Dave's Anatomy: My History As a Writer, #46: "Sustainability"

Writing about music is a thing that never leaves me. I began to learn guitar from my father when I was fifteen and soon was in a garage band. That was the age of the British groups, the Beatles, Rolling Stones, the Kinks; and of the great American bands like The Byrds and The Doors. Everyone started a band. We did covers for high school dances and the county fair. Being a local musician gave me some of the inspiration for the story, "Sustainability."

If you keep up with current foodie, gardening and ecological literature, you will undoubtedly run across the term sustainability. One dictionary definition pretty much nails it for the way I used it in this particularly story. It is, "the maintenance of the factors and practices that contribute  to the quality of environment on a long-term basis." Books like Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma and Bill McKibben's Deep Economy: The Wealth of Communities and the Durable Future use the term this way and it's very common in the world of community farming, farmer's markets, and the whole community that centers around food, health, organic gardening, and all things "green."

But sustainability has to develop in other areas, and this is what gave me the idea for the story.

It centers on a musician, Justin; his wife, Cynthia; and their girl, Emily. They have gone through a divorce and live separately. Justin has given custody of Emily to his wife, and the girl, on the edge of adolescence, visits him. But there is a great deal of contrast in their lifestyles. After many years of playing bars, dives, and local events, Justin has made it as a musician and now has the status of star, hit records, money, and connections. Cynthia, however, has maintained their old lifestyle of simple living, localism, producing a lot of one's own food, ecological thrift, and a mindset for sustainability.

The contrast that split up their marriage is not one that divides them after their separation. Justin provides well for his family, has an amicable relationship with Cynthia, and does not fight over her about custody arrangements with Emily. They get along and he in fact looks forward to seeing her and is careful to provide for her needs and support her in her child-raising efforts. But his daughter, Emily, is not happy. She wants to bask in the luxury of her father's celebrity lifestyle and increasingly despises the simplicity her mother wants her to live out.

When she goes away for a week with Justin and Syrithe, his actress girlfriend, she is elated and incessantly complaints about the lifestyle her mother wants her to live. She wants to live with her father and says so in no uncertain terms. Syrithe thinks the young girl's situation is not good. Justin does not want to hurt Cynthia or create conflict by insisting that Emily come to live with him.When he returns her, he notices how haggard and thin Cynthia is. He wonders if she is ill or has developed some wasting disease. She says they need to talk, and during their conversation he understands what is troubling her. She realizes she has lost the affection of her own daughter. Emily, Cynthia knows, wants to live with her father and decides he should have custody of her and she should visit her—the reverse of the arrangement they have now. He objects, says their daughter, as she heads into adolescence, needs her mother to guide her through those difficult and important years. Cynthia replies, "For me to do that there has to be a relationship. I think it could happen if she lived with you and visited me, but not the other way around. And you have your girlfriend—Syrithe? You two lived together, don’t you? She would be there for Emily."

Sadly, Justin sees the truth of her words. His wife has faced a tough reality. He agrees to her proposition. Throughout the story, there is "play" with the word sustainability. Agriculture and ecosystems must be sustainable. But so must a relationship, whether it is husband and wife or the various configurations of parents to child. If conditions are not connected, and if they cannot be adjusted and modified, the same thing will occur that occurs when a system in the natural world proves dysfunctional. It comes to a halt. It does not produce a fruitful harvest. It becomes toxic and harmful rather than life-giving.

The story appeared in The Green Silk Journal, still an active publication. Follow this link to read "Sustainability" (note: this journal has a "straight-line" format; another story is on top of mine and you must scroll down to get to "Sustainability"--but it is there!)

Le Cafe de la Mort offers coffee to die for served by the Angel of Death.

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Dave's Anatomy: My History As a Writer, #45: "The Strega of Fitzgerald Street."

Streg is the Italian term for witch. A strega is a witch (with the "a" to designate the female gender). If you read to your kids or to young children in general, a good chance is you read Strega Nona (Grandmother Witch) by Tomie dePaola. In my history of a writer, I have written and published a handful of stories about a streg named Alessia Bernini who, as an ongoing character, is connected with the stories of Sossity Chandler, but not directly. The character who introduces Alessia is Kathy Farisi, a woman who was Sossity's best friend but destroys her marriage through an affair with her husband. At the beginning of the story "The Strega of Fitzgerald Street" we see Kathy in the aftermath of her disastrous adultery. She has visited the confessional but does not feel forgiven. Her aunt tells her she should go to see a streg to get help from her depression. Kathy will not hear of it at first, but desperation and the torments of depression make her finally agree.

