Dave’s Anatomy: My History As a Writer, #123: Vampires in Space: “Soil Samples.”

In high school, I read a collection of stories called Rod Serling’s Triple W:  Witches, Warlocks, and Werewolves. One story in particular fascinated me. Written by Joe E. Hensley, it was titled “Not Quite Human.” I never forgot the story, but I forgot the title, the name of the author, and the book in which I was published. It was forty years later (literally) that, with the help of the internet, I found it and got to read it again. It still impressed me after all that time. 

The story begins with the destruction of the earth. An alien race has destroyed Earth’s civilization and is about to report back that a new world is available for colonization. And something else will please the authorities on their home word:  miraculously, forty of the planet’s inhabitants somehow survived the attack. They are imprisoned on the ship and are being taken back for study. 

Soon, however, strange things begin to happen. A crewman commits suicide. You learn that the alien world is a repressive world. Anyone who makes a mistake is “exterminated.” The Captain of the ship will probably die due to what happened under his command. Soon others follow. The crew seems to be going mad. Everyone but the Captain is soon dead. The leader of the earth inhabitants that did not die tells the captain that this is because they are vampires. They were buried for centuries in the earth with stakes through their heart. “Your fire burned away the stakes,” he said, and they have revived. The story ends like this. But there is at least a hint that the vampires will force the captain to fly the ship home so they will have a new race of beings that can be their prey. 

This was the inspiration for a story I published called “Soil Samples.” Earth is not destroyed in my story. The aliens come as scouts. They land on earth, survey it, capture some its animals and collect samples of its plant life. They also bring soil samples in large boxes. During the course of the voyage, a wild boar gets loose and attacks one of the aliens. Bleeding badly, he climbs up on one of the boxes of dirt from Earth and dies of his wounds. Unfortunately for the crew of the ship, the blood revives remains embedded in the soil samples.

The Vampires—Rebecca, Hugh, Ethan, Mia, and Felicity—come from various eras. Like the creatures in “Not Quiet Human,” they have been revived—not by fire burning away the stakes in their heart, but by blood soaking down into the soil where they were buried. 

Rebecca transforms to a bat and flies about the ship. She hears someone speaking English, takes on her human-like form, and captures an alien woman, Devva. She tells Rebecca she has been inducted into the military to learn the English language. Rebecca tells her they need her help. She dresses in one of Devva’s extra uniforms and the two of them head back to the where other vampires are waiting. Devva decides to warn the crew when three of her fellow aliens appear. Rebecca makes short work of them and threatens to kill her if she betrays her again. Devva has noted that the earth beings are not harmed by the weapons of her people. 

She tells the group of vampires that the ship is monitored but puzzles that no one has seen them. Mia, a vampire who lived into the second millennia, suggests that just as they do not make reflections they also may not show up on camera. The vampires, aided by Devva, manage to take control of the ship. They learn of a rebellion going on. A prisoner on the ship is involved with the rebellion and will help them connect with rebel factions.

Rebecca

  

Rebecca feels badly that she has been so brutal with Devva and wonders why this human woman cooperated so much. Devva tells her that her sister got involved with the rebellion, was captured, tortured, and killed by the government. She has a family but despairs of ever seeing them again, knowing that because her sister was a rebel she will eventually be killed as well. Rebecca remembers how her crossing over into the world of vampires separated her from her husband and family. 

In the last scene, the ship is going to join other rebel ships. Their destination is the alien home planet—a new world on which the vampires can settle and find blood. 

“Soil Samples” appeared in Bloodbond, published by Alban Lake. Get a copy here.

For additional titles, check out my Amazon Page. Here is a link.

I would love to hear your comments.

Dave’s Anatomy: My History As a Writer,#122: Pagan Girl, Christian Guy, Clergyman from 1640: “How Great Our Joy.”

