“Experiments on cadavers have shown that LEDs, Bluetooth connections, and touch sensors are able to communicate with the outside world when implanted into human tissue.”
– New Scientist, 12 May 2012, page 3
What did the cadaver transmit when it “communicated with the outside world”? How about, “Can you come a little closer?”
My short story, “The Man Without,” a horror riff on the classic patriotic story “The Man Without a Country” has been picked for the first anthology from Washington Pastime magazine, where it first appeared. Take a look at …
http://www.washingtonpastime.com/drupal/node/110
Herbert had seven friends, but they’d all moved away. No one reads his blog. A Google search turns up nine hits on “Herbert W. Norton, Jr.,” but this is someone else with the same name. He is accidentally omitted from the company phone book. “Just an oversight,” SueAnn Carleton says, “I’m sorry.”
Herbert buys a gun, takes it to work, points it. Now SueAnn is really sorry.
<END>
Archaeologists find ruts of an ancient and oddly designed road running down to the sea. A place where ships were launched?
But then they find, straight across the sea, identical ruts rising from the water.
This one is new. Locals swear it wasn’t there last week.
<END>
“At first, the fallen angels reappeared as devils and scourged us, set us aflame with ever-searing heat. We called out to our companions among the damned, for they suffered alongside us. But gradually the devils departed, observing how capable our friends had become at torturing each other. I, myself, after some whims of conscience, …”
[after Piero Camporesi]
“There is an old map,” he said, “here in the Rare Books Room. I’ll show it to you now. See? At the left edge is the unknown world, marked HERE THERE BE DRAGONS. We laughed at it, back then. Where nothing is known, after all, dragons will do as well as anything. But now that our explorers have been there, we know that there are no dragons at the left edge. Now we know. The dragons are here, among us.”
[after Piero Camporesi, The Fear of Hell]
Kirkus Indie Reviews, March 15, 2012:
“Kuch’s debut thriller combines technology and an unusual method of terrorism. Former cop Duane Rondo has fallen into a job near Washington, D.C., using a program called ISPI to gather information—even the smallest details—on individuals who seem suspicious or are running for a position in the government. That’s how he discovers the perfectly clear record of Sybille Haskin, a nominee for secretary of Homeland Security, and comes to the conclusion that someone is tampering with top-secret, supposedly secure information in order to make sure Haskin lands the governmental position. Rondo will stop at nothing to get the information he wants, from giving Haskin a ticket she doesn’t deserve in order to track it through ISPI, to taking her to bed.
“What follows is a tumble down a rabbit hole of suspicion within the organization, a hunt for Rondo by amateur terrorists, spying, techno-speak, unanticipated humor and a galvanizing chase scene that ends in another country. The story is also sprinkled with hints of information via ISPI searches regarding the long-term effects of the nonfatal mustard gas to be used in a massive terror plot. The concept of slow-moving, silent terrorism is unnerving and the intended execution of the plot to spread mustard gas seems feasible. The story presents an atypical terrorism concept, a shocking dose of humor and a handful of riveting scenes.” [abridged]
The famous director of horror films is making another; the scariest of all, he says. The whole project is draped in mystery: guards patrol the studio, actors are sworn to silence. Strange sounds escape the backlot from time to time. Anticipation runs high. The famous critic practices his snottiest pooh-pooh mode.
One day the film opens across the country, hundreds of screens.
And flops. The film, to the surprise of everyone, is a simple story of ordinary life with no gore, no ghouls, no zombies or ghosts. Very little blood flows. It follows the separate careers of two women and one man who knew each other in high school. One is a moderate success, one becomes an alcoholic, and one struggles to surmount the usual dilemmas of life. Nothing much happens. One by one, the characters grow up, have a life, grow old and die.
Then it ends. Critics of all kinds pan it. After the first week, it closes everywhere. Is the famous director slipping? But gradually, people who see the film come to appreciate it. It haunts their lives. The film is revived, begins to win awards.
The director is hailed as a genius for showing us the ultimate horror.
(after Dave Eggers)
There are now 47 “Memorable Fancies” posted at terencekuch.com. The title is after William Blake, a major inspiration. I’ve been shopping a collection of my short stories around to publishers (almost all the stories have been published in small-circulation periodicals and anthologies, about half of which were paid, the rest ‘for the love’.) My plan is to include an appropriate “Memorable Fancy” between each story, if that makes sense to the publisher.
I have had one good nibble for the collection, but no bites, and am in search of a publisher. If that could be you, let me know. [I have a novel available on Amazon, but that’s “airport reading,” not like the weird/literary stories I write.)
They attend the famous theatre and see the play. It begins. It ends. Months later, they still cannot get the play out of their heads – like a song but longer, more intense. Each audience member feels – knows – that the play was about him, his flaws, the miserable cheat he’s been, the sins he thought no one knew ….
Finally, they return to the theatre. They demand to unsee the play, to take their fear and pity back. They are permitted this indulgence. Then they look at each other, wondering why they were there at the theatre, what the play they didn’t see might have been about. Nothing very important, surely. Or they would have remembered.
[after Thomas Bernhard]
The Language of Statues
There are many statues of me; a new one every few days. I don’t know how they came to be there, but suddenly – there they are, and I am once again delighted, and my courtiers are amused. Some of the statues are life-size, some smaller, some larger. I like the larger ones best. I see at least one statue of me whenever I’m being driven through the capital, or taken for a stroll in the presidential gardens, or visit our far-flung troops to encourage their noble fight.
I slowly learn the language of statues: plinth, stiacciato-relievo; aerugo; and so on. I don’t know what these words mean.