Alessia

According to tradition, streg do not practice black magic; that is, they do not sell their souls to the Devil in order to get magical powers. Their magic is not evil—well, not exactly. They practice what is called natural magic—magic that derives its power from nature and from the study of natural forces found in the earth and in the power of life, growth, and continuance. Continuance, in fact, is very important, because a streg's power depends on her place in a line of magical practitioners that goes back a thousand years. The power Alessia possesses has accrued over a millennia.

The skeptical Kathy goes to see Alessia. She is surprised that the streg is young, very pretty, and stylishly dressed. And Kathy is immediately confronted with what she has done and with proof of Alessia's magical power. Alessia tells her she needs to see Sossity Chandler to begin making things right and to cleanse her soul of the guilt she feels—the same thing Kathy's priest told her when she confessed. Kathy flatly refuses: “I can’t. I can’t face her.” She took a deep breath. “If I think I have to see her, or even be near her, I’ll kill myself. I would rather die than see her, and I mean that.” Alessia asks her to agree to a contractual proposition that, she says, will cure Kathy. But there are is a penalty involved. If she reneges on the agreement

“I’ll come for your soul. We are not playing a game, Miss Farisi. This is a serious matter. If I tell you to do something and you don’t do it, you are in my debt and thus in my power—and I have a great deal of power—the power of the fifty generations of practitioners in whose succession I stand. I don’t like making people my possessions, but I will, and I have done so many times. Fail to do what I instruct you to do, and you are mine forever.”

Fear had taken her by now. Yet she had to make it clear to this woman that one thing was non-negotiable.

“I’ll do anything except go to Sossity. I won’t agree if you tell me to do that.”

“I will not ask you to do that or ask you to do anything like it. I promise as much.”

“What do you mean you’ll make me your possession?”

“You don’t want to know,” Alessia answered darkly.

They drink wine to seal the agreement. Alessia gives her particular instructions. She is to go to the campus of a local college, find an ash tree by a bridge, and eat a tiny portion of a leaf that has fallen from that tree. Kathy determines to obey the instructions.

She goes to the campus, finds the tree, picks up a leaf that has fallen from it, eats the tip of it, and throws the remainder on the ground. When she looks around, she sees Sossity Chandler and her daughter, Cheryl. They have come to the woody campus so Cheryl can collect leaves (a thing children inevitably end up doing at some time in their elementary years—mine did). Alessia has not lied. Kathy did not have to go to Sossity; Sossity has come to her.

The meeting is awkward. Cheryl, in her innocence, greets Kathy enthusiastically and says she is looking forward to staying at her house the next month (custody rights). To Kathy's surprise, Sossity is civil, perhaps even conciliatory, though the meeting is tense and the two women are uncomfortable. Still, Sossity silently communicates that she does not hate Kathy. She does not excoriate or insult her. Then Cheryl picks up the leaf Kathy has thrown to the ground. Kathy tells her it's broken and she should get a whole one, but the child says she likes it and puts the leaf into her basket—a sign, undoubtedly, that Alessia's spell has worked and what happened was not merely coincidence. After an awkward but gracious parting, Sossity goes her way. Kathy is enabled by what happened to begin what she was not able to do before:  to find healing and know the possibilities of recovery and perhaps even reconciliation are still present.

 "The Strega of Fitzgerald Street" can be found in the archives of the journal NewMyths.com (note:  this is the actual title of the publication, not its web address). Great story, enjoy the read.

For more the titles of novellas and novels, check out my Writer's Page.  

And if sorceresses are your thing--along with martial arts and wuxia--get a copy of my latest novella, The Sorceress of Time. 

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Dave's Anatomy: My History As a Writer #44, "And Your Bird Can Sing."

A lot of my writing is inspired by music. The story "And Your Bird Can Sing" is one of these.  

