LITERATURE: Dorothy Parker

Honestly, I’ll get beyond the first story in this anthology, but this one technique has stuck in my head so I need to dump it into yours, especially since it is in keeping with my prior entry regarding omniscience of the narrator in describing feelings. 

These three mentions of a fuchsia plant the wife buys to pretty up the apartment in readiness of her husband’s leave:

"On the way back she passed a florist’s shop in the window of which were displayed potted fuchsia.  She made no attempt to resist them.  They were too charming, with their delicate parchment-colored inverted cups and their graceful magenta bells.  She bought six pots of them."

And after he has arrived, but gone in to take a bath:

"She went into the living room.  She stood, breathing heavily, her finger nails scarring her palms, as she looked at the fuchsia blossoms, with their dirty parchment-colored cups, their vulgar magenta bells."

Finally:

"When he had gone, she stood a moment by the fuchsia plants, touching delicately, tenderly, the enchanting parchment-colored caps, the exquisite magenta bells."

Parker shows us the changes in mood of the protagonist by the reappearance of the fuchsia plants, and the narrator’s description of them–but only as the protagonist herself would describe them at that moment.  There is no guesswork, no interference by the narrator, no input, just the thoughts straight out of the character’s mind.

One thing I just noticed in the typing of this, the word "cups" becomes "caps" in the last description.  It would be interesting to find if this is merely a typographical error in printing, or if indeed, Parker puts the "cap" on the story rather than leaving it open as it’s brewing in a "cup."  This would reveal even more thought put into the process of writing, yet so subtle.

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TECHNOLOGY: Digital Backyard

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Okay, I’ll learn how to take better pictures eventually (should know, lived in sin with a photographer for six years!) but just because I’m excited about learning something new today–transferring the images from camera to computer–you’re going to have to deal with this last one.

This view of the backyard, although usually neater (the mower broke last year) is what you’ve only seen via my words for the past year and a half.  Now don’t my words enhance the image?  Ain’t I a better writer than a photographer?  Don’t I just know how to make somethin’ out of nothin’?

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TECHOLOGY: The Third Picture

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TECHNOLOGY: Digital Camera

Well, figured it was about time to learn how to use my digital camera, although I had taken some pictures back in April of ’04 when I bought it.  I still don’t know how to use all the settings, but here’s the very first photo I took last year:

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STORIES: Leaving

"Does this mean," he said, "that you’re not going to die?"

In just that way he asked, and in that same way, she answered.

"Not from this, I guess."

He hadn’t stopped his coming home from work ritual while he nodded in greeting to her and asked her what the doctor’s call this afternoon had told her.  He set his briefcase on the sideboard in the large kitchen that bloomed in the early evening sun in rich gleaming cherry and navy blue warmth.  He was unaffected, had not allowed himself the last few weeks to get involved in it again.  He was immune now to its invitation, the scent of cinnamon from bowls she freshened every day, even when she was too weakened by the pain to sit upright at the kitchen table.  He took his jacket off, hung it on the back of a chair, loosened his tie with one hand as he shuffled through the mail on the sideboard with the other.

"That’s great news," he said and stopped to look at her and smile.  Now he could go back to leaving her.

(Note:  Trying to learn from Crawford Kilian’s fine instruction.  The last paragraph was formed  as "…he said, and meant it."  The narrator would not really know if the husband "meant" it, or was sincere.  He, as the reader too, must decide for himself by the fact that he "stopped to look at her and smile.")

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REALITY: Mood Enhancers

Frozen Dunkin Donuts, tucked away on better days for days like this when greyness draws the color out of life.

No need to thaw completely; icy cream filling fires the necessary pain to feel alive. 

And to react.  Even rage is an emotion.  It is red.

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WRITING: Omniscience

In answer to a writer’s question of "What is your thought on the use of the words "feel" and "felt"…should these be avoided in novel writing?   Crawford Kilian at Writing Fiction gives an excellent explanation of the 3rd person point of view and the omniscience of the narrator. 

This is often a confusing issue as to both what is allowable and how it is handled when relating a character’s feelings, and Crof gives us clear examples of the method.

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REALITY: Hunting

Jim brings up a feather from a wing.  He found it way down back when he was mowing.  The hawk, I tell him.  He’s been hunting the backyard.

Today I see him yet again.  Sitting on the lawn–is there something squirming there beneath him?  He flies low into the chokecherries.  His feet hang down, his talons curled.  He looks around him, head held high, indignant, or victorious?

The feeders are almost emptied again; by the squirrel, I guess.  I move to scoop seed out and stop.  The cardinals, the young family being taught where they can find the 24-hour diner.  In the backyard.