I look forward to seeing the next statue, what the sculptor has done, how he has probed my innermost spirit (the spirit of our nation!), how he has revealed it in all its heroic splendor to the passing crowd.
I have come to appreciate the various aspects, poses, brilliance of my statues. I am becoming, by now, a practiced critic. I have knighted a few of the sculptors. Some others I have consigned to the dungeons. I visit them and listen to their cries.
The car has learned to sense fear; it smells fear when it glides by a smaller car, or revs its threat at crosswalking peds. Its heated seats soothe the driver. Its radio tunes to a soft instrumental. The driver is lulled to sleep. A sharky wedge shape slides onto the freeway.
Now the car hunts.
THE BROTHERHOOD
Like many fringe groups, the Brotherhood taught that only 144,000 people could be saved. Given this limit, they observed various practices pleasing to God, to try to place as many of their members as possible in heaven.
The Brotherhood, however, taught that, given the many millions of people who had lived and died since Adam, heaven had surely received its 144,000th worthy soul many centuries before: No Vacancy. Therefore, a Brother’s only hope of heaven was to persuade God to expel one of the saved, and to elevate the Brother to heaven in his stead.
When this was accomplished (through rumor, slander, prayer, saintly interventions, etc.) the soul ascended to heaven – and the soul it displaced descended to earth and assumed the ascended person’s dead body.
On earth, the newly descended soul assumed the form of – a zombie.
“When heaven is full, the dead will walk the earth.”
(See Rev 7:1-9 and Rev 14:1-5 and Rev 12:13-14)
“Cut off your foot if it cannot step you to the Kingdom; poke out your eye if it cannot see you there. It is better to arrive with nothing, than go down to Hell with all your parts intact.” So said the Prophet.
In their hearts, his listeners divided into two groups; those who thought the saying very harsh, and those who thought they could do without the first group, on their way to the Kingdom.
The Book of Sins
Somewhere there is a book detailing all your faults, all your sins. Everyone has read it but you. You have heard rumors, been the object of disparaging looks on the commuter train. You would like to read it; but the bookstores have never heard of it. Indeed, there are no more bookstores.
[after S.T. Joshi]
What are the most terrible words one can hear, the most crushing? One said “dishonor,” and I said “no.” And another said “death” and I said “no.” And a third said “nothingness,” and I said no. And they said “Well, then, tell us!” and I did, and they did not like my answer, for I had said “Never!” and “Always!”
[after Piero Camporesi]
“Henry’s Bank Jobs”
Russ had several bank jobs to his credit. In two of them, he had killed a bank guard and then a patrolman. Finally cornered, there is a shoot-out. Russ is mortally wounded, but does not immediately die. Medics rush him to a hospital, where his brain is extracted just before his body gives out. Authorities want to keep his consciousness alive so that he can be tried and punished. Henry, a desperately unemployed landscaper, volunteers to receive the transplant. Gradually, their thoughts entwine. Henry confesses, deeply regrets the widows, orphans.
A: “We have found Messiah!”
B: “Where is his army come to free us?”
C: “We have found Messiah!”
B: “Where is his armor? Where is his shield?”
D: “He heals our sins and makes the blind to see.”
B: “Where is his scepter and where is his sword?”
E: “He has made the dead to rise and walk.”
All: “How could we ever follow one like him?”
“No, you weren’t that way. Turn to the right … just a little … there!” – He sees his lover as two-dimensional. She doesn’t look right if she turns this way or that. At some angles she almost disappears.
The Other Species
There was another hominid species, back then, perhaps a hundred thousand years ago. Beautiful people, thoughtful, loving, intelligent, brave. We killed them off, every one of them. We spend our lives trying to be like them, without knowing why or how. In dreams, we remember their greatness, how envious we were, how we HATED them.
Slowly, we come to know what we have lost.
<END>
The Restaurant in Maine
A tourist family decides to put up for the night in Machiasport, a small coastal town in Maine. Where is everybody? They go out for dinner, discover that everyone in town is eating at the same restaurant. Everyone. Even invalids and the dying who must be carried there. The people all seem happy, exhilarated, even giddy. But then …
[END]
The critic – the critic is displeased. He frowns. The world turns to ice.
<END>
One day, when I was six years old, I was sitting on a schoolyard swingset when a boy of about eight came over to me. “Have you found out?” he asked.
Not willing to display ignorance, of course I answered “Yeah, sure.” The other boy went away and I never saw him again.
I have been trying to find out ever since.
<END or nearly so>
“Anselm’s Dream”
A final refutation of the ontological proof, and the world suddenly
Two clinical psychologist friends discuss the most problematic patient of each, without giving any names; but slowly they come to understand that it is the same person. Is this patient really troubled, or is he up to something? Or…
<END>
He preached to them a Sermon in the Valley, saying, “You are thrown into this world, a spirit; and find yourself within a life: body and soul, one person.
“You have not chosen this particular life; indeed, no one has asked you if you need a life at all.
“But here you are. You gain some control of the body, and use the soul to grow and guide it. And with a great shudder of recognition one day you see that there are other spirits trapped in persons just as you are.
“And you see that you and they have been thrown like dice into the middle of God’s eternal game. Just as any other game there are rules, and those who win, and those who lose. One rule says that your task is to win the game for your person, and the task of every other spirit is just the same. And so there is shoving and wrenching, but your heart is not in it, for you see that there is nothing, at the end, to be won but a clot of dirt that someone else has called a trophy.
“And when your person dies the game goes on with new players to everlasting, each generation as bewildered as the one before.
