Prairie Ziggurat

I have been working on a story called, "Ziggurat" for my collection. The image of the ancient Ziggurat bubbled out of my head as I pictured the prairie version of this stone structure. Shown above, though faraway, is an inland terminal. These concrete monsters rose above the flat landscape, replacing the wooden grain elevators that used to loom overhead - though, "loom" isn't quite right for the elevators. They were beautiful buildings, sometimes painted in deep oranges or reds, or soft blues. They looked like they were built by people and had a charm to them. I remember one night when one burned to the ground - the spectacle drew people out of their homes and into the street. More than a few eyes were wet, as we knew the building would not be replaced.

I say "were" because grain elevators are disappearing - I had this idea once to get in a van and go on a art and photography tour of those still standing. I went on a mini-one a few years back, stopping at every small town along a 200 mile stretch and taking photos of the elevators. Maybe I will go on a longer one before it is too late.

Inland terminals loom - these concrete goliaths rise out of the sky and cast long shadows. They are cold, stiff structures that do not sway in the wind. They look like they were built for the gods and maybe by gods, heartless gods.

From my story, "Ziggurat" –
The sky is devoid of any clouds and the wind doesn't cool you down, it just blows like hell and pushes the heat around. I’m in a dark navy Arrow shirt, black dress pants, and a black tie that threatens to choke me. Behind me, an inland grain terminal rises out the landscape like a Ziggurat without the steps. The shadow it casts makes me, just for a moment, understand idol worship.

The word popped into my head while I was writing - I had not thought of the comparison before, hadn't thought of the word, "Ziggurat" for years, back in Grade Nine history of ancient civilizations maybe.

Looking at the pictures above, I see why the image appeared.

Flaming noggin writing

Some days the words come easier than others.

When I am blocked for an idea, or more often, too lazy/uninspired to work on the story I am supposed to be working on, I have to give my head a shake – a HARD shake. It's not really automatic writing (if anyone recalls that odd exercise from English class where you scribble down the first thing that comes into your head), but it is a way of forcing you into a story, any story.

Somewhere, a while back, I came across a quote that said, "Write like your head is on fire and words are the only thing that can put it out."
I always loved that image - and this is what I am thinking of when I do the "head-shake" exercise. In other words: just write something DAMMIT and write it NOW!

Early last week I was in desperate need of this, as nothing was flowing, hell, it wasn't even dripping. So I cranked on itunes, set it shuffle and wrote in that blazing head style. It began:

It was one of those odd things, synchronicity, the White Stripes thinking about my doorbell ringing and it actually happening, the ringing I mean. Some guy in a shaggy green coat, like a rug with buttons, doing a jig, a two-step on my front step. I saw him through the stained glass window, in the clear part, above the Celtic cross.

Of course, the White Stripes were playing on my itunes. A very odd story started to pour out of my flaming noggin' - the tunes shuffled and I followed along. At the end of it I liked what I had written, yes it was strange, but it was something, a story, not just rambling.

I put it away for a couple of days and then brought it back out into the light - I try to put stories away for a while, usually longer than a couple days. To my surprise, it wasn't utter drivel, in fact I liked it quite a bit. I worked on it, tweaking here and there, but tried to maintain the spark, the freshness. Then I sent it off to see if anyone else might like it.

I was delighted when I received an email from the U.K. based magazine 3:AM. It's known for an edgy style and as their tagline say, "Whatever it is, we're against it". They liked the piece and wanted to publish it in an upcoming issue.

I need to light my head on fire more often.

Here's the link to 3:AM – I'll post it again when the story appears.

Eerie Winston

Dear Amazon.ca Customer,

We've noticed that customers who have expressed interest in Eerie Indiana: The Complete Series have also ordered Sir Winston Churchill: War Years on DVD.

Well, who freakin' knew? You cynics out there might think that Amazon is just doing there own bizarre form of marketing here... but maybe they are onto something. Taking two totally disparate items and placing them next to each other in some salesworthy juxtaposition, well isn't that what I try to do when I write fiction?

I take a character, normal guy doing normal things, and put him next to something that is not so normal. Like in the Amazon pitch - take Eerie Indiana, a short lived, but brilliant, TV series that could be described as a teen slanted Twilight Zone (I think it got canned simply because it was ahead of its time), and pair that up with the cigar chewing, top hat wearing, slim challenged and brilliant English leader and you can see the connection?
Can't you?
No, neither can I.