A God-like decision to be made.  Life and death. 

I go back in the house and close the door.

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WRITING: Herman the Mole

There was a mole who lived in the neighbor’s lawn who was afraid of the dark.  Herman was also not keen on tight places.  He was never able to outgrown this unmolelike behavior, though his father took him along with him every night gathering grubs for dinner, and his mother took him to see Dr. Malcolm Fishbein who specialized in abnormal fears and psychological childhood trauma.  Herman was happy enough at home, sleeping snuggled up against his brother and sisters, but at night, when they all headed off into different tunnels, Herman either nosed behind his mother or father, or stayed where he was and shivered in lonely fear.  Then one day, his life changed.

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LITERATURE: Dorothy Parker

Finally got started on "The Portable Dorothy Parker" and believe I made one mistake already.  I followed the normal mechanical method of bookreading, and started from the beginning.  The introduction, I think, gives too much away about the author and one can’t help but be influenced, as with Plath, to read author into the stories.  I much prefer reading something on its own–it would be obvious of course that we would place it time-wise and in other ways into its proper postion–to enjoy the story for itself, then read about the author afterwards when one is, for one reason or another, shaking one’s head and saying "who wrote this?"

Now I’ve learned to deconstruct story into its various elements, and being fresh from the course, may tend to get a bit too analytical here (I’ve finished the course journal where these things were hidden for many months!).  But, after just having read the first story, "The Lovely Leave," I am intrigued by Parker.  I’m sure I have read other works by her over the years, but can’t particularly recall them now.  The narrative structure is linear of a short timeline from a phone call announcing a husband’s 24-hour leave from military service during WW II, to the actual arrival, and then to the leave itself which carries the trauma of it being shortened down to a few hours at most. 

The plot structure is based upon this timeline, and the points of conflict are very much involved with the ticking of the clock.  It’s a fascinating ride via the wife’s introspection and self-resolve in the planning of the reunion of spikes of tension building and relaxing in tandem with her determination not to let the brevity of the visit bother her enough to ruin the visit.  And an interesting aspect of once again tying in time–a flashback to that previous visit, and better still, an almost exact repetition of it up until the very last moment of parting when the issue is resolved by a new communication between the couple.

I think the story is brilliant–though dated by the "wifely" concept of the woman left sitting home as her husband goes off to war.  But Parker’s understanding of human nature, and the sharp wit of sarcasm she gives her protagonist is most evident in the dialogue as well as the thoughts of the wife to which we are privy.

This is good writing.  I hope all the stories are as well-executed and interesting as this.

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REALITY: The Loop

The morning drive around brought good and bad today.  The bad–they’ve changed the textbook for the course this summer.  Shall I wing it with the one I bought last year (dropped the course because, well, it was that kind of a year)?  The good–I already have the latest Macromedia Studio software evidently so I didn’t need to buy an upgrade.

I still have not successfully completed my two-month long search for CR-1216, a watch battery, but I found a pair of nice size 4 dressy black sandles for only $14.99. 

So all in all, the loop was worth the journey, as the good, I think, outweighs the not so good.

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WRITING: More on Poetry

How often is my timing this good?  Via Brandywine Books, this statement and interesting viewpoint from Donald Hall on Poets.Org.:

"1. I see no reason to spend your life writing poems unless your goal is to write great poems. . . If our goal in life is to remain content, no ambition is sensible. If our goal is to write poetry, the only way we are likely to be any good is to try to be as great as the best."

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REALITY: Weather

Another rainy Sunday; should have done some gardening and yardwork long ago.  Maybe tomorrow, or Tuesday morning, before it gets so far ahead of me I can’t keep up. 

Did nothing last year, except for someone else who couldn’t do it any longer by herself. 

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WRITING: Poetry

"Do you have poetry to write?"

I think I do.  But not in proper form or format.  Free verse, prose, words that have the touch and taste of poetry, but not the structure that would deem it such.

Maybe I do need to go backwards in time and learn the elements–I’ve only skimmed the surface in my learning.  I need to build a house first from a blueprint before I raise one on my own.  Nothing comes from just the wish and talent without the learning first.

I argued once, against calling everyone who writes a poem a "poet."  I’ve learned to compromise this much; there are poets who write good poetry, and those who write bad poetry as well.

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REALITY: Setting

Working in the barn today, getting caught up on the framing.  Silence, except for raindrops on the roof.  No Willie, I don’t think, because I feel the need to write as well.  Though he inspires me, he takes away the words that come and need to be written down.

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