Dave's Anatomy: My History as a Writer, #93: Ghosts and Justice: "Plantation Ghost."

Ghost of Hamlet's Father

Ghosts are not just ghosts. They appear in stories not just to scare us but to teach moral or sociological lessons. The four ghosts that appear in A Christmas Carol—ghost of Marley, of Christmas Present, Christmas Past, and Christmas future—are part of a novella about social justice and fairness for the poor. The ghost of Hamlet’s father asks for revenge after he is murdered so his brother can make himself king. The ghost in Toni Morrison’s Beloved, described as “spiteful. Full of a baby’s venom,” is an icon calling attention to racial injustice and the suffering of African-Americans during the years of slavery in the United States. In my story, “Plantation Ghost,” I try to illustrate some aspects of racial conflict in America through the presence of a ghost. The story calls focuses on this, but also illustrates the complications of being black and white in our society.

Rebecca Hayes, the bass player in Sossity Chandler’s band, is black. She has been dating the band’s drummer recently, who is white, but they have split up—sort of. Rebecca has caved in to pressure from her family to break the relationship off. But that has not been as easy as she has imagined it would be. For one, she loves Todd and he loves her. During the story she goes in to confront him and ends up making love to him. She is frustrated, as he is, knowing she has to take decisive action to end the relationship but not really wanting to.

When the band is doing a series of concerts in Alabama and Georgia, Rebecca and Sossity share a room at a plantation that has been turned into a B&B. Rebecca wakes up in the middle of the night to see a tall, slender black woman dressed in garments that suggest the 1800s standing at the foot of her bed. The figure vanishes and Rebecca writes it off as a dream. At the breakfast table that morning one of the guests asks if anyone there saw the ghost. Rebecca asks about it and finds out more:

“She is one of the most well-known ghosts in the area,” the white businessman, who had a heavy Southern accent, was saying. “This place was deserted for years because of her. More than one family moved in and the ghost supposedly drove them off.”

“Did the ghost go away?”

“A few people say they’ve seen her, but I guess she’s a little calmer—so calm she hasn’t rattled chains or terrified anyone lately.” Everyone around the table chucked at this. “People who have seen her identify her as a woman who worked her as a servant in the Reconstruction era, though, sadly, we don’t even know her name. She died a victim of racial violence, I think.”

Since racial violence was a delicate subject, the guests quickly moved the conversation elsewhere.

Later, the ghost appears to Rebecca and speaks to her. She tells the story of having been chased by ex-Confederate soldiers after the civil war and being shot. She staggers into a swamp for safety, finally collapses and his found by a white man who nurses her back to health. He lives alone, has lost his wife, and eventually Shoshanna and he fall in love. He is able to pass her off as a farm and worker and mistress, which the other men in the area can tolerate. They live together ten years and have two children. Charlie, the husband, eventually dies during a typhus epidemic. Shoshanna gives the children to relatives to raise and goes off to seek employment. She finds work at a plantation with white people who are fair and kind to her.

But by that time the Ku Klux Klan has become active. They don’t like the family that has hired Shoshanna and begin to harass them and her. One night they come to lynch her. In the struggle, one of their number drops a pistol on the ground. It goes off and kills her. The family buries her and leaves the plantation. Shoshanna becomes a ghost. She haunts anyone who has any connection with the mob of men who killed her—which is most everyone in the town and surrounding area. The plantation sits empty for years until someone from the north buys it and opens it as a bed and breakfast. Rebecca suggests that since Shoshanna has told her story and the direct relatives of men who murdered her are all dead, she can go to her rest. Shoshanna does not reply. She vanishes.

As Rebecca and Sossity are getting ready to leave, the woman who runs the place gives them a tour of the servants’ quarters. A box of old books she is giving away sits on a table there. Rebecca come across Shoshanna’s diary. She tells the woman it might be valuable, but the woman insists Rebecca take it. On the way home, Sossity asks her about Todd. Rebecca says it is over with them. Sossity argues she needs to defy her family and convention and pursue the relationship, since she really does love. Sossity tells Rebecca that she needs to do what is right. Her reply is, I think, some of the best lines I’ve ever written:  “I love him. No doubt about that. You told me I needed to do what was right. But sometimes you can’t do what is right in life. Sometimes you have to do what is wrong.” The story end on an unhappy but perhaps sadly realistic note.

