Hank

So, I wrote a thing.  It's the first part of a SHORT story.  (Please great Muse of Stories, LET IT BE SHORT.  I don't think I could handle anything else right now.)

But, seriously, I think it's a short story, and I already know how it ends, so... yeah.  It ought to be pretty short.

I hope I'll finish it.  I really like it, but that doesn't always mean anything.

Still, the fact that it positively vomited itself out of my fingertips after a near sleepless night is (believe it or not) a good sign!

I've felt creatively constipated since election night last November.  Everything has felt a bit "What's the point?" since then, so I'll take any inspiration or creative burst I can get.

This was that.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

As always, criticism and encouragement are greatly appreciated.

Lots of love,

Jules

PS- Ugh, the format is all messed up again, and I just don't have the patience to fix it, so y'all are just going to have to deal.  Sorry.

*********************************************************************

 

          It was the sort of shop one would wander into entirely by accident after having taken a turn down the wrong street.  The sort that having found it once, one would never be able to find it again, despite having taken careful note of the address.

          When she entered, the clerk at the back (a dark-skinned young woman with shaved head, nose ring, and combat-boot-clad feet propped up on the counter) said "You break it, you bought it" without looking up from her book.

The place was so narrow and so overstuffed with items - all of which appeared breakable - that she felt she needed to turn sideways and breathe shallowly while she looked.  There appeared to be no system of organization in place, with each item seemingly plunked down on the nearest empty shelf at random.  Books were scattered throughout, including teetering piles of them on the floor which she stepped around with great caution.  Many of them had rather lurid covers with strange depictions as something out of a dream, while others were so worn she could barely make out the titles.

The book the clerk was reading showed 6 monkeys dressed in Renaissance clothing, sitting in a summoning circle around a giant banana which had been peeled halfway to reveal a nearly naked woman with an enormous headdress emerging from it.  Even stranger, it was entitled "Jenny Goes to the Prom".

Everything in the shop was interesting, which made it difficult for her to focus on any one item at a time.  She would just be contemplating a Ganesh statue that appeared to be made of computer chips when a pair of sunglasses with a tag which read "For Eric, from his ancestor Thomas: You're going to need these!" caught her eye.

And so it was that she was drawn from object to object, never able to stop long enough to actually consider buying anything.  The consequence of this was that she found herself wanting everything and nothing all at once.

She wasn't certain how long she'd been there before the clerk sighed heavily and set down her book.

"It's that one," she said pointing, "third shelf up from the bottom."  She picked up her book and resumed reading.

The shelf in question was just as crammed with things as the rest of the shop, and, at first, she didn't know which item the clerk meant.

Then she saw it: a small painting on canvas, no more than 10"X10", of a buffalo.  He had been rendered in a number of soft colors: pinks and blues and golds and greens all mixed so he looked as though his fur had been painted in stripes with some sort of fruity, sugary cereal powder.  The buffalo was in profile but his head was turned so that he could look out at the viewer with one wary, patient eye.

Without thinking, she plucked him from the shelf and brought him to the counter.

"How much is this one, please?" she asked the clerk.

"What's his name?" the clerk asked, without looking up from her book.

"I'm sorry?" she said.

"Ugh," the clerk rolled her eyes and put down her book.  "His. Name."

She looked at the painting of the buffalo in her hands; looked deep into that intelligent eye.

"Um...Henry?" she ventured.  The clerk waved her hand like she was waiting for more.  "Henry...but his friends call him Hank," she said, feeling foolish.  The clerk nodded once and took up her book once more.

"He'll cost you your keychain," the clerk said.

With a mounting feeling that this was all some weird dream from which she would soon awaken (or at least an elaborate prank), she pulled out her keys and looked at the keychain.  It was a small pewter disk with a tree carved into it.  Her sister had given it to her when she moved into her first apartment in NYC.  Sad to give it up, but unwilling to leave Hank behind, she removed the keychain and placed it in the clerk's outstretched hand.

"Have a nice day," said the clerk as the keychain disappeared into her pocket.

When the shop door closed behind her there was a sort of whooshing sound, like something being sucked out into the vacuum of space.  She shook herself a little and looked down at the small plastic bag in her hand.  The buffalo painting was inside it, though she couldn't remember the clerk having put him in a bag for her, as well as a receipt which she was certain hadn't been offered.

The receipt read:

(1) Oil buffalo on canvas, correctly identified as Henry (Hank)

Sold to Ms. Georgette (Gette) Kaspar for:

(1) keychain, used daily, 7 years, gift from Ms. Clementine (Tiny) Kaspar

 
             Gette stared at the receipt, then Hank, then the storefront (which now appeared to be closed).

            "What the fuck was that?" she said to no one in particular.