John Lennon and Paul McCartney had an agreement on songwriting:  whoever wrote a song, or most of it, got to sing it, and by this tool you can tell who wrote the different songs the group released. Lennon sang "And Your Bird Can Sing," and its writing bears his mark. I recently read one of those online pages that was titled "10 Things You Never Knew About John Lennon," and much of it pointed out what a jerk he was:  didn't like kids, constantly did drugs, mistreated his first wife—all things I had heard and things that were probably true about him (geniuses are often like that). But one that left me shaking my head in disbelief was a screen that said, "Really, He Wasn't Much of a Songwriter." That part of the page went on to say, Yeah, he wrote a few good ones, but most of the group's really outstanding songs were written by Paul McCartney. To his I had to say—well, I usually omit salty language on my blog, so I won't repeat what I said. I would not consider "Nowhere Man," "Strawberry Fields Forever," "Help," "In My Life," "Norwegian Wood" (which has been recorded by other artists more than any other L/Mc song) and, for that matter, "I Want To Hold Your Hand" mediocre songs!

"And Your Bird Can Sing" 

contains the Lennon wit: 

it has word play (Lennon was a writer who wrote two books—read them, they're very good). He does wordplay in this song:  "You tell me that you've got everything you want and your bird can sing, / But you don't get me—you don't get me." You've got everything you want, but you don't get (you don't understand) me;  you don't get me (you're not going to share my love). And so throughout the song. Lennon wrote more "literature" songs. And the song gave me an idea.

The story is about a musician who gets a request from a drunken customer for "And Your Bird Can Sing." Requests are risky. If you don't know the song, it's an embarrassment to say so from the stage. In this case, the man begins to boo and the audience, for a joke, joins him. The musician—Martin Rollins, an ongoing character of mine who appeared in my first published story, "The Girl Who Knew Nick Drake," and, subsequently, in my first novella, The Gallery, the story "The Space Between" and others—has a girlfriend name Charlotte Carver who likes to shoot dope. They've been over and over the issue, but she will not give it up and he realizes she is on the stuff that night as she watches him. That same night, a former girlfriend who has the nickname "Island" (because she is from Prince Edward's Island, Canada) also shows up.

Char

Martin knows the drill with Char. She likes to get laid when she is high and he goes through the routine. After she has gotten her joy and is asleep, he goes to a coffee house where Island said she would be. It becomes apparent that he never stopped loving Island and wants to renew the relationship. This is made easier when Char is busted for drugs and facing a prison term. He decides she needs to deal with the issue herself. If she turns in her supplier, she will get a lighter sentence, but whatever happens she will be in jail a few years because the city they live in is cracking down on heroin users. Time to dump her, he decides, and take up with Island once more.

Some stories are plot-driven and some are character-driven. This is the latter variety. Not a lot happens. Some writers are very good at this. I once mentioned a story by Japanese writer Haruki Murakami and said it was one of the best I had ever read. My friend asked, "What happens in the story?" My reply:  "Well, this guy goes for a walk. He sees a cat and he talks to a girl." My fiend was a bit puzzled, but, really, not a lot "happens." What goes on in the main character's mind is what is most important. But somehow Murakami makes this so fascinating you can't take your eyes off the page. The interest does not lie with the action but with the character. The same could be said for what I consider one of the best short stories of all time, "Fat," by Raymond Carver. Really, not a lot happens, but the story is powerful. "And Your Bird Can Sing" is like this. It focuses on the reader's apprehension and understanding of the characters more than on the plot, which is thin by design so the action of the story does not detract from the reader's understanding of the characters.

"Island"

Character-driven stories are found in literary fiction more than in genre fiction. When I bring a story that is character-driven to my writer's group, many say it "bored" them. They want gunfights, sex scenes, and high-speed chases. Many of my stories contain these, but it's too bad a lot of readers today do not have an interest in psychomachia (the war of inner feelings) or portrayals of a character's moral and emotional disposition. Still, stories have their own lives and they must be what they must be. If people don't like one, they can read another. It may be they've got everything they want and their birds can sing, but they don't get me—or my story! Their loss.

"And Your Bird Can Sing" appeared in In Stereo Press. There is a journal with that title being published today, but I don't think it's the one I placed that story in because I can't find it in their archive.  You can read about Martin Rollins in "The Girl Who Knew Nick Drake," the story "The Space Between," and the novella The Gallery.

Check out my full-length fantasy novel, The Sorceress of the Northern Seas.

