REALITY?: Weather

An early morning deathwatch is in the news today.  Watchers are advised to stand by and to prepare for updates and changes that can affect the normal routine.  If you must go out, take your cellphone.  Sleep light and keep a change of clothing packed in case. 

Alerts have gone out to avoid the phrases "How are you doing?" and "Things will be just fine" and to replace these with "How are you feeling?" and "Well, you never know for sure." 

Stay tuned for updated information as we receive it here at deathwatch central.

He sings for me, again and again, despite the tubes running from his nose, his arms, his chest.  I know he wouldn’t sing if it were just his son that came alone.  I smile; never saw the grumpy old man so happy.  Doesn’t he know?  He has been told.  Or doesn’t he want us to know…

I kiss him goodbye reluctantly.  I’ve done this too many times before and will again and again until I can’t. 

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REALITY?: March

There’s something beautiful within the drizzliest of late winter days.  The willows and forsythias are yellowing; the maples wetly red; cottonwoods, their long whips bumpy with waiting leaves; and lilac buds swell to bursting.  It is promise of color and life transforming the canvas of grey to something interesting; something about to happen.  Spring.

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WRITING: Editing

Been stuck in editing mode all day today; not just mine own, but all the submitted work for the next issue of otto which is due out the first week of April to tie in with the Tunxis Community College Writers Festival.  But this is the fun part; I like layout work on a magazine because it’s like a puzzle that you makes you search for the pieces and then work them all together into a whole new image. 

A lot of work goes on behind the scenes in putting such a project together to present a material form from thoughts, feelings, ideas born of separate creative energy.  The complete yet unseeable thought that came as story to a writer’s mind and given shape in blips on a hard drive and transferred onto pages of a book bound together with other stories and images is an amazing corralling of talent.  Despite what Socrates says about the lesser value of written word, I find the process satisfying; like collecting butterflies in a net, and then setting them free.

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LITERATURE: Phaedrus – Example by Example

While I cannot say that I have understood all the lessons put forth on speaking, writing, and love of both man and philosophy in this first complete reading of Phaedrus, I am interested in both the arguments used for the positions and  admiring of the manner in which Plato has managed to combine topics within a single piece that are separate and yet held in unity by these arguments.

The thread that holds them together is, to me, both logical and technical.  The progression of a natural discussion between two friends, Phaedrus and Socrates, allows for the subject to wander into separate but related areas.  The opening discourses about love and the admonishment to look at both sides of lover and beloved, as well as the good and bad elements of each, is a precurser, it would seem, of the logic Socrates uses in his speech on rhetoric versus dialectics.  Knowing truth, knowing audience, knowing the opposites and the similarities of all that is to be presented, is a form of philosophy that follows a logical progression and as well appeals to the reader (or preferably, the listener, as Socrates holds oratory over the written word). 

This also must be pondered: the immediacy of conversation that does allow for argument thus proving or disproving the presentation; the knowledge of the speechmaker of his subject and of the display of that subject so as to appeal to all in a fair and just manner without manipulation by clever prose; and the fault in the writing of perhaps not have the advantage of active editing that discourse allows. 

Phaedrus is something that I do need to reread to glean all the nuances of Socrates’ examples and subtle sarcasm.  It is also something, I believe, that could claim a permanent place on the shelf as a refresher and constant and continual teacher, so I will be ordering a copy of this work for future purpose.

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LITERATURE: Reading

It has always been my norm to stay fairly within a genre or range of reading for an extended period of time, the selections being whatever hot thing I was into at the time.  Stuck to horror and mystery for years; however, ranging from Poe to nonfiction true murder mysteries.  Did the romances for a very, very short time, and spent quite a bit of time on contemporary novels.  Did a whole library full of the paranormal and life after death books seeking proof, or rather seeking to disprove the theory of ghosts and goblins.  Back to mysteries in the form of Patricia Cornwall and the series "A is for…" all the way through J, I think; whatever my next door neighbor had. 

Once I got into more serious writing and taking courses on literature, my tastes have changed.  In reading Symposium, Phaedrus, etc. along with novelists of the mid to late twentieth century (and, I’m a-wanting to get into some earlier, perhaps to the late 19th century), and the wonders of new media in the form of game-stories, I’m learning to multitask my reading.  It ain’t as easy as it sounds.  Hopping around in time, in motive, in direction, calls for certain mental control to eliminate my seeking out the whodunit in Plato; the philosophical relevance in Best American Mystery Stories. 

But I do like the merry-go-round of ideas that somehow are all structurally the same.  Building a house of story.