Gloves

A Shaming in Brooklyn

So, I had an adventure this week, but before I tell you about it, I have to tell you some backstory.

A couple weeks ago, I was invited to a Game of Thrones premiere party.  Now, I have not seen GoT.  Not even a little bit...no wait, that's not true.  I have seen the first episode.  That's it.

And here I was being invited to watch the first episode of season 6 of a series notorious for it's convoluted plotlines and numerous characters.

Whatever, I went anyway.

When I arrived, they were in the midst of catching up by watching last season's finale which included the following scene:

The Queen is given a bold new pixie hair-cut with, what I can only assume is, a very dull knife.  She is then stripped naked and made to walk the length of the city whilst people jeer, taunt, and throw things at her.  While she is walking this horrendous walk of shame, there is a nun with a bell who walks behind her literally saying "shame" over and over.

It went something like this:

*Ring Ring*  "SHAME!"
*Ring Ring*  "SHAME!"

Can you imagine the excitement that actress must have had when she was cast in GoT?  She probably called everyone she knew, and then, when they asked what part she was playing she would duck her head and mumble, "shaming nun."  And they would say, "What?  I didn't catch that."  And she would say louder, "Shaming Nun."  And they would say, "What?" again, though this time not because they couldn't hear her, but because they couldn't believe what they had heard.  So she said again, even louder, "SHAMING NUN."  And they would leave it alone, because it was clearly a sore subject.

This scene apparently spawned numerous parodies on youtube.  Seriously, just go type in "shaming nun" and you'll see what I mean.

OK, putting that story aside for a moment, I will now tell you about my adventure which, at first, will appear to have absolutely nothing to do with the above story, but I promise it will all come around, so just be patient.

On Monday, my phone died.  More accurately, I accidentally flung it at the floor and it broke into two pieces.  (Yes, I still have a flip-phone, don't judge me).  Now, the hinge where it opens already had a crack in it from some other time when I dropped - er...when gravity decided to have her way with it.

Ah gravity, thou art a heartless bitch.

So I suppose it was only a matter of time before that crack widened into something worse.

I managed to slam the two pieces back together, but they were no longer on speaking terms, apparently.

I briefly considered couples counseling, but they didn't seem up for it.

My only option was to get a new phone.  Perhaps a fancy phone with a slide out keyboard to make texting easier!  OOOOH!  One might think I accidentally-on-purpose tore my phone asunder if one did not know that I actually really liked that phone...sigh.  This one, while it does have the nifty keyboard, does not flip closed, so I can no longer hang up all dramatically and cool-like.  Now I just hit a button.  Aw well, all good things must come to an end, I suppose.

New Phone is charging right now, so I haven't actually been able to play with it yet and discover all the cool things it can do, so I'm still in mourning for Old Phone.  I assure you that will pass as soon as I start customizing ring tones.

But, back to my adventure.

So, I had to go into a Verizon Wireless store to get New Phone and have them transfer my contacts from Old Phone.

I don't know if you know this, but Verizon union workers are on strike right now.  There was a group of them outside the store.  I think you see where I'm going with this now.

I made my way through the picketers with signs while they urged me to take my business elsewhere assuring me that I could get whatever I needed somewhere else.

Really?  I can get a new Verizon Wireless phone from someplace other than Verizon Wireless?  I'm not sure your logic tracks, dude.

Anyway, I got New Phone, left them Old Phone (they repair and donate old phones to victims of domestic abuse, seemed like a worthy cause) and started to head out the door.

One of the workers was walking me to the door and he said, "Listen, just walk past them.  They're going to boo you, but you just ignore them.  This has nothing to do with you, it has to do with Verizon."

I smiled and nodded reassuringly at him.

"I understand, but thank you," I said.  Which was true.  I didn't begrudge these people for protesting something they deemed unfair, but I also knew that it wasn't my fault or something I could fix.  They are protesting contracts having to do with the cable and internet sides of Verizon, not the cell phone side, so I really had nothing to feel guilty about.  And, in fact, at my apartment we have Time Warner, so I REALLY had nothing to feel guilty about.

So, out I walked not making eye contact, but not letting myself be intimidated either, and they booed me, as I expected.

And then they SHAMING NUN-ED ME.

"SHAME!" they shouted.  "You broke the picket line!  SHAME!"

And, honestly, I couldn't keep a straight face.  I actually smiled and laughed a little because I just kept thinking about the Shaming Nun.  Thank goodness I was already past them, and they couldn't see my face, because seriously, I almost lost it!

So that's my story.

New Phone is still charging, but when she wakes up I will learn all her secrets, customize her to my specifications, and then make the inaugural call to my mother.

Laters,
Jules

PS: SHAME!