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Dave's Anatomy: My History As a Writer #43: "The Room of Mirrors," Horror and the "Other"

The idea for the story "The Room of Mirrors" came from a novel by Pearl Buck I taught one semester at Grand Valley State University. A class titled Literatures in English emphasizes works written in English but suggests instructors focus on books from outside America and the United Kingdom. I taught books written in English from Nigeria, India, Nepal, Australia, South Africa, and other cultures. I did teach one that semester by an American writer, Pearl Buck.

Pearl Buck is most famous for her novel The Good Earth, about China. She grew up as a missionary kid in China and often wrote about that culture and other Asian cultures. I didn't want to teach The Good Earth because instructors teach it frequently, so, as I often do, I picked one of her more obscure books. Mandala is a novel she wrote about India. I would call it good but not great; still, it gave me some ideas and focused my imagination on Indian culture. This led me to write a story about an Indian man's involvement with an American woman—a feature taken from Buck's novel.

But this was a horror story. A young woman who in college became a call girl now pursues that as a vocation. She ends up as mistress to an Maharini, the ruler of a province in India. He keeps her in a place called The Room of Mirrors, which is, as the name implies, completely covered in mirrors. The place creeps Phoebe out, but she likes the isolation of the estate the Maharini, Shashindra, maintains. She likes the quiet and the beautiful view of the Himalayas because she is contemplating an important choice. Her old boyfriend, Calvin, who knows about her choice of vocation, has offered to marry her. She wonders if she can leave her vocation and be faithful to him—and if he will continue to love her, given the trade she has plied the last few years. He says it doesn't matter to him. Phoebe is not so sure.

 She has a nightmare in which she sees every panel of mirror in her bedroom showing the face of a woman. Most are Indian, a few are African or European. And at last she sees a blonde woman covered with blood, standing next to her, outside of the mirrors. She cries out. One of the Indian servants comes to her, asks her what the dream was so he can interpret it, but when she describes it, he obfuscates. She dismisses the dream and tries to sort through the issues involved with her choice to go with Calvin or continue working as a high-class prostitute.

Calvin has met a girl named Charissa, who is Greek and an actress. He has told her about Phoebe (the story has two narrative streams). The same woman shows up at the Room of Mirrors and, tells Phoebe something she is not supposed to know that enables her to escape the room of mirrors.

First, she tells her about the room and explains the faces Phoebe saw in the mirror. They are the imprisoned souls of women who have served as mistresses to various rulers of the province. After they die, their souls are imprisoned. The sorcerer who arranged the spell so the Maharini's wives would not perceive their husbands' infidelity lives eternally from the energy of their spirits and from their anguish. Charissa had become one of the current Maharini's women in order to get acting roles. In her depression, she killed herself, but because she died in the Room of Mirrors by suicide, is able to get out. She is the key to freeing the women. Phoebe only has to lure the Maharini into the room for the women to exact their revenge.

Phoebe uses her charms to lure him up that very night. The women's arms and then bodies emerge from the room in a current of snaky distortion and engulf him. Charissa protects Phoebe. The women, however, do not kill the Maharini. He is unconscious but not dead at the end of his ordeal. A doctor proclaims a heart attack. Charissa can now resume her life and she and Phoebe see the women of the Room of Mirrors freed from the imprisoning spell and the spirit of the sorcerer who imprisoned them dissolve in anguish. Charissa resumes her career (she has an plausible explanation for where she has been for the last two years). Phoebe leaves with Calvin for a new life together with him.

Writing about foreign cultures is tricky. Edward Said's book, Orientalism, notes how Westerners often stereotype and exoticize third world peoples. I was aware of this danger as I wrote, though I might have fallen into the habit a little. Still, the story was written to give a moral lesson, and people of all races and creeds can exploit others. And I like to think justice was done in the story, though, I admit, the Westerner comes to "save" the people from the "other" culture, and so it does fall into the habits Said's book warned us against.

But the story stands and I think, even if it does have flaws, it is a good story. Can a Westerner represent other cultures equitably? Well, I'm trying and learning. "The Room of Mirrors" is possibly a first step and an experience that will teach me. Writers evolve.

"The Room of Mirrors appeared in a journal that is no longer published. Another story to re-submit!

And I have a new book out--ironically, about a non-Western character. The Sorceress of Time is about Asian culture and wuxia warriors (more cultural exchange here). Read for a story of choices, time travel, and the pursuit of justice and right. If you've seen Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, you will know a little about wuxia. Only this story has a happier ending!

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