Robert Herrick

There is a hymn tune found in many American collections called “How Great Our Joy.” The name of the tune given in the upper right-hand corner of the psalter is “Herrick’s Carol.” I know quite a bit about the poet Robert Herrick because I did my Ph.D. dissertation on his religious poetry. Herrick was a poet but also (like George Herbert) an Anglican priest. Many people will not recognize his name, but two references bring him into popular culture: 1) he wrote the poem with the famous opening lines “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may”; 2) in the scene in Dead Poet’s Society where the character played by Robin Williams takes the boys he is teaching to the trophy room to show them photographs of graduates who have died long ago, Williams mentions Herrick and the concept of carpe deim, “seize the day,” which one finds quite a lot in Herrick’s poetry.

My story, “How Great Our Joy,” centers around the experience of two young people, Maxwell and Astraea. They work together at a school for special needs students. Both are musicians; in fact, Astraea does musical therapy. On occasion they play concerts together at the school are mutually respectful of each other’s mastery and competence. Maxwell is a Christian; Astraea is a pagan. One of Astraea’s pagan friends, Callie, finds out she does music with a Christian and unloads, telling her that Christianity has caused the deaths of more people than any other cause in history and that Christians burned nine million women at the stake in medieval Europe. She should not be associating with him in any way. “He wants to kill you,” she says. 

Astraea finds this absurd but asks Maxwell about it. He says these are common myths circulated by people who dislike Christianity and they are fabrications. When Astraea researches the claims, she finds he is correct. One night she and Callie go to a coffee bar. Maxwell, and a very beautiful young women, come on stage as the musical act for the night. Callie wants to leave, but Astraea wants to hear the concert. As they listen, she pines that the woman with Maxwell is so much more beautiful than she; these feelings make her realize she is attracted to him despite their religious difference. At intermission, she finds out the woman is Maxwell’s sister. Callie leaves. Maxwell and his sister talk with Astraea. He ends up asking her out. Despite opposition from her friends and parents, she begins dating him. 

Winter Solstice Celebration

He attends a Solstice Celebration with Astraea and her family; she goes to a Church service with him (it is near Christmas and she knows some of the carols they sing just from hearing them so much at this time of the year). Astraea feels love for Maxwell, but also realizes how much opposition and they are facing and the numerous complications that could derail their relationship. She wonders what she might do to show her love and hits upon a plan.  She goes to two people who are yoga adepts and unfolds it to them. They agree to help her. Since all points of time exist at the same time, they tell her, they can bring about what she has asked.

Robert Herrick's Church in Devonshire

Through the practitioners’ intervention, Astraea is able to transport her and Maxwell back in time, to the days of King Charles I, the 1630s, and the church of Maxwell’s favorite poet Robert Herrick. They attend a service at his church and, afterwards, get to meet him. When the service is over they help distribute food to poor parishioners. Herrick himself is charming, earthy, and sincere in his devotion—despite what she has read about him being an indifferent Christian or one whose loyalties to the old deities of Greece and Rome were greater than his allegiance to the Christian faith. She is certain her relationship with Maxwell can be fruitful—perhaps even end in their being married. They respect each other’s faith and can love each other and experience mutuality despite their differences.

The story appeared in  the journal Eternal Haunted Summer and was reprinted in the anthology Passion Beyond Words. Eternal Haunted Summer has archived the story and you can read it here. If you want a print copy, Passion Beyond Words is available here.

For additional books, check out my Amazon Page.

Also, for a good short story and a nice summer read, see my story "Azalea." One of the best I've written.

I would love to hear your comments.

Happy summer reading.

Dave’s Anatomy: My History as a Writer, #121: Writing As Revenge: “The Science Teacher

Illustration from "The Cask of Amontillado"

The nice thing about being a writer is that you can use your stories to take revenge of people who have wronged you in the past. You can write them up as characters. One meme on the internet read, “Don’t get on my bad side or I’ll write you as a character in my next novel.” True. People have done this, the most egregious example being Philip Pullman, who grew up in a religious home, became an atheist, and then gleefully kills God in the His Dark Materials trilogy. I did not set my sights that high, but I did go after a science teacher who did me a bad turn in seventh grade science class. He got turned into a character.