“Plantation Ghost” appeared in The WiFiles. Read it here. The journal, no longer published but maintaining an archive, has a straight-line format, so you'll have to scroll down to get to my story. It's number four in the line-up.

Here's a video for my novel, Sinfonia: The First Notes on the Lute. Vampires, love, music, passion, and intrigue. Also, Shakespeare, and Queen Elizabeth.

For more titles, visit my Writer's Page.

I would love to hear your comments.

Dave's Anatomy: My History As a Writer, #68: "Horse Latitudes"

Horses have been companions to the human race for a thousand years. It's debatable who first tamed them, but from Japan and China to the edge of Europe, they were beasts of burden, vital to the economy and culture of everyone from the Mongols to the Knights of the Round Table. Spanish invaders brought horses to the new world; some got away, went wild, and the native tribes learned to ride them and use them as a decisive weapon against their enemies, both European and native. It has only been about a hundred years since horses faded from the scene, replaced by mechanized vehicles.

In the tale "Horse Latitudes," Sossity Chandler is on a cruise with her boyfriend. She enjoys the relative anonymity; though a lot of people on the cruise know who she is, and though she has agreed to do a short concert beyond the voyage ends, the people on board generally respect her privacy and she is able to relax and enjoy herself.

Horses painted by Chirico

But she is also getting visions of horses. And the horses are not particularly friendly. As C. S. Lewis wrote in a poem about two horses of the future, "the look / Of half-indignant melancholy and delicate alarm’s gone." These horses, and the ones Sossity sees, are rather ferocious and dangerous. And, of course, wild horses are dangerous and formidable. Sossity sees one in the water beside the boat and in her dreams. More disturbingly, one night she dreams she is adrift at sea and horses are trying to kill her by dragging her down into the sea; she is rescued, though only after much mayhem, death, and horror.

Hobnobbing with other passengers, she learns, from a Professor of Spanish literature, that they are in the "horse latitudes," and near a place called "Horse Island." The Horse Latitudes were located in parts of oceans where ships were often becalmed. Legend had it that ships transporting horses to the new world sometimes had to throw them into the water to drown because they were stalled and running out of food and water for the horses. Scholars today say that this was probably an "urban legend" of the time and did not really happen. Still, paranormal stories allow one to push the limits. Sossity learns that Almagro, the Captain of the ship, comes from a Spanish family that raised and transported horses in 1600s—and is still in the horse-raising business today.

The most frightening incident happens when Sossity goes out one night to smoke some joints with other passengers. Making her way back to his cabin, she is cornered by three large horses that surround her. They are soaking wet and seem to study her with their big, serious eyes. After a few moments, they disappear. She thinks the whole thing a drug-induced hallucination, but the next day, Almagro has his crew cleaning up a pool of salt water that has somehow appeared on the deck of the ship. Sossity also learns that one of Almagro's relatives came to Horse Island a short time ago and ended up dying of anthrax.

Once on Horse Island, she is able to forget her fears. She enjoys the luxury hotel and amenities of the island. Seeing the herd of wild horses (and is a little unnerved to see three beasts who like the horses who cornered her on the boat), she goes running with other cruise passengers, and has a good time. She sees Almagro uses a taser on a horse that is trying to menace him. She talks to him and learns more of his disgust for horses and for his family's horse-raising.

One morning she goes for a run with a group of women staying at the hotel. When she returns, she founds the horses have attacked.

