New Stories!

I can hardly believe it, but I am on my second semester of this new fiction-writing class, and I have not only written six new stories (the required number), but three or four of them have been completely new and original! As opposed to being ideas that I had a few years ago and brought out to finish because I couldn’t think of anything — I almost wrote “better,” but  I don’t mean that. The ideas were fine, they were just old. And I wanted new ideas.

I’ll try to remember their names, starting with the most recent.

The one I just finished was “Cakewalk,” inspired by something that happened to me when I was about fifteen years old. I changed all of the details, except the hatboxes, but it’s still almost exactly what happened to me. I am fascinated with the moment when a story turns from “true” to “fiction.” It’s not one of my best stories, but it’s fun. I couldn’t write it until I got “the voice,” which I realized halfway through was similar to Eudora Welty’s in “Why I Live at the P.O.,” one of my very favorite short stories.

I wrote a nasty little “answer story” to “The Necklace,” a story I have always hated, and I called it “The Weapon.” I may post it sometime for fun. (I really resented the attitude that all women are so vain and foolish. And sure, sometimes we are vain and foolish, but what I resented was the “tone” of the story, like it would be completely unexpected for a woman to be anything but.)

Before that I wrote “He’s My Lassie,” inspired by my dog Bear and the walks we used to go on around town.

The first story I wrote this semester was “The Gigolo Gig,” inspired by my reaction to my physical therapist when I developed back problems a few months ago. It’s my favorite story so far.

Oh, so that’s four stories — oh, right, “The Weapon” was an extra. I have yet to hear what my professor thought of it. And I just remembered that I tried to write “The Vanilla Sermon,” subsequently changed to “The Gospel of Globe.” This is an idea I had ages ago, but I couldn’t make it work because it had too much religion in it. Religion is bad for my blood pressure.

Last semester I wrote “Pize,” a very short story about a little girl and pizza. It’s an idea that I had before. Then I wrote “Condimentia: Or Madness in the Mustard Museum,” another idea that I had had much earlier, about a little girl’s visit to the real Mustard Museum in Wisconsin. Then I wrote half of “Hijacking Beaver Creek,” a Civil War reenactment story. It’s an idea that my brother had and let me run with. I plan to finish it over the summer. It’s a terrific story, longer and more ambitious than my other stories.

I can’t say I’ve had “writer’s block” for the past few years, but it was terrible to go for such a long time without any new ideas at all. I hope this new streak lasts a while. I also hope some of my stories get published. “Sook’s Cake,” a Hallowe’en story about fruitcake and Truman Capote that I wrote many years ago got rejected again recently even though I changed its name to the more up-to-date and possibly less enigmatic “Frightcake.” Well, the person who rejected it said she liked it and invited me to send more stories. It didn’t seem like a form letter, so maybe she meant it. I shall certainly try!

 

Moving Right Along

Well, I’m coming up on birthday number 67 and have not written much in Parrot, except for more chapter titles.

No Steampunk Garden this year. I wasn’t in the mood.

Indifferent hops.

Excellent gooseberry season except that the very morning I had set aside for picking the gooseberries (enough for a tiny jar of jam) they were all gone. I suspect the raccoon that I think lives nearby — next-door, in fact, under a neighbor’s porch. So that was disappointing although I do not begrudge any wild animals whatever they find to eat or drink. The apple tree outside my window gets frequent visitors, mostly birds, but also the occasional squirrel.

I should be retired from Arizona by the 15th of September, assuming I do not sign up for Emeritus status to keep my certification active. But why I would want to pay $150 and write a 400 word essay to keep doing something I have come to seriously hate doing is a mystery. It’s just amazingly hard to give up paying work.

I’m in a short story class this semester. Memoir was okay, but I much prefer fiction. We’re to write three short stories, in addition to writing exercises. I was expecting loads of fun, but then I read the first assigned short story and became enraged. It was about hawkweed. I thought the psychology was unsound.

Well, I’m here,

So I might as well write something. Sometimes I comment on other WordPress blogs and am forced to sign in. I usually ignore my poor blog, but it’s either write something or get to work on a difficult transcript, so I guess I’ll procrastinate a little longer.

The Steampunk Garden was pretty sad this year.

This is the third year in a row that I have not learned how to use my pretty little red camera. All the controls are tiny, and there are so many menus, and items within the menus. I could pay $50 and take a local class on How To Use Your Little Camera, but I’m always put off by the fifty dollars. That’s a lot of money to learn something I should be able to pick up myself from reading the online instruction manual that comes in five languages, one of which is in Technician’s English, which I don’t understand very well.

What other failures have I had this year. Oh, the hops. They were all one sex (I think) so I never got any of the fruits. Or the scent, which is all I grow them for.

My gooseberry bush bloomed and fruited, but I only got about seven gooseberries, not enough to turn into jam, and awful when I tasted them.

I turned 66 in November, which I haven’t recovered from yet.

I haven’t touched Parrot, except to add some more chapter titles. Sometimes I think my novels consist mainly of chapter titles. (I love titling things. Someone in my memoir class complimented me on my titles, which was gratifying.) Yes, I’m writing a memoir about my misspent youth. It’s a little bland, since I like to maintain a discreet silence about my follies. It’s got a great title, though:

FOLLOWING MY NOSE:

A MEMOIR ABOUT SEX, TYPING, AND HOME OWNERSHIP

I have plans for this year, though. I’m going to retire one of my clients so I have more time to do the things I want to do, of which the most important is getting back to work on Parrot. It is still alive for me, and I will feel terrible if I die or turn 67 before I’ve finished at least one complete draft.