This particular teacher could not teach—like the coach in the Tank McNamara comic strips who cannot teach and does nothing but show films in the class, this particular teacher could not teach and also depended on films; that, reading in class, and his going on and on about taking notes, which you had to turn in once a week. “Taking notes” to him meant copying out of the book. In the story I say, the science teacher is one of those people they used to hire as teachers who were not qualified but got a job in a school because the baby boomer generation was crowding classrooms and anyone with a college degree who knew the basics of a subject could get hired to fill the gaps. This was also the case with my teacher.

I ended up disliking him because he yelled at me in class once for talking to a girl. I always loathed him after that. Thus the story evolved.

Lynda

Gary Parker wants to get revenge on his science teacher for yelling at him in class. The yelling, however, has more serious consequences than it did in my case. Three guys who don’t like Parker because he has long hair and plays in a rock band pick a fight with him over the incident. The parents of his girlfriend, Lynda, who have just been looking for an excuse to order her to break off the dating relationship, pounce. They split, Lynda meets another guy, ends up pregnant, goes to California to have the child, finds herself in an abusive marriage, and eventually commits suicide. Parker will go on to succeed as a popular singer. But he never forgets Lynda and he wants revenge. He remembers things he read in school:  Poe’s “The Cask of Amontillado,” about revenge; and the lines in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, “Vengeance should know no bounds.” He learns that one of his former musicians, who had to leave the band due to a drug problem, is working for the teacher, helping to pour asphalt on driveways. He formulates a plot.

He gets his old friend, Frankie, stoned. The teacher returns from lunch drunk, as he usually does, and starts shouting at the stoned Frankie to dump the load of asphalt. Impaired by opiated hashish, Frankie pulls the lever too hard and dumps the whole load on the teacher.

Parker’s idea was that the teacher should be splashed with hot asphalt, maybe get some burn scars, and have those as a remembrance. Things turn out worse. He is not killed by the load of hot tar but is partially buried in the onrush of it and loses both of his legs. The danger of the situation catapults Frankie out of his drug-induced lethargy and he rescues the teacher. Frankie performs so capably no one imagines he was stoned; and witnesses who saw it happen testify that the teacher was drunk, yelled “Dump it!” and excoriated Frankie with racial slurs (Frankie is black). No punishment falls on him. Like Montresor in the Poe story, Parker is revenged “with impunity.” Frankie feels badly about what happened. Davis helps him kick drugs, get back in the music world, and he ends up succeeding as a session guitarist and recording artist, marries, and settles down to live comfortably. The science teacher goes back to work teaching. Parker says, at the end of the story, I’m satisfied with that. I like to imagine Lynda is as well. 

The story appeared in Indiana Horror Review, 2013. Order a copy here.

For more titles, see my Writer's Page.

Ever get even with someone? Tell me about it in a comment.

Happy reading.

Dave’s Anatomy: My History as a Writer #120: Mother Earth as a Loving Mother: “The Gaia Proposition.”

Gaia

The Gaia hypothesis, a theory formulated by the chemist James Lovelock and microbiologist Lynn Margulis in the 1970s, theorized that earth was a huge, interlocking matrix of ecosystems, all in balance, all dependent, to some extent, on each other. They scientists named the idea after Gaia, a primordial goddess of the Earth in ancient Greek mythology. Since that time, the idea has been widely accepted, not only by the scientific community, but in popular culture as well. My story, “The Gaia Proposition,” draws upon imagery from this idea but also challenges not so much the hypothesis itself, but the apocalyptic scenarios many people draw from the hypothesis. Gaia is the mythic figure from the which the folk character of Mother Earth derived. What sort of Mother is Mother Earth; or, if Gaia were real, what kind of a mother would she be?

