Dave's Anatomy: My History As a Writer #104: Encountering the Supernatural: "The Harbor Seals."

In the story, "The Harbor Seals," I returned to my ongoing character, Sossity Chandler. I have published over thirty stories about her and the stories take place at various times in her life, so I have constructed a character biography that I often consult so I don't contradict things. In this story comes at a time in her life when Sossity is having what we call a "celebrity melt-down." She has risen from obscurity to become a superstar celebrity with a string of number-one hits, a popular band, a husband and two children. Then her world collapses. Her husband leaves her after an affair with one of her best friends, who was a roommate in college. Sossity begins to drink and engage in outrageous behavior. She ends up in jail for a couple of DUIs and has her driver's license suspended. She almost dies from a drinking bout that brings on alcohol poisoning. Or course, the public revels in her suffering. She then emerges from court with a disagreeable divorce settlement that splits custody of her children in such a way that she does not see them for long periods of time.

A friend of hers, Daya, who has had a spiritual awakening in her life a few years back, lets her stay at a remote cabin on the coast of California. Sossity takes several bottles of whisky and goes to be alone, to write down some thought—and to get drunk.

She gets drunk, but also is impressed, in her sober moments, with the beauty of nature. The place she is staying is known for the harbor seals that live along the shoreline. She sees them in the morning light. Thought not feeling particularly creative, she does respond to their presence:

 She hoped to write but had only managed one haiku in four days:

the horizon moves

a seal’s sleek form on the beach

ebony alive

Not the best haiku ever written, she thought, but when you’re stone-staggering drunk you can’t expect to do a whole lot better.

Sossity also learns that a pack of feral dogs has been killing the seals and sometimes attacking bathers and campers in the area. She drinks herself into a stupor one night.When she gets up in the morning, she finds the feral dogs have come through the door to Daya's cabin. Terrified, she screams, shouts, and throws anything she can find at them. They snarl and bark, but her efforts finally drive them away. Rattled, she sits down. Noting how messy she has allowed the cabin to become, she straightens the place up, showers, and dresses in new clothes. She goes down to a place called the Harbor Inn. On the way she passes two harbor seals who stare at her with curiosity.

At the inn, she meets two people, Anjani and Vasava, who look to be Bengali. She invites them to sit with her. They are, they say, from across the Indian ocean and have heard of Daya, whom they describe as "a venerable holy woman.” Anjani plays and has brought along her guitar, a beautiful old Gibson that is a collector's item, which the couple say they found washed up on a beach and repaired and restored. She plays what she says is a folk song of her people. Sossity replies that it is one of the most beautiful songs she has ever heard and asks if Anjani will teach it to her. She replies that Sossity will remember it.

In the midst of their conversation, Vasava abruptly tells her that her resolution to make things right is a good one. Sossity replies that she has "said some stupid things." Anjani says she understands. Her people, she says, "have suffered much through the ages.  We have been killed and hunted, our lands have been taken from us, the environments we live in fouled and destroyed.  We have survived by patience and by living close to nature.  The song that appealed to you so much was a hymn that praises nature but that also evokes the flow of her order and her embrace."

Sossity plays some of her songs on the Gibson guitar. A crowd gathers. Her fans comfort and encourage her. After she has finished, she goes to her car to get a notebook and write down Anjani and Vasava's address. When she returns, they are gone. She finds Anjani's guitar and this note:

Sossity—we are sorry we left without saying good-bye, but we needed to go. The guitar is yours. Keep it as a token of our love. We want you to have it. Play it and remember all we talked about. The two of us are returning to our people. Remember us, despite this rudeness. You will find healing with patience, as we have. You will thrive and grow by your allegiance to doing what is right. You think you were the loser for doing what was right. Such is not the case. You are stronger and closer to being a truly holy woman yourself with your pursuit of what is in keeping with propriety. When you play the guitar, remember this.

                                                                        ----Anjani and Vasava

She looks for them. She does not see them. But she does see two harbor seals flippering their way down the back and sliding into the water. When they are gone, the tune they hummed for her returns to her mind. She will eventually record it as the lead song to a new release that marks the beginning of her comeback as an artist and her return to stability.

The story was scheduled to appear in Stupefying Stories but the journal went on hiatus and the tale never was published. This is the first blog I've written on a story that never got into print! I'll have to start submitting it again.

For additional titles, see my Writer's Page.

One of the best "Sossity" stories I've written, and one of my earliest publications, is "The Snow Demon"--a horror story reprinted by Zimbell House. Get a copy here.

I would love to hear your comments.

Happy reading.