In my short story Prophet, first published in Thirst for Fire and re-printed in the South African Journal, Laugh It Off, I imagine a normal guy, a veteran maybe, sitting in his legion and spouting his bar prophecy.

"It’s gonna thunder, it’s gonna rain, we’re gonna get hit and the queen’s gonna talk."

I like playing with this odd juxtaposition. We are used to folks predicting the weather, but against this I throw in the prediction that the monarch might have something to say.

The way the words tumble out of the guy’s mouth, I can’t tell if he's drunk or some kind of barroom wizard. He holds up a shaky finger and points at the yellowed portrait of Elizabeth that hangs, tilted, against the dark paneled wall. I look up from my pool cue and give the guy a look.

I guess I am saying that it is this juxtaposition than give stories interest, a reason for reading them. We want strange things to happen, not necessarily mystical, but we do want something, anything, to happen.
Amazon has glommed onto this idea and I should send them a thank-you note for emailing me story ideas.

Complete text of Prophet at Thirst For Fire.
More about Eerie, Indiana - you're on your own with Churchill
I am guest blogger today over at the Canadian Writers Collective - they are waxing eloquent about LOVE this February.

The voice in my head

A very early memory of mine is my mother reading to me from The Arabian Nights. I can barely recall the stories, but I can still see the book – an thick ornate volume full of exotic pictures, deep oranges and wild patterns, kids on elephants, and sultans with big hats. Better though, I remember the sensation of being read to. I still love it, and I love to read aloud. In adulthood this love grew into a love for good radio and sometimes audiobooks, if they are well done.

I recently found a CD set of the Best American Stories of 2002, edited by Sue Miller. Richard Ford reads his story, "Puppy" on it. It is the first time I had heard Ford's voice, it seemed to match his writing, just a bit of twang, eloquent but never pretentious, stripped down even, like his writing. There is also a Michael Chabon story, "Along the Frontage Road", this one read by an actor. The thing is, that voice for me is now Chabon's, I guess until I actually hear Chabon read. This happened with a favorite audio collection I own, American Classics, stories by Updike, Carver and Cheever. I have listened to them repeatedly. I love hearing Updike read his classic, "A and P" - one of my favorite shorts of all time. There is an actor reading Carver's stories, but I can't remember his name. It doesn't matter, because for me it is Carver. The guy they got so matched Carver's tone of writing that I couldn't imagine it being anyone else.

I am thinking of audio stories this morning because I just finished listening to this month's issue of Bound Off. It is a monthly literary audio magazine of the highest quality. I am not just saying this because they have accepted a couple of my stories (but hey, that makes me like them even more). This month's podcast has a chilling story written by Vincent Louis Carrella, "The Killing of Clyde" - the language is gorgeous, a mix of southern gothic and Texas twang. Best of all, it is read by the author, who has a great voice.
Check it out. It's the first story in the podcast.

In the fiction section I have links to my Bound Off recordings. Listen to them, then you'll have my voice in your head – and I think that's a good thing. Though, to be honest, I look forward to having someone else read my fiction aloud, just to see what kind of cadence they bring to it.
Happy listening.

I love you - but in a micro sort of way.

Fast Exit

Kiss me with both lips on your way out the door, on a bus to Texas and when you get there make sure you don't write. Damn sure.

The Brooklyn, New York writer Jennifer Prado asked for tales of love for her Valentine Day posting at her blog, EMERGE. The catch: they could only be 30 words long.

I don't usually dabble in this micro-fiction, but it was a slow afternoon and I enjoyed the challenge. Trying to compose some sort of narrative (or a snapshot of a narrative) in so few words feels akin to doing a good crossword puzzle. I say a "good" puzzle because it is satisfying when you finish, all the squares are filled, and a certain degree of head scratching was involved. I hate the really easy ones.

Writing micro-fiction forces you to take all the things you know about character, plot, story arc, and crunch them down into a few words - but it's different than poetry. I think there still has to be some semblance of story.

In my tale (shown above), I crunched down the passion of a deep kiss early in a relationship, to the eventual breakdown (out the door), and complete collapse (bus to Texas) to resolution and moving on, but maybe with a hint of anger (damn sure).

Maybe a bit edgy for this Hallmark holiday of love, but well, there you go.

For more micro-love tales visit Jennifer's blog: EMERGE - New Authors