Winona Baker is an ecological activist. She earned a degree in Ecological Engineer, but jobs in the field are hard to come by and she works as a waitress at a bar to sustain herself. She is involved in local conservation efforts; and, every week, she leads a gathering of people who venerate Gaia. Winona insists it is not a worship service but simply a recognition of how important it is to care for the earth and to be aware of ecological issues. Sometimes, though, it looks worship:  The people assembled before a portrait of Gaia. Flowers surrounded it, incense burned in silver urns on either side of the image. The participants sang hymns—mostly popular songs like “Hidden treasure” by the sixties group Traffic and Enya’s “Caribbean Blue.” They also sang songs by composers who praised Gaia and Mother Earth. They did not pray but did, at the beginning, middle, and end of the gathering, observe silence. She herself admits the gathering may look resemble worship, but maintains it is not, she is not a “priestess” of any sort, and the gathering is purely secular and not religious.

A local evangelist, Marshall Stanwell, maintains what she does is worship. The two of them have debated the matter on local news media. Stanwell maintains that the nature of worship to “attribute worth” to something or someone. Since Winona pays tribute to the beauty, intricacy, and power of nature, this constitutes worship in his thinking. She chafes at the idea the what she does is “neo-pagan worship” and that she is a priestess.

Gaia Gathering

Of late, Winona has been active in opposing development near to a protected wilderness area outside of the city called Monteef Hills. She is frustrated and seems to be losing the debate, mainly because the development will not be within the protected area, but around it. She gives a passionate speech that seems to be well-received. Stanwell ridicules on a local radio talk show. It seems a lost cause and that the area around Monteef Hills will be developed. The development will adversely affect the location’s ecosystem.

 Winona gives an impassioned speech, but feels her cause is doomed. In bed that night, she does something she had said she did not, and would not do. She prays to Gaia:  “Lady Gaia, hear my prayer. I pray the Monteef Wood and the area around be kept safe.” She had thought to stop here, this being the thing she sought as a blessing from Gaia, but she went on. “I pray you will show the people of this community, and of the world, your power and your nature. May they know you are a goddess to be reckoned with. May they see you are a goddess who must be obeyed.”

woolly rhinoceros

The next day, her cell phone is overloaded with messages, as is her email file. She finds out why. Researchers have discovered, in Monteef hills, what appears to be a long-extinct woolly rhinoceros. The identification is confirmed—furthermore, scientists discover not just one rhino, but a herd of them. Soon, other reports come in. Passenger pigeons have appeared in Ohio; European lions are spotted in several countries; moa, a twelve-foot high, long-extent bird, are appearing in large numbers in New Zeeland; Caspian tigers, dodo birds, Tasmanian devils, and a herd of aurochs are observed.

Gaia, Mother of the Earth

The press rushes to Winona and asks for a statement. She replies that Gaia is not a wrathful deity but a loving mother. The dystopian visions of many ecologists, she says, do not reflect the nature of Gaia, Mother Earth. She is a kind, loving, nurturing mother. She has chosen an unusual and beautiful way to make humans aware of what has been lost through poor ecological practices. Now the people of earth have a second opportunity to restore things. Needless to say, Monteef Hills will not be developed.

Mystic Nebula is listed as a “defunct” publication by Duotrope, an online site that monitors publications, so I can’t give a link to the story. This is another tale that perhaps needs to be resubmitted.

For links to my books, see my Writer's Page.

My latest novella, The Court of the Sovereign King is available for purchase.

Thank you for reading about and thinking about one of my stories. More to come.

Back at the Blog Again: One of my Newer Stories and a Return to the Old

Yogini deep in practice

A blog is something you want to keep going at an established pace and keep up forever. But, as with all things, life tends to intervene. I've neglected my blog for a long time, and now it's time to start it up again, rekindle the fire, and begin my practice once more. "Practice" in the vocabulary of yoga means training, doing postures, maintaining your regimen of exercise, perfecting your mastery of the discipline. I have not done yoga very much the last few years, and my joints show it. They're stiff and inflexible as a result of neglect. In the same way, I haven't published my blog for a few months, and that seems to have affected my expressiveness.  I usually write about stories I have published, and my blog is subtitled, "My History as a Writer." This one, the kick-starter, will be a discussion of what I have published recently, and after this one, I will go back to a weekly post on what I've published in the past. 