Dave's Anatomy: My History As a Writer #103: Religion and Outer Space: "Antigone"

One of my earliest blogs was titled "A Funny Thing Happened on the way to Dagobah . . . or, How Science Fiction Got Religion" (read here). Early science fiction writers like Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clark, and a host of lesser lights depicted the future in outer space as devoid of religion. In their stories, religion is simply gone, a relic that has passed off the scene along with mule trains and triremes. The supreme expression of this assumption was a story by Lester Del Ray called "Evensong," in which a desperate being is fleeing from pursuers, finds a planet where he thinks he is safe, but then is captured. Quoting from that blog:  His benevolent captor tells him he will be taken to a planet where he will be well-treated and have a nice home. The creature whimpers pathetically, "But I'm God!" His captor returns, "Yes, but I am Man." The story appeared in Dangerous Visions, edited by Harlan Ellison. You can read it here.

So it was and still is in some science fiction. But the funny thing that happened was that science fiction suddenly became laced with religion. This was first apparent, at least to me, in Star Wars, where we learned about the Force, met the Jedi (who were rather like Shaolin monks), and encountered Yoda (whose name sounded like Yoga and who greatly resembled a Zen master). Religion, banished in the 1950s and 1960s, suddenly made a rather spectacular comeback.

Antigone, from the play

My story "Antigone" happily inhabits this new world where to talk about religion is okay. In my science fiction world-building, various religions thrive. The Mervogian races worships the "holy light" of the Besrid nebula. Numerous planets kneel before the Goddess Robinna. Earth, of course, has transported its religions into space. Some alien races have accepted earthly religion. The Barzalian and Golorian planetary systems have converted to Roman Catholicism—the Barzalians expressing the Catholicism of Saint Francis, the Golorians that of Cortez and the Conquistadors. Other religions exist in various places. Again, quoting my own writing, The human race … has always had religions. To assume religion will simply go away because people can fly into space seems a bit specious. And to assume other civilizations would not have religions is equally specious.

"Antigone" takes place on a colony planet that is part of the Earth-led Terran Alliance. In my world, the predominant race of the Terran Alliance, the most populous and influential, is the Indian race. The most common religion is Hinduism (though there is a significant "European" minority and all races have equal status). On Planet Antigone, a cult has grown up that worships the figure of Antigone. It draws mostly from the European population of the Indian-dominated planet, but attracts people from all faiths. They have Temples, icons of the goddess, and many converts. The government is tolerant, but the Thebans (followers of Antigone, who came from that city) are militant. When the government begins to develop a grove that Thebans consider sacred, they revolt.

Thebans: Antigone worshipers

Their revolt is well-planned. They surprise the army, win some initial victories and, as terrorists often do, take hostages. One of the hostages is Asha, the wife of Lorac, an army officer who is the main character of the story. She is a doctor.

The military counterattacks. They find the followers of Antigone are not well-trained. They are, however, led by a formidable military commander named Evangeline Müller. After some fierce fighting, the Terran military manages to surround the main force of Thebans. A group of commandos infiltrate the camp and find out the Antigone worshipers are in collusion with a hostile race of beings, the Housali, who are supplying them with arms. They also find out why many of the Theban militants claimed to have seen Antigone. The Housali have selected a young woman to impersonate her. They have done plastic surgery to make her look like images of Antigone. They also give her mind-altering drugs that enable her to project mental energy that induces a peaceful, ecstatic feelings in anyone close to her. The Thebans believe their blissful, supernal feelings come from being near the goddess. They are ready to give up everything and to die for her.

The Terran military also finds a Housali ship, with cloaking capabilities, moored in the middle of the Theban camp. And Lorcan sees the captured Asha. He controls his desire to liberate her.The Terrans seize the Housali ship and rescue Asha. She is quiet. After a while, Lorac realizes the Housali have sexually assaulted her.

Using the ship's monitor, they find the location of Evangeline Müller and capture her. The revolt dissolved without her leadership. The Terrans also capture the Housali woman who impersonates Antigone.

The aftermath of the revolt brings stern retribution. Insurgents are punished with death or imprisonment. The woman who impersonated Antigone is acquitted of all guilt because the Housali forced her, a slave, to participate in the ruse. Evangeline Müller is tried for treason and sentenced to be hanged. Lorac goes to her to tell her that neither he nor Asha bear her any ill will. She has been told that the guards who will execute her are planning to conduct the hanging in such a way that she slowly strangles to death. Lorac knows the soldier assigned to do the execution. She pleads with him to intervene for her so he will make it quick. Thinking of all the suffering Müller has caused, and what happened to his wife, he is reluctant but agrees and successfully intervenes on her part. When she is executed, she dies instantly. Asha is asked, at the last minute, to participate in the autopsy that certifies her death.