Mayhem has broken out. The horses have come into the hotel, chased people across the grounds, and, in some cases, trampled and stomped people. She thinks of Diggory, her boyfriend, and runs toward the hotel. After a while she finds him safe, protected by police with rifles. Meanwhile, Almagro has learned of the incident and given his crew instructions to kill all the horses. He and his girlfriend appear in a jeep, but before they get to the hotel, horses descend on and kill them. Sossity is near-by. The three horses she saw on the ship gather around her, as they did the night she first saw them—not to harm her but to protect her. When Almagro is dead, the horses—including the ones guarding Sossity so she will not be harmed—depart for sanctuaries in the hills. They have had their revenge and the anger of their memories can rest.

Almagro and his girlfriend are dead. A few tourists have been hurt, none seriously. Eight horses were killed. The Police Chief countermands Almagro's order and says the horses are not to be harmed. They are too valuable as tourist attractions to be destroyed.

"Horse Latitudes" appeared in a print magazine called Brain Soup, which only went for one issue. I don't believe it is available today. Another story to resubmit.

For additional comments, check out my Writer's Page.

I would love to hear your comments. Some people are afraid of horses. I never was, though I have not been around them a lot and have hardly ridden. Some people, though, find them frightening.

Happy reading.

Dave's Anatomy: My History As A Writer, #37: Relationships and Hero-Worship

After a spate with werewolves and vampires, I began to once again focus on my ongoing character of Sossity Chandler. I had written two stories about her in the last eighteen written and published, so my inclination bent back her way. Ian Fleming had James Bond and W. Somerset Maugham Ashtendon; Laura Ingles Wilder had her Laura, a character based on her own self. There is something attractive about exploring a character through several stories or books. And there is something attractive about the character that makes us want to write about them more than once. With Sossity it was her career as a musician and the things she encounters in her travels and concertizing. Soon the story "Come Together" began to form. Based on a song by John Lennon, it had the refrain "Come together right now over me." This title and that line opened up something that had been a philosophical concern of mine for some time.

That concern was what we might be call hero-worship, though that is not exactly the right phrase to express what I have often wondered about. It is not merely heroes—sports heroes or war heroes—that I see people following, emulating, praising, and venerating. It is also philosophers, writers, critics, religious leaders. And people do not always simply "worship" these people because, as with my original two examples, the person they cherish hit a lot of home runs, three-point shots, or  displayed valor on the battlefield. In the case of religious leaders, they sometime have so many followers who consider them venerable that they become cult leaders like Jim Jones. But there are lot of way one might become infatuated. "Come Together" explores those directions.

Pamela Revard is an old friend of Sossity's. They knew each other in high school and ran track together. Sossity remembers, with amusement, that Pamela always sang the lyrics of songs incorrectly. But she also knew Pamela as a cynic. She always made sarcastic remarks and maintained a rather nihilistic view on life. To quote from the story, to this woman " …everything was absurd, good did not exist, hypocrites governed in every sphere, and everything claiming moral or ethical value amounted to a false hope that only naive, gullible people believed. In Pamela’s view, all ethics were a sham. She maintained, like Nietzsche, that claims of truth were in fact plays to gain power. The world was a jungle, she often remarked, and she was merely one dog intent on eating the others dogs before they effectively devoured her."  Her view is so unrelentingly negative and cynical that Sossity avoids her.

She sees Pamela again and is surprised that she has jettisoned a lot of her cynicism. This is because she has become a follower of the philosopher Wendell Berry.

Wendell Berry is not so much a philosopher as a social critic (and also a poet and novelist) who emphases localism, the idea of that people should not be so nomadic but rather rooted to a given place, that our society should not be such a "throw-away" society, that people should be close to nature, the land, and a locale. These are good ideas, but I've noticed that the followers of Berry (I know a few) do not follow him. They practically worship him. They adore him and his ideas. They never critique his ideas, which, brilliant as they are, have some major flaws, and they generally don't like anyone pointing out his flaws. They venerate him. Their veneration often borders on worship.

Sossity notices that Pamela's cynicism seems to have disappeared, but she also notices that she has become a rather fanatical follower of Berry. When Sossity critiques some of the statements he has made, she gets angry. Sossity has also found out she is having an affair that threatens to break up a family and confronts her about this and about her cynicism. They depart angrily. Soon after, Pamela overdoses and ends up in the hospital. She realizes the truth of what Sossity told her and the two of them are reconciled. Sossity says she will help Pamela to get her life back on track and they reaffirm their friendship.