The reasons I've neglected my blog:  mainly, my job teaching as an adjunct professor at a local university. I like teaching. I've done it all my working life and was once a full professor. A series of circumstances led me to resign from my professorship and begin teaching part-time. It was by choice and not by choice--a story I don't care to share. At any rate, preparation for two sections of African-American literature, a class I had not taught before, and one I was asked to fill in for, took up a lot of my time. I regularly teach a class called Literature of American Minorities, which always features a section of African-American Literature, and so, when the regular teacher of the class (who is African-American) could not teach it, I was the likely candidate to fill in.

And it was a wonderful class. Like most readers, I had encountered the African-American literature that gets anthologized a lot:  "Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden, "We Real Cool" by Gwendolyn Brooks, "The Gilded Six-Bits" by Zora Neale Hurston. But the Norton Anthologies of Early and Modern African-American Literature presented works I had never read and authors I had not encountered. I read the poetry of Melvin Tolson (whom I had never heard of) and Ethridge Knight (whom I had heard of but never read). Both were magnificent poets, but they were new to me. I had read Gwendolyn Brooks, but never her novella, Maud Martha. A lot of new literature kept me busy. For another class I taught, I picked out some new books:  H Is for Hawk by Helen MacDonald and All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr—excellent books but reading them was time-consuming. 

So the blog suffered. Now it’s summer and I can get back to blogging. I’m going to talk about a recent publication and then next week I’ll get back to my anatomy as a writer. 

My latest publication is a story called “Azalea,” and it appears in the April issue of Amarillo Bay. That journal is special to me because my first-ever story, “The Girl Who Knew Nick Drake,” appeared there, when I first began writing fiction back in 2006.

Erina

It is the story of a Japanese-American graphic designer who is attracted to the CEO of his company. The social gap between them, however, is insurmountable—until one of his friends, the CEO’s cousin, asks if he would like to meet her. Jeremy and Erina meet. He mentions his love for Japanese poetry and quotes a line by the great haiku master Basho:  Cold, white azalea / lone nun / under a thatched roof. Erina reacts to this, they talk, Jeremy invites her to an exhibit of his art, and is astonished she accepts. 

Their romance develops. He learns, too, that Erina’s mother wanted her to be a Buddhist nun. She would not consider it, they quarreled, she went to college in the US to get away from her mother, and her mother died, the two of them unreconciled. He is surprised to find out that Erina—despite her beauty, wealth, and the glamor of her role—hardly dates and is still a virgin.  

As their relationship develops, he asks if she will pose for him. He wants to use her as a model for a painting representing the poem by Basho. The painting enables her to put the disagreement with her mother behind her. Art can bring healing through revelation of the soul. 

Here is a link to the story "Azalea." And since I mentioned the first story I ever published, “The Girl Who Knew Nick Drake,” here is a link to that. They’re both good, stories, long ones, and reading them will enhance your lives. 

More to come. Next week I’ll talk about an old story, “The Gaia Proposition.”

Dave's Anatomy: My History as a Writer #119: Ambition, Redefinition: "The Treasure at the End of the Rainbow"

The “wee folk” fascinate us. Elves, leprechauns, nixies, pixies, fairies, sprites—the tiny creatures who were especially prominent in the folklore of the Celtic nations:  Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and Britain before it went Anglo-Saxon. “The Treasure at the End of the Rainbow,” is a story about a leprechaun, though, as with most modern stories about such creatures, it is revisionist and plays with the tradition themes, descriptions, and plots found in such stories. 