At the end, he and Asha pay a tribute to her. They realize how people are caught up in falsity and how all of us are vulnerable to deception. The ceremony they perform indicates Evangeline has been forgiven. The planet is renamed Gargi Vachaknu, after a Hindu sage. Worship of Antigone is severely restricted, though not forbidden.

The story appeared in Fiction on the Web. Read it here.

For more titles, see my Writer's Page.

Coming soon:  the sequel to my vampire novel, Sinfonia: The First Notes on the Lute. Read the first book in the series to prepare you for the second one.

Happy summer.

Happy reading.  

Dave's Anatomy: My History As a Writer, #103: Vampire Justice: "Nocturne in a Deserted Brickyard.

Vampire stories take place at night, since that's the only time vampires can emerge from the safety of their dark hiding places. Night always has romantic associations, and especially since the 1800s. In the age of Beethoven, Chopin, and other romantic composers we get things like the "Moonlight" sonata and lots of compositions called "nocturnes," which meant music written to evoke the mysterious, quiet, semi-magical state of darkness. A literary example of this is a short poem by Carl Sandburg, famous for his work "Chicago." Many will remember reading it in high school and encountering the memorable first line of the poem, "Hog butcher for the world." Sandburg was popular when I was in grade school and anthologized in many textbooks. His popularity has dropped off quite a bit, but one of his poems, "Nocturne in a Deserted Brickyard," figures in one of my vampire stories. Here is the poem:

Stuff of the moon
Runs on the lapping sand
Out to the longest shadows.
Under the curving willows,
And round the creep of the wave line,
Fluxions of yellow and dusk on the waters
Make a wide dreaming pansy of an old pond in the night.

"Stuff" of the moon catches the reader's attention right away—not "light of the moon" or "rays of the moon." Stuff, as if it were not particles of light but something of substance, something you could pick up and handle. And, of course, the poet evokes night, willow trees, watery ripples, moonbeams on the water of an old pond. It is very much the "stuff" of romantic writing and music.

Jancinda

The night, though, is not always a romantic, numinous, mysterious time. It can be dangerous. It is a time when criminals stalk, looking for victims. In this story, it is also a time when vampires roam about to hunt. Jancinda Lamott, swoops into a deserted area to enjoy the quiet and repose of it before she goes to hunt. Jancinda is a conflicted vampire. She feels remorse that she must kill once a month to satisfy her need for blood. She will later express the anguish she feels from her Calvinistic background, saying, "How can God let something like this [becoming a vampire] happen and then hold us responsible for it?" She knows there are no answers for her question. The peace and serenity of the deserted tourist park with its old mill and mill pond, calms her.

Her calm is broken when someone seizes her and puts a knife against her cheek. She has been seized by a serial killer who says he plans to assault her and then kill her. Jancinda is in no danger and plays along, asking him why he wants to kill her, how many victims he has taken, and tells him she's sorry he lives such a twisted life. This strikes a chord and he tells her not to psychoanalyze him and to stay within her "her bounds." She asks what her bounds are and he says it is what he tells her to do.

Hop Cat Bar, Grand Rapids, MI

Tiring of the ruse, Jancinda turns around, bears her fangs, and shows her talons. Terror-stricken, he falls back and swings his knife at her. She catches it and snaps the blade in half with finger and thumb. She kills him, drinks his blood, and feels a little better about herself because she has destroyed a reprehensible person. She has done good. But not all her victims are bad. The conflicts mount in her mind. She calls her boyfriend, Wesley—a human mortal who knows she's a vampire and whom she protects from her undead friends. They meet at a local bar.

Wesley smiles when he sees her and asks her if she's been out hunting. She admits what he, familiar with her moods, already knows and tells him about her experience: “I went hunting. It was supreme irony. A guy grabbed me and put a knife to my throat. He said he was going to fuck me and then kill me.” Wesley laughs, says he wishes he could see the look on the would-be killer's face when he found out who he had encountered. Jancinda, however, is still in a funk. She invites Wesley to her place.

When they are finished and she is asleep, she contemplates the morality of her existence. How is what she does any different from what the serial killer she eliminated does? She thinks of the good she has done by stopping him. She also thinks of vampire friends who have done things for the good of individuals and nations. She realizes there are no clear-cut answers. One simply must cling to things one believes are right. She has her life. She has Wesley. She has a good job she can work at without going into sunlight. Jancinda must leave it at that. She must live the life she has and not expect to understand it.