Cherry Jamsauce

While ruminating on the failure (or success!) of my cherry jam (or sauce!) I found a new character lurking in the back of my brain. And no, her name is NOT Cherry Jamsauce, but she is IS a ghost and she is going to be The B’s nemesis. Or perhaps just a thorn in her side. Oh, and she’s another French impostor. Can’t have too many ghosts or impostors.

Sometimes I think my trilogy is getting a little unwieldy.

Or was it Rocky and Bullwinkle

The whole time I was writing the previous notes on unbelievagable, I had Rocky & Bullwinkle in the back of my mind. And now I’m not so sure it wasn’t one of them, or Boris Badenov, who said it.

Google is totally not helping with either possible source.  Now, that’s unbelievagable!  I’m going to have to pull out my DVDs and watch a few shows because this is going to drive me nuts until I know for sure.

Anyway, my steampunk garden is beginning to bloom. At least one of each type of seed that I planted is thriving, so I’m getting the flavor of what I was aiming for. I hope it does better next year.

Oh, and Professor K gave me a hand-painted trellis (hand-painted by Himself!) to go with the steampunk garden. It was very pretty there, but a storm came up and I brought her in the house out of the wind, where she settled comfortably beside my black wicker chair on top of the gold and red bamboo rug, and seems disinclined to go back outside. “Trellis” seems to be developing a mind of her own. She has “ideas.” More anon … with photos!

Unbelievagable

Am I one of a dwindling few who still say “unbelievagable”?  I say it several times a week, so I must find my life pretty astonishing.

But not as astonishing as sausage baked in whole bananas, a “Retro Recipe” I just finished reading about.

I Googled the word a few minutes ago to make sure I was spelling it correctly, and got barely over 1,000 hits.  I can’t believe this catchphrase, which I think was created by Arte Johnson, in his German soldier persona on Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In, has been forgotten so quickly.

 

Sukebind’s Winding

Sittin' With the Bad Kids

By which I mean the hops, of course, some of which escaped their pot during the winter and seeded themselves into the ground beside my porch.  They’re unhappy, though, at the lack of trellis for them to entwine themselves about. I wasn’t really thinking ahead when I planted them.  All I wanted was to check out their hoppy scent.

I was thinking ahead when I started seeds of seven (7!) different flowers, including little round red peppers for my Steampunk Garden, but it’s punk this year. The seeds all sprouted … eventually … but the the weather stayed cold and then it turned all lagoony with massive amounts of rain, and when I got them in their outside pots only a few survived, mostly the Love Lies Bleeding, which is my favorite, but still.  I had such plans.  I’ll try again next year.

I don’t know why I’m back here…

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Ancient Jewelry From Outer Space!

Well, there’s a misleading title for you! I was inspired by a similar one hailing an “ancient Buddhist carving came from outer space!” Of course, the Buddha was carved from a meterorite, and the ancient jewelry are actually some depressingly ugly beads that were made from meterorites in ancient Egypt (found in the tomb of a teenage boy). The beads are evidence that blacksmithing was invented much much earlier than originally thought.

I had been thinking that Nacrea’s Tears could be some kind of “space debris” that fell to earth, but it’s really not a tenable theory. I mean, even for a ghost-ridden campus comedy it’s not tenable.

What’s next?

I can’t believe that in the all the nine (or more?) years I’ve been working on Nacrea’s Tears I haven’t thought of what happens when the treasure is found.

Because it’s been hidden in this lost/stolen garden full of rare and imaginary plants, with the Tears (whatever they turn out to be) hidden in a pool (probably), and now the garden has been found, so then what?

Will the evil Botany Professor betray its location?  Will it be overrun with scientists studying the plants?  (NO!)  Will it be “developed,” (NO!), or turned into a nature preserve of some kind?  (NO!)

But once the genie is out of the bottle, as they say, then what?

Myth or monsters?

I’ve just been reading about airborne laser technology and its role in taking all the fun and adventure out of  helping with archeology.  Specifically Angkor Wat, which is the lost city I’ve been reading about.

Naturally, it immediately occurred to me that the Evil Botany Professor might think about employing it to help in finding Nacrea’s Tears. But I think my Parrot novels take place before it was developed, and in any event the cost would probably be prohibitive for a smallish acreage such as the wilderness to the east of the Lord Fearfax Campus. Also, even though three years of battling honeysuckle and wild grape in my backyard have given me a greater respect for their tenacity and ability to envelop everything in their path, I hardly think that they rise to the level of an actual jungle environment. Still, I should probably have the professor mention it, to show he’s on top of developing technology.  I think he’ll stick to hiring a small airplane and looking for straight lines.

While I was reading about Angkor Wat and how discouraging its environment is to explorers, it occurred to me that I don’t have enough going on to discourage students from entering LFC’s “wilderness.”  To be sure, the college has rules against exploring, but since when have rules stopped anybody? And some students already have explored, at least to the extent of renovating a small garden hut to use as a “study hall” for making out and smoking pot.

The usual ways of discouraging trespassers, short of barbed-wire fencing and posted sentries, are myth and monsters, and/or mythical monsters. Something must be roaming the woods, sufficiently respected to deter all but the most intrepid students.  (The Dean, of course, will not be discouraged. He’s not scared of anything.)

Fortunately, the campus is infested with ghosts. Why not a mythical monster ghost? I’m going to mull that over.