The origin of it was a tale I read in fourth or fifth grade. The old legend is that if you capture a leprechaun, he (or she, though it seems like most leprechauns were male) had to tell you where he had hidden his treasure. But be careful:  they are consummate tricksters. In the story I remember, a young boy captures one of the wee folk and he takes him to a tree at the base of which the leprechaun’s gold is buried. The boy must fetcht a shovel. He ties a handkerchief around the tree so he will know it and makes the leprechaun swear he will not remove the handkerchief. Smilingly, the creature agrees. The young man goes, returns with the shovel, and finds, to his dismay, that every tree in the wood has a handkerchief tied around it. The leprechaun has triumphed through trickery. 

In my story, there is trickery on both sides.

Caffara

Caffara is a leprechaun hunter. She tracks the wee folk in the hope of capturing one and forcing him to give her his treasure. She is skillful, locates a handsome young man named Neven (I found some good Irish names), dances with him, invites him up to her room, and enjoys passionate embrace with him. He wakes up to find himself handcuffed to the bed. Caffara informs him what has happened and on his chest places a stone taken from the Lair of Morrigan. Morrigan was an evil Celtic goddess who waged war on the elves. Neven cannot breath, admits he is a leprechaun, and promises he will give her treasure if she frees him. She does so and reminds him that if he breaks his promise Morrigan will devour his soul. 

He gives her an address. She frees him. She goes to the address the next day and finds it an obstetrics clinic. She wonders if the treasure is hidden there or buried under it. A few days later, she finds she is pregnant. Neven has betrayed her. Morrigan will get his soul, and she finds satisfaction in this—but what will she do now? She gives birth to a boy and immigrates to Canada, where she finds a job and lives as a single mother. Her place in life does not allow her to date; remarriage seems too complex, so she raises her child. 

Her son, Colm, acts in a play his six-grade class puts on. Someone from a video production company offers to hire him for an advertisement campaign. He is photogenic. Soon he is in more ads and in TV commercials. He lands minor roles on television and then in films. By the time he is sixteen, he is a child star making a lot of money. Caffara finally has money and leisure. She returns to her native Ireland, where Colm is filming. She goes to where she somehow knows she will find someone she wants to see. 

Neven is where she thinks he will be. She apologizes for being a bounty hunter and a “predatory woman.” The following exchange takes place. 

“So your definition of treasure has changed?”

“Yes. Colm would like to meet you. I said I’d try to find you while I was over here.”

“I would very much like to meet him.”

“We’ll arrange it. Maybe”—and she got tears in her eyes—“we can even pick up where we left off—that is, if you’re interested in taking up with a predatory female.”

“I thought you were a beautiful woman. You are still.”

“A little deserved suffering helps out, I think. At least it did for me.” 

Grace comes. The wee folk are still tricksters. But they are also, under the layers of wiliness and scheming, good, benevolent, and forgiving. 

The story appeared in Modern Day Fairy Tales, which has closed. I have to laugh:  if I republished all the stories I printed in journals that are now defunct, I could have a second career! Maybe I will do just that. But if you want to read one of my stories about the elven folk, click on this link for Chantwood Magazine. Despite outwards appearances, elves are not the nicest or kindest beings who popular the universe.

Be sure to read my latest novella, The Court of the Sovereign King. 

Alethea is taken to the court of King and placed under a vow of chastity and service. Eventually, she comes to know the evil the that exists there. And it knows her.

For more titles, visit my Writer's Page.

Nurture your imagination.

Happy reading.

Dave's Anatomy #118: My History as a Writer: “The Girl Who Was Like Ruby Tuesday."

The song “Ruby Tuesday” by the Rolling Stones always intrigued me. The Rolling Stones were known for high-energy bluesy songs. “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” and “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” were signature hits, but “Ruby Tuesday,” a song about an enigmatic girl with a unique philosophy of life, was slow and lyrical. You heard piano, bowed bass, and odd, haunting recorder that almost sounded like a human voice (played by Brian Jones). Those instruments, along with Charlie Watts’ drumming and Mick Jagger’s vocal, made the song as mysterious as the focus of the song, the woman with the odd name.

Many years later, when I was teaching about social commentary in popular music, one of the songs we examined in class was “Ruby Tuesday.” We talked about the personality of the main character of the song and her philosophy of life. This got me to thinking about what the projected character represented. What would such a woman, if one met her in real life, be like. 