The story appeared in Danse Macabre, a journal no longer available and with no archive (a journal by that name is currently being published, but it is not the same one in which my story appeared).

For more titles, see my Writer's Page.

The sequel to Sinfonia: The First Notes on the Lute will be released soon. Read the original you will have the backstory for the sequel.

I would love to hear your comments.

Happy reading.

Dave's Anatomy: My History As a Writer, #102: The Trouble With Magic, "The Woman in the Lamp."

The story of Aladdin and the magical lamp is part of the European cannon of fairy tales thanks to its publication, by French Scholar Antoine Galland in 1717. Though originating from Syria, the tale is popular in European lands and countries like the United States and Australia, which derive from European nations. It has been retold in a thousand ways, from Galland's version to the Disney Aladdin with Robin Williams as the voice of the genie.

The set-up to the story has become a proverbial. An example is an old Twilight Zone episode. A man and his wife encounter a genie but end up squandering their wishes. And the wishes don't make them happy. So the moral is, Be content with what you have; or, If you're not happy with what you have, magic won't really change that. Another Twilight Zone episode using the genie was called I Dream of Genie. In this one, the man finds the proverbial lamp, sees a shabby genie dressed in a rumpled three-piece suit who tells him he has one wish. The man says, "Isn't that three wishes?" and the genie tells him they're unionized now and only give one wish.

He has a day to decide what it will be. He imagines being married to a famous movie star, being a celebrity, and, finally, serving as the President of the United States. But he sees the drawbacks of these and their problems. Then (and the ending still delights me) he suddenly has an epiphany. He says to his beloved dog "Old boy, you and I are going to ask for something unique." Next scene, a homeless drunk sees a lamp and rubs it. Out comes not the rumpled, bored genie who will only grant one wish, but the main character, dressed in the traditional genie costume of turban, baggy pants, and sleeveless shirt (his dog has on a turban too). He going to give the poor man three wishes.

And there are other "takes":  I Dream of Jeannie, where a man puts up with the presence of a real, live female genie who causes him endless trouble; or The Seventh Voyage of Sindbad, where the hero and his girlfriend are told how being a genie, "the slave of the lamp," is not all it's cracked up to be.

My story The Woman in the Lamp plugs into all of this.

The main character, Curtis, an illustrator with aspirations to be a famous artist of the ilk of Van Gogh, finds the lamp and the genie, a beautiful woman (not blonde, she looks Persian or Arab) informs him she is his slave and he has not three wishes but unlimited wishes. After a wish for a pizza confirms that the genie—named Nadria—is real and not a delusion, the narrator begins to use her magic. He becomes inconspicuously rich. He begins to think he can now be a world-famous artist. But here, the considerations begin to bother him.

He is disturbed by Nadria calling him "master" and herself his "slave." He ends up yielding to the desire to sexually exploit her. He also uses her to fulfill one of his hidden desires. He is enamored of a female classical guitarist named Sigourney Chantrelle. By his wish, he meets her one night in a bar and ends up sleeping with her. Things are going well … sort of.

Sigourney Chantrelle's life and career take a nosedive after her encounter with him. She goes through a divorce, which results in drinking and depression. She fades as a guitarist and ends up teaching students at a small college. He splits up with Alicia, his girlfriend, who finds out that he has been unfaithful to her. He also finds he is afraid to paint the art he wants to do—the art that will launch him from being an advertising illustrator to being a true artist. He feels remorse for sexually exploiting Narida. Magic indeed has a dark side.

Sindbad's girlfriend promises to help the Genie

Curtis wonders how he can get out of his dilemma. Then he remembers The Seventh Voyage of Sindbad, a movie he saw as a child. In the end, the captive boy genie is freed by Sindbad and his girlfriend. They are able to do this because of a cryptic message in the lamp that tells how to break the spell that has enslaved the genie. Though his source is a Hollywood movie, Chad thinks perhaps they did some research for it and there might be a shred of truth in the story. Sure enough, Nadria shrinks him down so he can enter the lamp. He finds a message in Persian, has an Iranian friend translate it, and learns how he can free Nadria. After he does, Alicia returns to him. He determines to give away all the money he has accumulated through Nadria's magic. He and Alicia will live off their salaries, meager though they are. Nadria will be free after a millennium of slavery to the lamp. Curtis has learned the true nature of magic and why it doesn't really "work" when you use it for selfish purposes.

The story appeared in the journal Aphelion. Read it here.

For additional titles, see my Writer's Page.

I would love to hear your comments.