“But there is a rumor that another kind of trophy can be won: that your person can live forever, somehow, in some impossible way. But your heart is not in it, for you see that there is nothing, at the end, to be won but a clot of dirt that someone else has called a throne.”
The prophet took no questions from his followers that day.
[from Tell No Tales: Adventures of the Dead - book-length MS looking for a publisher]
<END>
The Court Reporter Solves the Case
A court reporter, taking testimony in a murder case, suddenly understands who the real murderer was. Neither the prosecution nor the defense had figured it out.
<END>
“Beelzebub”
The Semitic word Beelzebub, of course, means “Lord of Shit,” for each thing must have its god, and after Yahweh was victorious, the defeated gods were sentenced to the lowliest of domains. There is also a Lord of Slime, a Lord of Envy, a Lord of Pride, a Lord of the Plague of the Black Tongue, a Lord of Disgrace and Shame, and so on. I, too, was once a god of higher things. Of a very grand thing, actually. I was quite proud of that.
[after Piero Camporesi]
===
“The Rembrandt”
On a hunch, Harold bought an old painting at an auction. He scraped off the top layer of oil, hoping to find a Rembrandt underneath. There was no Rembrandt underneath. The Rembrandt was what he scraped off.
“The Sames”
Everyone else is the same person; only you are different. The others look alike, seem to know the same things, love and hate the same foods. They speak in a tongue you find impossible to understand. They treat you well. They treat you very well.
“The Talk-Show”
It was an honor to be a guest on his show. They waited off-stage during the monologue, gauging the response of the crowd. They passed a few quiet, unnecessary words. They knew they wouldn’t get the best of him in conversation, he, the master of debate, sometimes a master of abuse as well; but someone had to speak out for the old ways, for righteousness and faith.
After a short commercial break they were escorted to the stage: the scribe, then the Pharisee.
<END>
<Excerpted from “Tell No Tales: Adventures of the Dead”, a book in search of a publisher>
There is a land, far away, where machines originated and have evolved. No one knows how they began, but it is surmised that the first machines were simple off-switches. After uncounted millennia of chance atom-collisions, one switch flipped to “on.” The rest of the story, we know. There are now millions of kinds of machines, some highly complex. One of them is wondering, right now, if there could be organic life somewhere in the universe. And what use it could possibly be.
<END>
Again there were thunders and lightnings in the mountain, and trumpets, and smoke there, and fire. Again Moses came down from the mountain carrying the tables of the Law, came a second time to Aaron and the people. They swore, the people, this time, to take the Law into their selves, their bodies, and live in the grasp and clutch of the god, forever.
Moses set up the tables of the Law in the midst of his people, so they might read what the god had commanded. Each one read with eyes and fingers probing the still-hot grooves where the god had burned his Law into stone.
They pondered and studied, discussed and argued, interpreted, wrought commentaries, and commentaries on the commentaries, and after a time they forgot that there had been anything but commentary, while the grooves in the stones of the Law slowly filled with desert sand.
or — They read a different thing, each as he wished or dreaded to see, and together they sought a reading from Moses, to settle the Law forever. And then Moses himself read the tables, probed the cold grooves with his fingers where the fire of the Lord had once burned hot, and stopped. He said something very quietly, something they couldn’t quite hear.
or — They read, tried to read, but the letters merged into each other, the words turned soft to their sight and blended into other words; hot grooves of the Law burned together: and the tablets crumbled into sand. Each one groped in the dust to carry off a commandment, a word, a letter.
or — They read the words of the Law together, aloud: I will rule you with a rod of iron. I will crush you where you stand, if you do any of the nine million things that displease me. I will make every other nation despise you.
And then they turned over the final table and read the final curse: I will preserve you as my holy nation, your children and your children’s children, forever.
Aaron and Moses observed all this and more. Finally, Aaron turned to Moses and said, Well, what did you expect when you went to the mountain? And Moses was silent.
<END>
“People worshipped oak-tree stumps and dung beetles too, so don’t get a big head about it; about being a cat, I mean.”
The actors are very still. At first, the audience is patient. But then there are coughs, and wheezings, and whisperings, and shouts of disparagement, and shuffling in the seats. The actors begin to move. They imitate the shuffling and shifting. They hear the whispering and shout the words. An audience member gets up to leave. An actor exits right.
<END>
A certain literary publication, in its fiction-writers’ guidelines, advised that they do not want “any hint of genre.”
That’s funny. What they really mean is they will accept only stories in the genre called “literary.” It’s a sure sign of overreach when you consider yourself sui generis. “Literary” is a genre of fiction just as surely as “fantasy” or “Western.”
“But ‘genres’ are all formulaic,” you say, “whereas literary fiction is unexpected, new, creative.” Sure, most sci-fi stories are utterly predictable, written to a formula, and boring. But then, so are most “literary” stories. Raymond Carver was a genre writer, as surely as Philip K. Dick was (although Carver was a far better writer qua writer, while Dick’s sentences march to the beat of the inevitable subject-verb-object. His boring prose style is, indirectly, admitted by those who write studies of his work [see, for example, Christopher Palmer’s Philip K. Dick: Exhilaration and the Terror of the Postmodern. Liverpool University Press, 2003, page 23].) Where was I? Oh, yes. The dreaded epiphany.
“Literary” stories are dominated, and have been for some time, by the “epiphany”; the telling moment when the protagonist recognizes something about himself that the reader has been carefully coached to know all along. How predictable! Whenever I find an epiphany I feel cheated: that’s not the story I was reading; that’s someone’s psychotherapy. I’ll have my own psychotherapy, thank you.