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LITERATURE: Phaedrus – On Writing

Socrates. "The disgrace begins when a man writes not well, but badly."

Hmmm.  If I take little else from Phaedrus, this statement shall live with me the rest of my days.

Not the best time to hear it, as my own  self doubts are in the high point of their normal cycle.  But words to take to heart and if possible, turn them around to the good.  For as Boethius had said, the misfortune teaches and is therefore of great benefit to the wise man.  I’m also beginning to question my grammatical skills, and as with Faulkner’s great lesson on the tenses and differences of the verbs lay and lie, bad and badly seem to be suddenly mixed up and misused in my mind.  Even after understanding the principle and rules, within a very, very short time, I have forgotten it again. 

Black habits and clunking rosaries echo in memory; haunt me still.

But on to see what Socrates has to say, as he seems to have completed his discourse on the subject of love and moved onto the oratory and written speech patterns of the time.

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LITERATURE: Phaedrus Socrates’ Speech

I must admit that Phaedrus is not easily read.  There are many different concepts going on, and I get the feeling that they are not clearly defining merely love, and at that, not merely love of man (or woman), but instead, a lover of higher things such as knowledge and truth. 

In defining love as a madness, Socrates accepts the arts and philosophy as the beloved of those who seek it, or are driven by it to honor and treat it as a lover would a partner.  The glorifying of it, the intent to know it fully, the falling slave to its call is similar to the relationship of lovers.

Maybe Phaedrus is a bit beyond my realm of understanding, but I am determined to inch my way along the length of speechs and am heading now into the final discourse between Socrates and Phaedrus.  These question and answer dialogues usually reveal a clearing up of some of the long speeches that come before.

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LITERATURE: A History of Time

Obviously contemporary literature unravels story that is relevant to its time, both in the way a society or culture is current in its trends–at least for a segment of the population–as well as its ideas of past and future.

With the understanding that literary fiction is written by those with something in common, that is, the love of story and drama, then we can by no means conceive of it as an accurate telling of how mankind thought and considered his world except as representing something in general.  The writers, and more importantly perhaps, the readers may however reveal what was being sought and what was relevant at the time in ideas and needs.

It is even telling of a society in the writing of fantasy, science fiction, in that man at that period of time was thinking about a world beyond his own.  While it reveals a creative and exploratory nature, it doesn’t really say just this alone; obviously, though few sci fi novels were written in the early centuries, what we can see is that since Frankenstein and the huge interest of the 1950s in alien worlds, man was already set upon the path of reaching the moon. 

The political atmosphere of an era is also an indicator that shows up in fiction contemporary to the times; Candide being just one early example.  Faulkner and many others wrote of a South that Northerners really had no accurate image of knowing, although it would be obvious that the characters, especially in Faulkner’s families, were not necessarily common to the area, but rather a generalized and exaggerated extension of the poor/rich and black/white relations. 

It is with much interest then that as I read contemporary fiction together with Plato and some of the literary classics of the mid twentieth century, I note not only the time period of the setting, but of the time in which it was written and the time it is being read currently. 

Reminds me of Boethius’ statement in Consolation that the divine concept of time may be a constant present.

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REALITY?: Health Issues

Please, let my father-in-law have nothing seriously wrong with him.

And please, please, please, if he requires surgery and recuperation, don’t let it be at our house.

I am a truly terrible person and I’ll burn in Hell for this, I’m sure, but I just have to get it said now before it becomes a possibility.  Last two times (and the only) he came here from the hospital were supposed to be for a couple weeks.  One time was two months and the last was four months, until I went over and cleaned his house and tried nicely to tell him he should go back there.  He does have four other children and mentally I think I’ll slit my wrists if he comes to stay with us again.  He’s no major trouble (except to clean up after since he won’t bathe and sometimes doesn’t make it to the bathroom) but he’s grumpy and won’t eat chicken and needs the TV on level 25 because he’s hard of hearing.

Lord forgive me for being such a terrible person, and I truly hope he’s all right and doesn’t need my care.

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LITERATURE: Phaedrus – On The Soul

It is difficult to get through this without discussion, and I find myself questioning my thoughts as I have only myself with whom to argue.  This, of course, despite the best intentions and efforts at playing Devil’s Advocate taints somehow the argument and thus the meaning when, unconsciously seeking affirmation of opinion, the opposite is merely seeking disapproval.

