoliths on five pointed bases which loomed out of the darkness into the light of my sputtering lantern, my eye followed the furthest one as it climbed further and further up until my mind screamed at the height of these mountains of madness. I turned to go back through the door I came in by, to return to the land of meeping ghouls, but the wall was flat unseamed stone, marred only by this smoking inscription:
So much depends
upon
Azathoth and
how he
reacts to in
subor
dination. He's no
chicken.
In the third hallway of the Silver Key, towered over by hulking headless monoliths on five pointed bases which loomed out of the darkness into the light of my sputtering lantern, my eye followed the furthest one as it climbed further and further up until my mind screamed at the height of these mountains of madness. I turned to go back through the door I came in by, to return to the land of meeping ghouls, but the wall was flat unseamed stone, marred only by this smoking inscription:
So much depends
upon
Azathoth and
how he
reacts to in
subor
dination. He's no
chicken.
For sharing with me the most fantastic celebrity fashion site and, as you termed it, one stop shopping.
If anyone feels the urge to buy me this hat, I think it would be okay. Trilby. That's a funny word. Off to look that up.
Then back to house-things. (Does anyone else hate installing ceiling fans as much as I do?)
If anyone feels the urge to buy me this hat, I think it would be okay. Trilby. That's a funny word. Off to look that up.
Then back to house-things. (Does anyone else hate installing ceiling fans as much as I do?)
Who loves Scandinavian screamo-post-hardcore? I do, that's one. Here's a taste of what Blindside was able to put out in 2002. In comparison to their earlier releases, Silence was a much more accessible record. Think on that for a minute.
You can find live concert versions of Blindside on youtube. If you search Blindside and Cornerstone you can find video of shows I witnessed. Maybe I'm even in the crowd of some. But I always hate watching amateur videos of live music type events: the sound quality is always negligible and you aren't dripping sweat in the middle of a crowd of people singing along with the show.
Anyway, happy Tuesday. I'm off to put the first coat of paint on the cabinets. Or was it hang the ceiling fans? Or put up the mailbox? Oh that's right. All of the above.
You can find live concert versions of Blindside on youtube. If you search Blindside and Cornerstone you can find video of shows I witnessed. Maybe I'm even in the crowd of some. But I always hate watching amateur videos of live music type events: the sound quality is always negligible and you aren't dripping sweat in the middle of a crowd of people singing along with the show.
Anyway, happy Tuesday. I'm off to put the first coat of paint on the cabinets. Or was it hang the ceiling fans? Or put up the mailbox? Oh that's right. All of the above.
Remember the apocryphilia poem I did about Rumpelstiltskin? Well, it kept niggling at my mind so I've been expanding it today. Here's the first 236 words of my dialogue. The third paragraph is final draft of my apoc. poem in standard lineation. Enjoy!
- -
Rumpelstiltskin, in the crown of the oak, watches the king’s riders spread the message across the country. The king desires a wife, a wife of mysterious talents and outrageous fortune, a wife to amuse himself as the wars rumble in the near-off earshot. The king will pay a ransom for the wife he chooses. The miller has a daughter, a fair young blossoming daughter too weak to lift the grain and too hard-headed to listen.
Poppa! Do you know that I love when you tell me bedtime stories, when you send me to sleep with your stories? I love you, Poppa.
Rumpelstiltskin, perched on his oak branch, watches the flax-haired mistress miller wade into the lapping edge of the Elbe again. She’s teasing her new lover, another boy she’s beaten in cards and in bed, to chase her into the ripping current. The water laves the wheat dust from her apron and the creases behind her knees. It floats to the surface and fans behind her, a cape. The Elbe pulls her dress tight against new curves. Tilting a hip, lifting a soaked sheer hem, tempting him to slip on the slick river-stones and slide under the crushing wheel.
Poppa! That’s not the way it goes. The princess is in the castle with a room full of straw and the king is going to kill her unless she spins it into gold. Tell the story right.
- -
Rumpelstiltskin, in the crown of the oak, watches the king’s riders spread the message across the country. The king desires a wife, a wife of mysterious talents and outrageous fortune, a wife to amuse himself as the wars rumble in the near-off earshot. The king will pay a ransom for the wife he chooses. The miller has a daughter, a fair young blossoming daughter too weak to lift the grain and too hard-headed to listen.
Poppa! Do you know that I love when you tell me bedtime stories, when you send me to sleep with your stories? I love you, Poppa.
Rumpelstiltskin, perched on his oak branch, watches the flax-haired mistress miller wade into the lapping edge of the Elbe again. She’s teasing her new lover, another boy she’s beaten in cards and in bed, to chase her into the ripping current. The water laves the wheat dust from her apron and the creases behind her knees. It floats to the surface and fans behind her, a cape. The Elbe pulls her dress tight against new curves. Tilting a hip, lifting a soaked sheer hem, tempting him to slip on the slick river-stones and slide under the crushing wheel.
Poppa! That’s not the way it goes. The princess is in the castle with a room full of straw and the king is going to kill her unless she spins it into gold. Tell the story right.
I have been this man. In a culture that glorifies Oscar Wilde, Winston Churchill and any old wiseacre, it's easy to become this man. When will we cast off the shackles of self-preservation and social warfare? When will we stop fearing rejection?
Lead paragraph:
Yes, I know that The Onion is a satire. That doesn't mean they never tell the sad lonely truth.
Lead paragraph:
ROCKVILLE, MD—Local resident Alan Bower's particular brand of sardonic, no-holds-barred commentary about everything around him has firmly established the 31-year-old policy writer as an absolutely terrible person who is always ready to crack a joke, sources reported Monday.
Yes, I know that The Onion is a satire. That doesn't mean they never tell the sad lonely truth.
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