But not all literary work is formulaic; only the followers are formulaic. The true originals are there, and celebrated: Beckett [my favorite]; Kafka; Robbe-Grillet; Blake; Walter Abish; Pynchon; Borges; Aeschylus; Robert Coover; Huysmans; Jeannette Winterson; Jean Baudrillard [not much of a philosopher, but a wonderful writer, especially in his journals]; Erving Goffman [forgettable prose style, but brilliant concepts; and, as in Jean Renoir’s films, a brutal hilarity underlies a calm exterior]; and many others.
Can a true original be someone who writes sci-fi, or horror, or fantasy? Certainly; remember Jonathan Swift? But not these days. Publication venues cherish their formulas. So where does the outsider go now?
<END>
The wall was built by the Dutiful Republic for our safety, they tell us; for our welfare. It is called “The Wall of Memories,” because we come to the wall each morning and throw – are required to throw – yesterday’s memories over it. Our memories, the Republic tells us, are false. They must be discarded. They distract and enrage us.
I have already forgotten this.
The actors all speak at once. Plays are shorter that way. The audience is pleased, because they never liked the plays this troupe put on, anyway.
– Terence Kuch
<END>
In the train’s quiet-car, the righteous ready to pounce on offenders. One whispered to me “Can’t you just keep quiet? We’ll be arriving at Treblinka soon, anyway.”
– Terence Kuch
<END>
“Just like chicken,” the waiter said, but you’d never know it for all the sauce, too sweet for my taste, chewy meat. I wasn’t sure it was real Human, either, in spite of hype and fame, reviews in Dining Guide and word of mouth and all, until
I saw the eyes.
– Terence Kuch
<previously published in the periodical Perhaps I Am Wrong About the World.>
Consider the following statement, found on the “submissions” page of a fiction publisher. I’m withholding the publication’s name only because the list is very typical, and there’s no point identifying one publication among so many similar ones.
“[Publication name] absolutely will not publish any stories that include the following:
[1] Pedophilia
[2] Incest (unless a historical set in an ancient setting like Egypt or some fantasy stories)
[3] Necrophilia (this doesn’t apply to the Undead—like vampires)
[4] Gratuitous rape or rape intended to titillate (rape as necessary for the plot and presented in a non-titillating fashion will be considered)
[5] Snuff
[6] Scat or golden showers
[7] Bestiality (shapeshifters in human form is [sic] okay)
[8] Material that discriminates or displays extreme prejudice against another race, gender or sexual orientation.”
Let’s see, now: there are some illegal activities here: Pedophilia, Incest, Snuff (except, presumably, in an undeclared war the President has authorized), “non-titillating” rape (what?), bestiality. Some of the other activities aren’t illegal at all, especially including “extreme prejudice.”
The stated exceptions are very funny: what shape-shifters, vampires, and ancient Egyptians (but not today’s Egyptians) do in the privacy of their homes or woods or caves … is OK. Shape-shifters are especially OK, because if the wolf-form is blamed for bestiality (with an ungulate?) it can change into a coyote, and go a-sniffing for members of that delectable species.
But – what kind of activity could be illegal to do but legal to write about in fiction? Well, almost every kind of illegal activity. So why is such writing prohibited by a magazine? (It’s odd that child-porn is not included in this publication’s list, because it’s almost the only example of an activity that’s both illegal and (in many media, especially pictorial) illegal to portray, even in cartoon form.)
No, I don’t like “scat” – it’s disgusting. But writing about it shouldn’t be prohibited. Likewise with many of the other topics on the list.
Most bothersome is #8. Is it always “prejudice” to be opposed to a specific race, or gender, or sexual orientation? Can’t there be principled reasons why someone could be opposed to certain groups? Many Christians are opposed to the very idea of homosexuality (I’m not, but then I’m not a Christian). Isn’t that their right? Why should their publication opportunities be so limited as to be non-existent?
<END>
“Gift”
[“It is easier to raise a shrine than bring the deity down to haunt it.” --Beckett]
After taxes that pre-humbled our people for practice, after importing marble at great cost and fighting off tribes to bring it here, and after many crushed limbs in the building of it, and the spiremaker’s falling-death – we built the shrine.
Even from the day of cornerstone and speech the gods were there among us shouting, boistering, cajoling the stonemasons on, eager for the altar’s gift to fill their brimming lips.
- Terence Kuch
<END>
“The Miracles Occur”
“Hold your arms just so,” he said. “Hands relaxed, fingers just a little apart. That’s it, almost. Study the diagrams in the text; practice. Tomorrow’s lesson is at 10. Are we bringing these miracles about, or is it all just coincidence? I have another student now; I can’t take time to answer questions. No, you’ll have to ask one of the wise men. I studied praxis, not theory. Opinions vary. There are different schools of thought. Myself, I think it’s better not to ask: we wave our arms at the specified times; the miracles occur.”
- Terence Kuch
She joked about the killing – not very funny, hardly the best of taste. She could have found a better time. After we had drained the blood,
For instance.
- Terence Kuch
(Published in Tales of Blood and Roses)
<END>
“Flood”
The great flood arrives on schedule. Only I am saved, drifting in my small boat, barely a dinghy. I see the others, those who did not prepare. They are beneath the surface of shifting waters, acting as if nothing has happened, swimming to work, dining on fronds.
Only I am drowned.
– Terence Kuch
[published in Ballista (UK)]
“The Upper Floors”
The air is failing. It now ends 18 feet above street level; only the first two floors of each building can be inhabited. When one of us needs something from a higher floor, some object forgotten in the throes of catastrophe, he holds his breath and dashes upstairs. He clutches his chest and searches hurriedly for the desired object, then comes running down again and lies gasping on the floor. Or perhaps he fails to return in time and becomes one of those objects we encounter on the upper floors, when we dare adventure there.