A post from the undead

So I have good news and bad news.

The good news is that I have cracked books 2 and 3 of my trilogy.  I know, I know - I still have to finish book 1.  But listen, I found out some super important stuff that happens in book 3 which requires me to introduce another character in book 1.  Good thing I found out about that now, right?

To the bad news:

I was able to think through the plots of books 2 and 3 because I had very bad insomnia last night, triggered by having a house guest sleep on our couch.  Let me preface this by saying, it is not said house guest's fault.  My insomnia tends to be triggered by people coming to stay even when I know and love them.  I just start to get anxious that the other person won't be able to sleep, and my anxiety on their behalf means that I don't sleep.

No, it's not logical, do not look for any logic.

Also, I knew I would have to walk past her to get to the bathroom in case I needed to pee in the middle of the night (which I usually do) and feeling like I couldn't because it might wake her just added to the anxiety.

Again, not logical.

Any guest staying on someone's couch expects to get less-than-stellar sleep.  I know I do in that situation.  And any rational person would not begrudge me the right to pee in my own apartment.

Still, my brain would not shut up last night.

I finally fell asleep around 7 (yes, that's 7AM, people) knowing that I had to get up at 9:30am, and thinking that at least I would get a full REM cycle out of it.  Then house guests alarm went off at 8am.

Yeah, OK, that one's on her.

So now I am consuming coffee as quickly as my body will take it (I have the intravenous drip working right now, which is making it difficult to type) and preparing myself for work like a zombie.

"But, Julia," you are saying, "You managed to write this lovely and, might I say, coherent blog post just now.  How tired could you really be?"

I am giddy with tiredness right now.  I'm in that stage of having been up all night when you actually start to think "Huh.  Maybe human beings don't need sleep.  I could go on like this forever..."

Sadly, that stage doesn't tend to last very long, which is why I cranked out this blog as quickly as possible.

Also: LOOK GUYS!  I'M BLOGGING AGAIN!

I honestly don't know for how long, but as long as the mood keeps striking, I will keep blogging.  It helps that I'm now scheduling in "writing time" every day so that I work on this book.  OK, blogging is not working on the book, but all writing is good writing because at least I'm forming a habit.

Must finish coffee and dry hair now.

Transformation to zombie...gettting...nearer...

Must
not
eat
braaaaaaaaains!

Mickey is in the building...

Right this moment I am in my living room drinking too much wine and writing an email (OK, technically I am writing this blog now, but I was writing an email) to distract myself from the fact that I saw a MOUSE in the kitchen.  Both my roommates are out, (did I mention I have roommates?  All of you who know me already know this, so I don't know why I'm pausing to explain because only people who know me read this blog, and I'm really just slowing down the pace of my narrative) but I am expecting LaShawnda home soon, and we are planning on drinking until mice no longer exist.

I don't think this is an over-reaction.

Drinking may or may not be a reasonable solution to this problem.  Either way, the more I drink, the less I fear, so I say pass the bottle please!

Also, shut up!

You don't have a mouse in your kitchen, so what do you know?

To those of you who do have a mouse in your kitchen, I would like to apologize for my rudeness.

Also, I think "Mouse in Your Kitchen" is the name of the hit single from my band, Maximum Crispness.

That's all I got, folks.

I'm going to finish this post, wait for my roommate to get home, and then go to bed.

Please wish me mouse-less dreams.

And as long as you're doing that, please wish me a mouse-less kitchen.

Thank you.

The Book That Could Be

You guys, I don't want to jinx anything here - and am in fact knocking on wood at this very moment, please do the same when you read this - but I think I might actually finish this book.

"Which book, Julia?" I hear you drawl whilst casually tapping dirt off your boot.  "I mean, you've told us about several books, none of which ever appear to be finished.  So..." you trail off pointedly.

I'm sure I've talked about this one fairly recently, but I'm having trouble remembering exactly what I have told you already, so let's have a brief pause as I go re-read that blog.

Talk amongst yoursevles.

Ah, yes.  This is the same story about which I posted when I posted the Bruce Vain video.  Go read that if you, too, need a quick recap.

Since that post I have written the entire beginning, a bit of the middle, and most of the end of this book.  I have also done something I have never done before for any book I've ever attempted: write an outline.

I have every story beat written out in order so that I know exactly where this story is headed and every story point it needs to hit along the way.

This has been AMAZINGLY useful.  It helped give me direction and focus, and allowed me to completely unlock a secondary character I had been struggling with.  (As well as discover a new character who is suddenly very important.)

The store has been slow lately and the internet has been out since last Wednesday (it came back on today around 3pm).  I always bring my flashdrive with me so that anytime I'm near a computer and feel the need to write, I can just go for it.