"And there is a law of Destiny, that the soul which attains any vision of truth in company with a god is preserved from harm until the next period, and if attaining always is always unharmed. But when she is unable to follow, and fails to behold the truth, and through some ill-hap sinks beneath the double load of forgetfulness and vice, and her wings fall from her and she drops to the ground, then the law ordains that this soul shall at her first birth pass, not into any other animal, but only into man; and the soul which has seen most of truth shall come to the birth as a philosopher, or artist, or some musical and loving nature; that which has seen truth in the second degree shall be some righteous king or warrior chief; the soul which is of the third class shall be a politician, or economist, or trader; the fourth shall be lover of gymnastic toils, or a physician; the fifth shall lead the life of a prophet or hierophant; to the sixth the character of poet or some other imitative artist will be assigned; to the seventh the life of an artisan or husbandman; to the eighth that of a sophist or demagogue; to the ninth that of a tyrant-all these are states of probation, in which he who does righteously improves, and he who does unrighteously, improves, and he who does unrighteously, deteriorates his lot."

I read into this, Socrates’ description via metaphor, a rendering of the soul and immortality.  Further, in the naming of the heights or levels of attainment of knowledge, a return to earth to seek the higher planes of truth and wisdom, with an eventual goal of perfect understanding.

It screams to me of theories of reincarnation, and to some degree, it follows my own beliefs–or rather, I the words of Socrates.  I’ll go along with the reading on my own, but do need to research further the other observations and interpretations that have been made–and I’m sure that there are many, many of them.  And I am also sure that they come much closer in meaning to this discourse. 

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REALITY?: Awareness

Every now and then it hits you:  you’re on the wrong path.  You’ve been on the wrong path for a very long time, but just like that decision to switch lanes at the supermarket, you either do or you don’t, and you didn’t.

Looking back, it’s too far to travel to find the intersection where you hung a left and shouldn’t have.  There’s still a bit of road ahead and maybe you can find a bridge to jump the chasm if you can see between the trees.  You have the seeds, safe within your pocket and you run your fingers through them as you wonder what to do.  They need the planting, and all you need to do is figure where.

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LITERATURE: Genre

One of the things I like about the 2005 BAMS is this decision by series editor, Otto Penzler:

Few of the stories are detective fiction, a tale in which an official police officer, a private eye, or an amateur sleuth is confronted with a crime and pursues the culprit by making observations and deductions.  It has been my practice to define a mystery as any work of fiction in which a crime or the threat of a crime is central to the theme or plot.  There is greater emphasis in these pages on why a crime was committed, or if it will be done at all, than on trying to discover the perpetrator, which has upset some readers.  That simply can’t be helped.  (Best American Mystery Stories 2005, p. xi)

But it does present a dilemma for those readers who are used to the decades of mystery focusing on the crime and whodunit.  The mystery, for them, is unraveling the narrative structure to pick out the clues and try to reach a conclusion before it is revealed, or better yet, be totally blown away by the solving. 

It’s tough to break tradition.  I saw this with some constructive criticism on one of my own stories, that starts pretty much with the death of the protagonist.  Many suggested that I not reveal this until the end.  But that wasn’t the point of the story so it didn’t follow the basic linear structure.  To me, it wasn’t important what happened to him, but rather, what kind of person he was and how he ended up dead.   (It wasn’t a mystery story, btw.) 

But breaking the "rules" of story telling does question the genre itself.  Is it still a mystery if we know the answer?  To me, yes; the mystery is in the why rather than the who and what.  What this move accomplishes as well is to raise the level of mystery to literary fiction, and seeks the same elements of quality writing to develop character and story.  Now in mystery writing, story has always been one of the most essential elements, and plot was necessarily the driving force behind an also necessarily quicker pacing.  We never really cared about the perp; he was gruff, evil, whatever, and we didn’t have any connection.  Penzler’s optimism in expanding the boundaries for the mystery genre can only improve on the the quality of the story as a whole.

Maybe the new direction of fiction writing will, in fact, blend complementary genres so that they stray in wonderful new areas of story.  One more barrier down.

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REALITY?: Jitterbug

Jumpy today, cannot focus.  Torn between reading, writing, work and coming up with some idea of dinner. 

Last couple days of husband’s unemployment.  Monday back to the routine–if I can remember what it was; it’s been nine months.  How we made it this far is a wonder; six months’ worth of cash savings stretched to nine.  One month’s help from a very special friend I’ve known for thirty-five years, and offers from a distant sister and another friend.  But backwards in repayment we go first, then sideways with another stockpile just in case, and then finally, finally forward once again.  Husband is still uninsured; I told him to drive carefully, watch where he’s walking, stay away from people who have colds.  I am interim-insured and dare not see a doctor.  Another month or three or so and this will be behind us too.