– Terence Kuch
<END>
The following is a spam email I received, verbatim.
PS: If I’m not here tomorrow it wasn’t a scam.
=============================
Hello,
This is the only way I could contact you for now, I want you to be very careful about this and keep this secret with you until I make out space for us to see. You have no need of knowing who I am or where I am from. I know this may sound very surprising to you but it’s the situation. I have been paid some ransom in advance to terminate you with some reasons listed to me by my employer. It’s someone I beleive you call a friend, I have followed you closely for a while now and have seen that you are innocent of the accusations he leveled against you. Do not contact the police or try to send a copy of this to them, because if you do, I will know, and I might be pushed to do what I have been paid to do. Besides, this is the ist time I turn out to be a betrayer in my job. I took pity on you, that is why I have made up my mind to help you if you are willing to help yourself.
Now listen, I will arrange for us to see face to face, but before that, I need $30,000. I will come to your home or you determine where you wish we meet; I repeat, do not arrange for the cops and if you play hard to get, it will be extended to your family. Do not set any camera to cover us or set up any tape to record our conversation, my employer is in my control now. Payment details will be provided for you to make a part payment of $15,000 first, which will serve as gurantee that you are ready to you co-orperate, then i will post a copy of the video tape that contains his request for me to terminate you which will be enough evidence for you to take any legal action against him before he employs another person for the job. You will pay the balance of $15,000 once you receive the tape
Warning: do not contact the police, make sure you stay indoors once it is 7.30pm until this whole thing is sorted out, if you neglect any of these warnimgs, you will have yourself to blame. You do not have much time, so get back to me immediately.
Note: I will advise you keep this to yourself alone, not even a friend or a family member should know about it because it could be one of them.
Tick Tock
<END>
“Requirement”
“I’m not a serial killer,” he said. “I never meant to be one, at least; that’s not my self image. A serial killer never stops till he’s caught, isn’t that what they say? Not me. I’ll stop. I’m just looking for Mr. Right.” He looked me up and down, smiling.
– Terence Kuch
<END>
Albert hocked his memories. Since he had led a humdrum life, his memories fetched very little, only enough for two or three beers. He wandered around the city, trying to remember why he was holding a slip of paper and a five-dollar bill. He decided to have a beer and think it over. Maybe two or three.
–Terence Kuch
<END>
Adjectives Are Your Friends: Advice to Writers from McDonald’s
“New Fruit and Maple Oatmeal is a taste explosion for your morning. Topped with crisp, fresh apples, plump raisins and sweet cranberries, it’s wholesome, warming and oh-so-yummy.” [verbatim – ad printed on the side of a McDonald’s cup]
Depending on how you parse this, these two sentences together contain as many as 13 adjectives or predicate nominatives (which also modify nouns) out of 29 total words.
Someone at McDonald’s must believe that adjectives sell, that they add specificity, that they add imagery to what would otherwise be a dull passage about a boring food.
News
The early edition was full of dreadful news. Those who crept aboard the train at 7 o’clock, clutching their newspapers, were grim-faced and somber. They made hurried plans to take their money from the bank and have a last desperate fling; or to tell their fathers, finally, just what they thought of them.
The late edition beamed with joy: all the stocks up, all the plays hits, all the troops home. The 9 o’clock commuters spilled from their trains dancing, hugging complete strangers, hugging themselves. They noticed the bodies of the earlier commuters, impaled by despair; but their own frenzy of delight was in no way dimmed.
- Terence Kuch
A man has been formally shunned by his fellow villagers, by order of the Dutiful Republic. That was many years ago, and he is now old.
His name was erased from the public monuments. There is a rough-gouged gap in the list of hospital donors carved into the waiting-room wall.
He is a familiar figure in our village, shambling about. We may not approach him in the marketplace, but we may silently serve him. We would like to speak with him, but it is forbidden. If he were to ask a question of us, we would silently shrug. His last question was long ago. It still hangs in the air.
His wives have other husbands, now; his children, other names.
No one remembers the cause for which he was shunned. The omitted man himself is vague about it, no longer knows if he committed the acts he was accused of, or not. He has thought about them so intensely, for so many years, that he might as well be guilty.
It is possible that these acts, whatever they were, have long ago ceased to be crimes. Perhaps those who perform them, now, are given medals and ribbons, long scrolls of thanks from a grateful republic.
– Terence Kuch
At Madeleine’s party: an unexpected face, my likeness, my double. A twin I never knew I had? I spoke to it. It looked at me as if trying to place me from its album of ignored people. I spoke again. It turned away. Madeleine, desperate to promote sociability, touched its arm. “You remember Herbert, here, don’t you, Herbert?”
– Terence Kuch
What is your account number? they ask. But it’s not my number, it’s yours; I have a name. Why is a number not as good as a name? We have rich association with names of bare sequence — Louis XIV, 5th Avenue, Cinco de Mayo, K Street. So why are we complaining about it, about being just a number. It isn’t ‘just’ a number; it’s your number, buddy. Get over it.
The breakthrough will occur when people start to address each other by number rather than name. Already it’s a joke. And the jokes are numbered, too.
<END>
Strange things happen from time to time at Gate 56. People arrive from a past decade, appear and then vanish, etc. Airport authorities close off gate 56 as a last resort, wall it in. Voices are heard from inside, becoming ever more desperate. It is possible that a few real flights have landed, their pilots misdirected by incompetent controllers or ground crews. They mingle with those from the past, amaze them with stories of how the world has turned out, how much they fear the future.