Dave's Anatomy: My History As a Writer, #101: Beer and Time Travel: "Remembrance of the Future"

Just a few of the many Michigan craft beer brands

I saw a submissions call for stories about beer. I am a beer drinker, and the city I live in, Grand Rapids, Michigan, once tied with Charlotte, North Carolina, for the award of Best Beer City in the United States. Our town is filled with breweries, and the local brews are marvelously good. So when I saw the call for papers on beer, I wanted to contribute to the anthology. How could I come up with a unique story on the drink that is so much a part of American culture?  The answer came from Mexico.

Pulque

I had seen references to a type of Mexican beer called pulque, made of the fermented sap of the maguey plant (better known to English-speakers as agave). I had read about it, wanted to try it, but could not find it. Some research revealed that it was popular in Mexico, where one could find pulque bars, but the drink was difficult to find outside that nation because transporting or canning it purportedly ruined the flavor. Most pulque bars were local, so the industry had not gone international. I asked my daughter, who had lived and taught four years in Mexico, about the drink:  "Pulque is nasty," she told me. I guess it's an acquired taste.

But the Mexican connection gave me an idea for a story.

A local epicure and chef named Phil Ochs (he is distantly related to the late folk singer by the same name) writes and gives seminars on cooking with beer. His title is The Beervangelist. He is locally famous and makes a living by writing a column on cooking with beer, appearing on TV, and giving seminars where he teaches recipes using various brews. He has dreams of making it big and landing a TV show—becoming "a beer-cooking Rachel Ray or Emeril Lagasse." When he hears that a pulque bar, La Casa Pulque, with the curious subtitle Recuerdos del Futuro (Remembrance of the Future), has opened up, he contacts the owner, Maya Perez , who invites to organize a cooking seminar there and to come and meet her and taste pulque. He visits on a snowy night.

Aztec pyramid in Choulula, Mexico

Maya shows him around and gives him glasses of pulque to taste. After the tour, and when he has drunk several glasses, a man shows up and threatens her. He steps forward in her defense and, when he is gone, asks her who he is and if he is a gang leader. He is, she says, and tells him to be careful, he might pull of knife the next time. Phil tells her he grew up in a rough neighborhood and knows how to fight with a knife. When the bar closes, she invites him to her place. Her place is a portal that transports them back in time.  Maya tells him they are in the ancient city of Choulula, Mexico, and identifies herself: “I am Mayahuel. I am a goddess—the goddess of rising, swelling, fermentation and of pulque.”

Depiction of Mayahuel

She authenticates her goddess-hood and also convinces him, by making love to him Aztec-style, that he is not mad. She explains that she has gotten on the wrong side of Mixtotl, the man who threatened her, who is in fact a god, because she has refused to participate in the festival dedicated to him, in which a man and a woman are sacrificed. The man, the woman, and the priest who performs the sacrifice must be drunk on pulque (a historical fact I discovered doing research). Not an Aztec but a Mayan goddess, the ritual sickens her. She has escaped to the future to avoid her part in it (and by doing so to bring it to an end). Mixtotl has come for her and insisted she return to ancient times and play her part in the sacrifice. She has chosen Phil as her champion. He must defeat Mixtotl to free Maya and to end the ceremony.

Mayahuel, contemporary depiction

Supernatural stories always contain a charmed object. Maya gives Phil a knife given to her by Raugutiene, the Baltic goddess of beer and fermentation (Maya knows all the gods and goddesses of brewing), with whom she took refuge when she first escaped Mexico. It not only cuts; every cut creates a certain amount of drunkenness in one's opponent. Phil is encouraged but also knows that ancient gods were skillful warriors with supernatural powers. It would not be an easy fight.

He has discovered, in fighting with gang members in his old neighborhood, that they often went through a set of ritual moves before fighting. He won knife several fights by attacking them when they were going through their preliminary "dance." Sure enough, Mixtotl, begins a dance to begin the fight. While he is doing it, Phil gets a good cut on him. Using the skills learned on mean streets, he is able to disable Mixtotl—though the spell of the knife helps greatly. With victory, he wins freedom for Maya. The human sacrifices will end. Mixtotl will not be worshiped. And she can return to the future to run her bar—and to explore a relationship with her new-found mortal lover.

The story appeared in an anthology, Six-Pack of Stories. It is available in print. Get a copy here.

 For more good reads, see my Writer's Page.

I would love to hear your comments.

Soon, a sequel to my vampire novel, Sinfonia: The First Notes on the Lute, will be released. It is titled Sinfonia:  A Painted House. Stay tuned.

Happy reading.