Willie sings, Still is still movin’ to me, and yet I feel encoffined.  Kiss of hope to rouse me, ruse me to get up and dance again.

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LITERATURE: BASS & BAMS – Publication

This may be either very, very good news for writers, or maybe not.

As I mentioned, in February I read the 2005 Best American Short Stories and did brief reviews on the twenty selected stories here on Spinning.  Last week I decided to read through the 2005 Best American Mystery Stories, something I was looking forward to since my roots are in the genre and I hadn’t read or written mystery in quite a while.  Kind of strange, but I realized that the fifth story in BAMS, Old Boys, Old Girls by Edward P. Jones, was one I had just read in BASS.  When I checked the index, I found Dennis Lehane’s Until Gwen.  This story was also in the BASS collection.

It seems to me that there are so many stories published that it struck me as kind of a really, really amazing coincidence that two different guest editors (BASS, Michael Chabon; BAMS, Joyce Carol Oates) would, out of all those stories, select the same two to include in their separate collections (both are published as part of a Houghton Mifflin series).   When I remembered that Joyce Carol Oates was one of Michael Chabon’s selections in BASS, I checked the BAMS for Chabon and confirmed he was not included.

That both stories qualified is without question; both were good and the mystery genre has been opened up to go beyond typical detective plots as Otto Penzler, series editor of BAMS has stated in his introduction.  But Mr. Penzler has also made this statement:

"It is the role of the series editor for all volumes in Houghton Mifflin’s prestigious Best American series to select the year’s fifty best stories, and then for the guest editor to select the top twenty from that group.

"No mention of the Best American Mystery Stories is complete without genuflecting to  Michele Slung, the fastest and smartest reader in the world, who combs every consumer magazine, every electronic zine, and as many literary journals as we can find.  She scans hundreds–no, let me correct that–thousands of stories to determine which are mysteries."

Mr. Penzler also assures us that there is a mix of both well known and unknown writers, and "it’s not about personal relationships.  And, although the criteria states that "Unpublished stories are not eligible," I was wondering about another statement he made that "Tom Franklin’s first appearance in book form was in the 1999 edition of Best American Mystery Stories."  Also, "Scott Wolven, too, who makes his fourth consecutive appearance in BAMS this year."

Katrina Kenison, series editor of BASS, in her foreword says, "I am a person who grew up, as they used to say, ‘with her nose in the book,’ and who now reads for a living, some three thousand short stories a year…"  Further, that "Michael Chabon cast a wide net as guest editor this year, reading even more stories than I sent him, even though I actually ended up sending him more than the usual 120."  And, "A list of magazines consulted for this volume appears at the back of the book" reveals a listing of in excess of 230 literary journals.  At a low estimate of semi-annual publication, and six stories per issue, this would seem to offer quite a selection from which to pull those twenty final entries in an annual issue.  Of course, many of the journals may not have offered entries, I suppose.

Again, I have no quarrel with the stories selected.  I am just very curious as to how, out of all that’s available, with a total of twenty stories for each, BASS and BAMS, two were duplicates.  I mean, what are the odds?

And of course, what does it mean for writers?  And, as far as that goes, for readers.

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REALITY?: A Vardaman Day

Like Faulkner’s child, I watch as life can turn on a dime.  A lightless flash that lingers in the mind just long enough to catch a sight of tunnels taking off in rays from some such sun that God Himself would never have created.

A phone call from a dear, dear friend; the tests were negative, he tells me.  What tests?  Prostate cancer.  I didn’t know.  Perhaps the man knew I wouldn’t handle waiting.  Good news though, good news.

Absolutely positively smoked my very lastest cigarette ever ever.  Because I have two dollars sixty-three cents is all.  That’s all I have.  But a customer walks in, kneecap torn and twisted hobbling from one glittering quick slick skiing down a hill.  She picks up a piece that’s been here since the Fall and pays me twenty-seven dollars. She writes.  She writes fiction; short stories.  I tell her I need one for otto no. 3 by next week.  She laughs; says she’ll be bedbound for at least a couple.  But maybe, maybe…

Money burning smoking holes in my pocket.  I dig through ashtrays.  There’s nothing left at all.  I punish myself and wait and wait some more.  I deserve this; I am weak.  I deserve this; it will build character.  I deserve this; maybe now I’ll write about the agony of desire with some real story. 

But I remember in that flash of light, the fanning out of paths.

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