- Terence Kuch
I was enjoying a drink on the terrace when I heard a faint noise from my left. I turned, and saw that a little sundial had just been overtaken by the shadow of a tree, as the sun continued its uneasy westward course.
“Ah,” it said, “again it has happened. There will be no more time, now, until later. How much later I cannot say, but for now there is no more time. If they would move me away from this infernal tree I could tell the time a longer time each day. VII? VIII? Who knows?
“The night – the night terrifies me.”
I turned back to my drink, bored with its little mind, its one complaint.
– Terence Kuch
The Seventh Effect is a techno-thriller novel written by Terence Kuch, and recently published by Melange Books (www.melange-books.com). [See earlier Post #219]. It is available at Melange, and at Amazon. Here’s an interview with the author:
1. What kinds of fiction do you write?
Stories told only on specific days or hours. One who tells the right story at the wrong time, or the wrong story at the right time, will never achieve anything serious in life. Whispers follow him like the night.
– Terence Kuch
The fog flows over the hills, like melting whipped cream. Always it dissipates before it reaches our village on the shore. Sometimes it comes close. Then we run out of our huts, scramble uphill. But it’s gone, leaving only a faint odor of vanilla and apple pie.
– Terence Kuch
My new techno-thriller novel, The Seventh Effect, is now available from Melange Books (www.melange-books.com/authors/terencekuch/kuchseventheffect.html), and will soon be available from Barnes & Noble (bn.com) and Amazon.
Bloggers and magazine reviewers who would like a review(-only) copy of the novel, please email the author at terencekuch /at/ hotmail.com.
Here’s the blurb: “Duane Rondo, disgraced high-ranking police official, now runs a top-secret anti-terrorist operation near Washington, D.C. Rondo and his cybercops have a license to find out everything–about everyone. Performing a routine vetting of Sybille Haskin, a Cabinet nominee, he discovers that she has a totally unblemished record.“No one’s perfect,” he says, “But Haskin is perfect. Never an overdue library book. Never a parking ticket. Nothing. What the hell?” “I just don’t believe in perfection,” Rondo says. “If perfection is possible, then the rest of us are crooks and sinners. And our rationale for letting our quota of blunders just slide by is gone. If she’s 100% clean, then all the rest of us are dirty. Guilty. Worthy to lose our jobs, our lives, maybe our country. Just what the Enemy wants,” he says, referring to an even more dangerous successor to Al-Qaida. Rondo suspects that Haskin’s data has been scrubbed clean, perhaps by the Enemy. Driven by his need to know that no one is perfect, Rondo intervenes personally in the Haskins investigation, meets her under false pretenses, becomes involved with her, and himself becomes a target of a conspiracy that is, with or without her knowledge, determined to get her into the government by any means needed.”
(novel was published by Melange-Books.com in March 2011)
1. When did you first consider yourself a writer?
When I retired. For years I had planned to do two things in my retirement: write fiction and hike in the mountains. Now I do each, frequently.
2. What do you do for fun and relaxation?
Write. Develop concepts and plots. Think about characters. Watch sci-fi and horror films.
3. Do you think you’ll ever retire from writing?
Yes. Feet-first.
4. Where do you see yourself as a writer ten years in the future?
Cult writer without a cult.
5. What are you working on now?
A horror story about a robot who’s a lot nicer than the protagonist.
6. Provide information about your current work in progress.
See #5.
7. What do you hope to write in the future?
My fourth novel.
8. What can readers look for next from you?
Google me. Since I have a unique name [with one exception -- but he's my cousin], all the sick, misanthropic fiction you find for “Terence Kuch” is mine.
9. Where can readers/fans see about you? (Provide website or blog)
www.terencekuch.com records my irresponsible opinions about language, fiction, and other topics.
<END>
Unusually among fiction genres, it is possible for horror fiction to sustain, until the last line of the story, uncertainty in the reader’s mind as to whether the events related are realistic or fantastic. This uncertainty adds to tension and moves the reader along. What that a ghost, or a plot to drive the heroine mad? Was the shark evil, or just doing its thing? Did the mirror actually foretell a murder, or is the narrator psychotic?
[[to locate some ambiguous horror fiction (and some unambiguous slasher stuff as well) google Terence Kuch]]
Mission statements of two literary journals:
“[Journal-name-1] endeavors to dynamically engage the precarious interface between lyrical expeditions and conceptual economies, between experiential risk and critical clarity, between an ethics of event and an aesthetics of representation. We encourage cross-genre pollination, intermedia hybridity, and interdisciplinary dialogue. This interpenetrative space serves as a repository for theoretical and imaginative explorations, as a forum for contemporary cultural concerns, and as a springboard for developing innovative pedagogical tools.”
“[Journal-name-2] is concerned with reading as a process, the productive chaos of investigative poetic work. These acts of attention explore the close listening inherent not just in writing but also in being written. Inspired by Whitman’s assertion that “Reading is a gymnast’s act,” we see readings as embodied, interdisciplinary responses that engage with one’s environment through ekphrasis, phenomenology, queering, conceptual multiplicity, density and difficulty. We seek poetry, prose, articles, and readings that address these concerns in contemporary avant-garde, experimental, and innovative writing.”
<END>
My one-act play, “Clickers”, was published in the Oregon Literary Review (Vol. 3, No. 1). It is available for non-profit performance by any group, without payment of royalties. The only conditions are: (1) No changes to the text as published, without prior permission. (2) Credit t0 be prominently given to the Oregon Literary Review as publisher, and myself (Terence Kuch) as author.
The play is at http://orelitrev.startlogic.com/v3n1/OLR-kuch.htm. If there is any problem in accessing it (there shouldn’t be) email me (terencekuch AT hotmail.com).