Various stories exist about the composition of the song. Keith Richards claims to have written the music and lyrics (usually Jagger wrote the lyrics). Marianne Faithful, however, said that Brian Jones came up with the original tune and lyrics and Richards helped him complete the song. The inspiration for the number was said to be Linda Keith, a groupie girl Richards knew. I decide to take the idea into the realm of fiction.

The story takes place in 1969. Belinda Palmer and Clinton Pierce meet at a pot party which is busted by the police. They flee. Belinda helps Clinton get away. After the danger of arrest has passed, they talk. She says she lives in a small apartment and is a musician. Clinton is house-sitting for an uncle who owns a lake-side condo that has a piano. He asks Belinda to come to his place. She agrees. She ends up living with him there. 

She is enigmatic. This dialogue, early in the story, expresses as much:

“ … Do you work?”

“Sort of. I live with guys. They pay me.”

“You’re a hooker?” this came out of his mouth before he could stop it. He blushed. She did not look offended, though he hoped she would smile to assure him of as much.

“I guess I could be. I don’t like working regular jobs. Living with guys gives me time to do what I liked to do.”

“Which is?”

“Music. I love to play music.” 

Over the summer, their relationship develops. Belinda’s behavior, her reading habits, her philosophy on how to live, her tastes in music, the pronouncements she makes puzzle and delight Clinton. She challenges the things he has been taught about responsibility, goals, and vision.  

Clinton works at a country club as a golf caddie. When he invites Belinda eat with him at the restaurant, they encounter a man he knows just slightly, Raymond Miller, who begins to berate Belinda. Their argument escalates. He slaps her. He and Clinton get into a scuffle, though the staff at the country club and diners at the café break it up quickly. 

Miller is wealthy and a longstanding member of the country club. The owner tells Clinton he needs to take a few days off. Belinda, though, gets a lawyer and files a lawsuit against Miller, who caught Belinda and his daughter smoking a joint once and, like the father of the boy who commits suicide in Dead Poets Society, tries to assuage his guilt for his failure to relate to his daughter by blaming Belinda for the heavy drug use she engages in. Soon he learns he is out of job. Miller continues to use his influence to harass Clinton. Not wanting the bad publicly, he settles out of court with Belinda, paying her considerable amount of money. Clinton, though is out of a job. He works as a waiter in a local restaurant. Even there, Miller uses his clout in the city make Clinton’s life miserable. 

Clinton’s old girlfriend, Betsy, asks him how much he knows about Belinda. When he says he doesn’t know a great deal, she chimes in: “She’s a drop-out. Did you know that? I mean, she graduated from high school but she ran track in school and was in the dance troupe; music too and she was good—sang in the choir and played piano for us sometimes. Then she just quit all that and started doing weird stuff.” 

He remains loyal and begins to fall in love. But Belinda decides to use the money she received in the settlement to go on and follow her dreams. Clinton tries to dissuade her, but nothing works. Though she says she loves him, she goes her way. 

He later hears the song by the Rolling Stones and wonders if she too heard it and tried to live like the girl mentioned in the lyrics. He does not hear from her again. When the internet comes on the scene, he tries to find her with a net search, but to avail. Clinton marries Betsy, goes into business, accrues wealth, has a family. Yet he still thinks of Belinda—especially when he hears

                                                Good-bye. Ruby Tuesday.

                                                Who could hang a name on you,

                                                When you change with every new day?

                                                Still, I’m gonna miss you. 

“The Girl Who Was Like Ruby Tuesday” appeared in Wild Violet. You can read it here.

I am excited about the release of my newest novella, In the Court of the Sovereign King. Vaguely based on the mythic construction in the old King Crimson song, “The Court of the Crimson King,” it is a story of intrigue, struggle for power, and the eventual triumph of virtue and of ethical discipline over rapacious power.  Get a copy here.

For more titles, see my Writer's Page.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy New Year, and happy reading.