Sir Jaques, Cynic from As You Like It

I've found that cynics--those of who see life as absurd, or nihilists, who think there are no real values--will venerate someone—one figure they think is a true, genuine soul in a world of hypocrisy. Thus they all but worship this person and will tolerate no criticism of the figure they venerate. Such quasi-religion, however, is a dead-end street, as Pamela finds out. People are flawed. At best, one ends up disappointed at a philosophy; at worst, as in the case with someone like Jim Jones, people end up dead. A healthy skepticism (not the same as cynicism) is necessary to navigate a world where charlatans and hucksters—or well-meaning people who are just wrong—abound.

The story appeared in a now-defunct journal called The Smoking Poet. It does not have an archive, so you can't read the story. This is another one I may have to look for a journal that takes reprints.

For more titles, see my Writer's Page.

For a fascinating story and a great read, get a copy of Mother Hulda, a science fiction tale based on a story by the Brothers Grimm. Lakshmi Parvati is fleeing her powerful, domineering mother, who has wrecked her life and favors her younger sister. When she arrives on Planet Hulda, things begin to drastically change. 

The Most Creative Thing I've Read

Creativity is on the lips of writers, speakers, and bloggers today. Everyone wants to be creative. But

exactly what is creativity? In some upcoming blogs I will explore this question—which is a question to me as well (though I do have some theories or ideas on it). I want to suggest that creativity is hard to define but easy to recognize. A Supreme Court Justice in the United States once said of pornography, “I can’t define it, but I know it when I see it.” He was ridiculed for that statement—but, really, it’s true! And the same is true of creativity. Everyone is trying to formulate a definition of it. I don’t think I can do that, but I know it when I see it! It has a certain quality. It communicates something. It exudes an unmistakable aura. This is illustrated in the book I will say is the most creative thing I’ve ever read.

The most creative thing I have ever read is Neil Gaiman’s fantasy novel, Neverwhere.

Neverwhere began as an assignment. The BBC commissioned Gaiman to write a TV series about homelessness. One would assume he would start by depicting the plight of the homeless—perhaps focus on a family that suddenly ended out on the streets and chronicle their struggle to survive and adjust. Perhaps, he could tell the story of a young woman or young man trying to survive in the hard world of the displaced. He didn’t take this approach at all. He found a way to present homelessness creatively.

If you’ve read Neverwhere, you know it is a fantasy novel. A young Londoner enters a magical realm called “London Below,” which exists in tandem with “London above,” which is the city as we know it. Orcs, elves, vampires, all manner of odd creatures live there. They live on the tops of buildings, in alleys, in abandoned buildings, and in the sewers. They barter. London below is also a dangerous place to live. Dressed in shabby, ill-fitting clothing, exchanging favors or items in the place of money, careful navigating their violent, uncertain world, the citizens of London below make their way.

Of course, they are very much like the homeless. Reading the book or seeing the film series, one

Character of Door

cannot miss the connection. Even the main character from London Below, Door, who comes from a higher-placed and wealthier “fiefdom,” dresses shabbily and barters. Her family’s home is filled with second-hand furniture. She is stalked by two killers who move easily in this violence-ridden netherworld.

Perhaps the most poignant passage is when the main character  muses on an ill-dressed, doting old man who lives in a train car. “Richard found himself imaging the earl sixty, eight, five hundred years ago:  a mighty warrior, a cunning strategist, a great lover of women, a fine friend, a terrifying foe. There was still the wreckage of that man in there somewhere. That was what was so terrible and so sad.” I cannot look upon a homeless man—especially one on whom the lifestyle has wrought damage—without thinking of what he (or she) might have once been before their circumstances took a tragic turn.