The play requires six actors and one simple set (a hotel room).
SYNOPSIS:
Election night: John SAMPSON, underdog candidate for the U.S. Senate, largely ignored by the press, now seems to be on the verge of a stunning upset, aided by his cynical campaign manager Duane BALLAST and his finance chair, Phyllis STOLTZ. But there is a ghost in Sampson’s past: twenty years ago, there might have been a child-molesting incident. It was hushed up at the time by Sampson’s wealthy family. Ballast is aware of the charge, considers it ancient history. Sampson, Ballast, and Sampson’s assistant Ellen TAPLEY, are writing Sampson’s victory speech. Stoltz arrives, reveals that Sampson’s nomination was part of a dark political scheme: “her people” selected Sampson as someone whom they could control through blackmail. Stoltz dictates a victory speech to Sampson riddled with militarism, ultra-right-wing fanaticism, and accusations of treason at the highest level. Ballast sees Stoltz’ ideas only as politically risky, not dangerous. Sampson resists Stoltz weakly, but finally gives in. At the end, Sampson turns courageously and exposes Stoltz’ scheme; both are ruined. Ballast has learned something about principle from Sampson, exits to his next campaign. Periodically through the play, TV co-news-anchors TED and JED give election results, comment on the candidates, and have a crisis of disagreement between themselves.
CHARACTERS
John Sampson, male, 50s
Ellen Tapley, female, 20s
Duane Ballast, male, 40s
Phyllis Stoltz, female, 40s
Ted, white male, 20s-30s,
Jed, black male, 20s-30s
Staging: A hotel room.
In which the statue, while being carved, gradually remembers who he was when alive, and what he now must do. See www.troubadour21.com/short-stories/terence-kuch/what-if-it-could-speak/
To whom it may concern: Terence Kuch, author, is on this date (October 10, 2009) claiming the first commercial use of “Truda Vallon” as the name of a fictional character, and claims trademark protection therefor, and for associated abbreviations and shortened versions of the name including “Tru” and “TruVal”. Formal application to USPTO is pending. A work of fiction including this character, by name, is in progress and under contract, and is scheduled to be published in 2011.
FYI: At 10a.m. Eastern Time, October 10, 2009, a Google search on “Truda Vallon” resulted in no occurrences being found.
How to Punctuate Dialog in Fiction
What five authorities have said [abridged], followed by my summary and recommendations, and notes on the use of colons and semicolons.
Source 1: The Dabbling Mum
from http://thedabblingmum.com/writing/grammar/punctuation.htm
Interior Dialogue – depicts a character’s non-verbal thoughts. Use of quotation marks to set off interior dialogue depends on the writer, according to Chicago Manual of Style. However, many fiction text books discourage the use of quotation marks in interior dialogue. Interior dialogue can be depicted in italics or plain font.
Ellipses: Use ellipses to show faltering, fragmented, speech or dialogue; enclose in quotation marks.
Use em dashes to show abrupt interruptions or broken off dialogue. Again, dialogue is enclosed with punctuation marks.
Correct: “It’s . . . well—”
Use of ellipses shows faltering, fragmented speech enclosed within quotation marks.
Correct: “It’s. . . well—”
Example correctly uses the em dash to portray abrupt, broken off dialogue.
Incorrect: “It’s, well—”
Example is punctuated incorrectly, if the writer intends to portray faltering, fragmented speech.
Source 2: Playwriting 101
from www.playwriting101.com/chapter12
When one character interrupts another, use double dashes (–) or an em dash (a long dash) to show that the speaker is being cut off. Below, I make use of an em dash. No need to write “interrupts.”
HUGO
If my Dad said we’re moving just like that -
CHARLIE
You’d move. Hold this cone
(holds out the ice cream cone)
a sec?
Using ellipses ( … ) does not signify that a character has been interrupted, but rather that she hesitates or trails off of her own accord. For example, Pac can’t bring himself to ask a question:
PAC
Would you … ?
CANDY
Would I what?
Source 3: Deviant Art
from http://wordcount.deviantart.com/art/Punctuating-Dialogue-A-Guide-73936110
[the dash in dialogue]
A dash can be used in dialogue for two reasons (in addition to the standard uses for the dash in prose writing): to represent a shift in tone or to represent a break or hesitation in thought. This is different from the ellipsis (…), which should only be used to represent dialogue that trails off and is likely to begin again.
An example:
“My only purpose has been to stop the madness that was started seven years ago. I cannot afford the risk of–” was all he said, not finding the courage to finish the sentence.
Another example:
Tabitha sighed again and brushed a loose strand of black hair behind her ear. I’m just . . . sick of all the drama going on.”
“Yeah, you and the rest of the world.”
“Whatever.”
Another example:
“Then talk to me. What’s going on? I know there’s more that you haven’t told anyone.”
She took a deep breath. “Yeah . . .”
“Well?”
“Dad’s company needs him in Houston by the end of next month.”
“Okay . . .”
“We’re moving in three weeks. The company already has a house for us there and will take care of selling ours.”
“So, it’s really gonna happen,” he said softly.
“I don’t care about having more . . . more stuff!”
In both texts, we see the ellipses but no dashes. Remember, a dash is used to show a hesitation or break in thought or a change in tone. An ellipsis, on the other hand, is used to show thoughts that are trailing off and/or can be picked up again. The difference is subtle, but it’s there.
In the first example, the speaker very obviously cuts off what he is saying and has no intention of picking it back up again. It’s a break in thought and, as such, should be represented by the dash.