It is amazing what you can accomplish when you have no internet to distract you.

I'm thinking about establishing "no internet" time for myself, just so I can get shit done!

Today, I was working alone in the store, and it was a perfect day for me.  It was cold and rainy, so I had very few customers actually come in the store.  However, the ones that did ended up spending LOTS of money.  This meant that I had long stretches of time where I was alone in the store and able to work on my writing, and then someone would come in and I would break from writing and help them spend their money on our beautiful merchandise, only to return to my writing feeling refreshed and ready to continue.

Perfect.

Selling people things made me feel like I was helping the store, doing my job well and giving me validation in that way, and then I was able to utilize the artistic/introvert side of my brain to be productively creative in another area, thus giving me validation squared!

Getting shit done feels good!  Who knew?

So yeah...I'm going to finish this book and send it out to publishers or just publish it myself on Amazon, because, hey, it is so easy to do that now!

Also, after this book, I have two more books clanking around my brain, technically making this a trilogy, which we all know is where the real money is.  Not that I'm doing this for money.  This is a book (or series of books) that I would like to read.  So even if I'm the only one who ever reads and likes them, that's OK.  At least I will have accomplished something of which I am proud.

Now, just to put all my cards on the table here, I have to be honest and tell you that I'm supposed to be writing my final paper for my Script Analysis class.

Am I using this super productive creative writing as an excuse to not do the writing I should be doing?

Of course I am.

That doesn't take away from the fact that I have never been this close to finishing one of my novels...ever.

And I really believe that I will finish it.

So, I want to give you another snippet, just to wet your whistle.  However, what I really want to give you is the end which is some of the most recent writing I've done and, furthermore, is really good.  But I also don't want to spoil the ending.  (See, if I didn't think I was ever going to finish this, it wouldn't even matter if I spoiled it, but I DO!)

So give me a second to see what I think is good enough to share.

Talk amongst yourselves.

Okay, I hope you had a nice long conversation, because that took a while.

Every time I found a scene I liked I realized just how much I would have to explain to you in order for you to understand what was happening.  The result is this: I'm going to give you a snippet from the end that (A) doesn't actually give any spoilers, (B) is super short, and (C) has some of the best dialogue I have ever written.

This is a scene with Rose, the main character, and her best friend Elodie (whom everyone calls 'Lo' for short.)  Lo calls Rose 'Ro' as a way to personalize their friendship and bond them together.

Rose has been through something rather traumatic, and Lo is trying to cheer her friend up.

So, here it is:

“I’m worried about you, Ro.”

“You don’t have to worry, Lo.  I’m all right.  Really.”

“Then why do you spend all your time wallowing up in that room?”

“I’m not wallowing,” Rose said with a frown.

“Oh yes you are, you’re wallowing like a big ol’ wallower from Wallow Town.”

 “Wallow Town?” she asked with a grin.  Lo was always good at getting her to smile.

“Yes.  It’s one town over from Pityville.”

“You’re making that up.”

“No, I swear, those are real places.”

They both smiled widely at their shared banter, and Rose felt more like herself than she had in months.

“OK, I was wallowing,” she admitted with a sigh.  “I’m done now, I think.  I think I’d like to stop wallowing and get on with my life again.”

“OK, what does that mean exactly?”

“First, I want to see Edgar.”

Ham and Cheese (and Mayo)

            I made myself a grilled ham and cheese sandwich for dinner tonight.  The problems were many. 

First, I only had sticks of butter, not nice spreadable butter.  Add to that the fact that our over-eager refrigerator has a tendency to freeze things rather than just keep them cold, and that equals some super hard butter.  (Seriously, this fridge thing is a problem.  I’m considering soaking all my food in alcohol just to keep it from turning to ice.  That might pose some other problems, though…)  So when I tried to spread it on my bread I ended up with a hole in one slice where my knife, instead of evenly coating the top of my bread simply speared a chunk of half-frozen butter right through it.

            Second, I put too much mayo on the first slice (yes, I put mayo on my grilled ham and cheese, deal with it) and had to hold the other slice on its edge whilst I attempted to spread some of the extra mayo on it without messing up the already buttered side.   

           By the way, I ended up filling the hole with mayo, in case you were worried about my hole.  (Sorry Mom, it had to be done.)

            Third, I had to negotiate the ratio of ham to cheese.  There are several factors which go into this process:   

1.  How much cheese and/or ham do I have?   
2.  How many more ham and cheese sandwiches will I be making in the near future?   
3.  Will it be melty enough?
4.  Should I fill my hole with more mayo?  (Again Mom, sorry.)

            My sandwich is cooking now.  I will let you know how it tastes when it is finished.

            Update:  SANDWICH IS DELICIOUS.