Old Bailey, from London Below

This is creativity A realistic story focusing on the homeless might have come across as sentimental or maudlin. But creating a fantasy world where homelessness can be represented and commented upon indirectly—this is creativity. A creative approach proves more effective and makes a deeper impression. If you read Neverwhere and catch the homeless analogy (it’s hard to miss) you will not forget it. You will be more aware of way the homeless live. You will feel more compassion for their plight. Creativity transforms and gives power to the image. Creativity reworks the raw material of story, making it something (as Hamlet said) “wondrous strange.”

You also see this transformation working in:

One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzhenitsyn

the Genesis creation story

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame

The Great Divorce by C. S. Lewis

I will talk about each of these books and how they use creative technique.

 Get a copy of Strange Brew.

When a witch is in love with you,

the magic can get serious.

Characters Who Want Something

When I was first learning to write fiction, I came across a formula for organizing a story. Formulae, of course, can be dangerous, but this one held up pretty well. It came from the book Immediate Fiction by Jerry Cleaver, and for the sake of simplicity he reduced it to an acronym:  WOA—Want, Obstacle, Action. A good story will have someone wanting something; there is an obstacle to the person getting what he or she wants. He or she will take action to get the thing. Cleaver added that the action the person takes to get what he or she wants will also reveal their character.

The book is a good book on writing, and the formula suggests an important thing. Characters have got to want something. In great literature (this is also true in film), the characters desire. Furthermore, their desire is not casual. They really, really, really want the thing. This, I think, is what makes some characters from literature enduring. A sampling will suffice to illustrate the point.

Let’s start early. Romeo. He wants Juliet. Does he want her just a little? He wants her a lot, so much that he immediately forgets

Rosalind, the girl who would not return his love and made him depressed. He is willing to risk a beating to talk to Juliet at a party off-limits to him and members of his family. Later on, he risks his very life to talk to her in the famous “balcony scene.” Eventually, he will marry her, knowing it will bring about retribution. He doesn’t care. He loves her. He wants to share her life. We all know how it ends.

Captain Ahab. He wants to kill Moby-Dick, the white whale 

who chewed off his leg. Does he have a casual desire to kill the whale? If he can get him, great, if not, well, there are lots of other whales in ocean? No. He is obsessed, fanatical, and willing to destroy his ship, his crew, and himself to even the score.

Ebenezer Scrooge wants money. He doesn’t want money just a little bit. His whole life is consumed with avarice, the desire to get money. When he is young, he does not marry the girl who loves him. She says a “golden idol” has replaced her. Scrooge complains about giving Bob Cratchit Christmas day off (and won’t give him a bit of coal to keep warm at his job). And he blows up with rage when men come to his door soliciting a contribution for the poor and destitute. “Let them die,” he says, “and reduce the surplus population!” 

Examples could be multiplied, but the point is that characters must want something and be willing to risk everything to get it. They will expend all their resources to overcome the obstacle standing between them and what they want:  the risk of death in an ancient feud for Romeo, the dangers of the sea and Moby-Dick’s skill at ripping whalers to bits (Ahab meets a British sea captain who has lost an arm to the same white whale); Scrooge faces the censure of a society that considers money-grubbing immoral, underpaying employees despicable, and indifference to the poor reprehensible. Their obsession to get past the obstacle and get what they so tenaciously want is what makes the characters absorbing. Without this desire, characters are dull and insipid. And without fascinating characters, you cannot have a good story.

I’ve tried make the characters in my novels obsessive and driven. In The Gallery Martin Rollins wants the love of Siobhan O’Conner and will risk fighting one of the undead to get her. Strange Brew has Andrew Cabot willing to travel time and face the dangers of the pre-segregation Southern USA to help Lybecca. In The Sorceress of the Northern Seas, Lybecca (long before she meets Andrew) fights and struggles to win power and dominance as a sorceress. None of these things are bought at a small price.

Your characters must desire. They must want something and be willing, like Hamlet, to even “couple hell,” to get what they want. No one is attracted by insipid desire. Make your characters want something. Make it real desire. That is how the pot gets boiling.

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