In the second example, the ellipsis is used correctly. “I’m just . . . sick of all the drama going on” shows a trailing off that has every intention of picking the conversation back up. It’s not an abrupt change of tone or thought, even though it is a pause, and as such the dash would be inappropriate.
In the third example, we have quite a few things going on. With “Yeah…” the speaker is very obviously trailing off in both thought and speech. It’s not an abrupt break or a change in thought, simply a hesitation. As such, either convention would be appropriate depending on the author’s intention. Using “Yeah—” would represent a cut off with no interest in continuing the conversation in that direction. “Yeah…” shows that the speaker is hesitating and trailing off and probably would like to continue the conversation if given the chance to find the right words (or some gentle prodding). As such, I believe the ellipsis is more appropriate here but, again, either the dash or the ellipsis would be acceptable.
The appropriate way to use the ellipsis is not just through intent, but also in how a writer should punctuate what comes after the ellipsis when that ellipsis is, for all intents and purposes, the end of the sentence. This is the age-old, “Do I really put four dots in a row?” question. The short answer? Probably.
When using the ellipsis in dialogue to end a sentence one must make two decisions: 1) am I putting my punctuation inside or outside the quotation marks and 2) what punctuation mark should end this sentence. The ellipsis used inside quotation marks should never be the end punctuation for the sentence. In other words, “Okay…” should either be “Okay….” with the four dots inside the quotation marks or “Okay…”. with the period outside of the quotation marks. It could also be “Okay…?” or “Okay…”? or “Okay…!” or “Okay…”! (etc.) depending on what the writer intends. Whichever way is most appropriate and comfortable, that end punctuation must be present.
[internal dialogue]
If quotation marks are not being used to represent dialogue anywhere else in the piece, they can be used to represent internal dialogue; all standard rules would apply. If double quotation marks are being used to represent regular dialogue elsewhere in the text, then single quotation marks can be used for internal dialogue—but this can get messy and is often avoided. Internal dialogue is most often italicized in place of using quotation marks, with the dialogue tags in regular print. Observe:
I can’t believe I’m doing this, Amy thought. I can’t believe I actually agreed to go.
Instead of using quotation marks, one sees the italics and is quickly able to differentiate between something said aloud and something thought. Internal dialogue is also one of those places where the dash might be helpful to differentiate thoughts and speakers, but italics seem to be the preferred method.
[rules for reference: punctuation]
A comma should always separate the quotation from the dialogue tag.
[for American publications] Periods and commas go inside the quotation marks, and all other punctuation (semicolons, question marks, dashes, exclamation points) goes outside the quotation marks.
If a dialogue tag (e.g., he said) interrupts a sentence, it should be offset by commas; when this occurs, the second part of the quotation should begin with a lowercase letter.
A change in speaker equals a change in paragraph.
The ellipsis (…) should only be used to represent dialogue that trails off and is likely to begin again.
The ellipsis used inside quotation marks should never be the end punctuation for the sentence. You need to add end punctuation after the dialogue.
Source 4: Ginny Wiehardt, About.com
Use a comma between the dialogue and the tag line (the words used to identify the speaker: “he said/she said”):
“I would like to go to the beach this weekend,” she told him as they left the apartment.
[for American publications] Periods and commas go inside the quotation marks; other punctuation — semicolons, question marks, dashes, and exclamation points — goes outside unless it directly pertains to the material within the quotes.
In general, don’t use double punctuation marks, but go with the stronger punctuation. Question marks and exclamation points are stronger than commas and periods.
When a tag line interrupts a sentence, it should be set off by commas. Note that the first letter of the second half of the sentence is in lower case.
For interior dialogue, italics are appropriate, just be consistent.
Source 5: Grammatically Correct, by Anne Stilman
In dialogue, the em dash serves to indicate broken-off speech. One speaker can interrupt another:
“They simply happen to regard sex as both a physical and a spiritual experience. If you think I’m–“
“So do I! So do I regard it as a wuddaycallit–a physical and spiritual [Salinger]
A speaker can stop abruptly without being interrupted:
And when I found the door was shut,
I tried to turn the handle, but–” [Lewis Carroll]
A break can come in the middle of a word:
“Ri–,” he starts, then stops angrily. [Ken Dryden]
The dash also serves to indicate speech that is scattered or faltering: that is, not interrupted by a second speaker, but by the speaker breaking off a thought and starting another, or talking in disjointed sentence fragments.
“She says she is afraid there will be draughts in the passage, though everything has been done–one door nailed up–quantities of matting–my dear Jane, indeed you must. Mr. Churchill, oh! you are too obliging. How well you put it on–so gratified! … Well, [Jane Austen]
Compare the above uses of the dash with those of the ellipsis.
If you can’t produce [an em dash] on your typewriter or word processor, type two hyphens ( — ).
You may either leave spaces around a dash or have the dash lie directly against the words it adjoins. Be consistent.
Whichever style you choose, do not put a space before a dash that is being used to interrupt dialogue in the middle of a word.
When a dash is being used to indicate broken-off dialogue, follow it immediately with a closing quotation mark. Do not add a comma.
“How was I supposed to–” she sputtered indignantly.
Do not put any other punctuation immediately adjacent to a dash, with the exception of a question mark or exclamation point before a closing dash. Even if the text that is broken by dashes would otherwise take a comma or semicolon, do not include it.
Text that is enclosed within dashes may contain any punctuation mark other than a period. Parentheses should be avoided if possible, as the construction of an aside within an aside would be awkward.
Do not employ both a single dash and a pair of dashes in the same sentence, as it would then be unclear which text is enclosed by the pair.
Summary and recommendations
1 interior dialog (thoughts)
The alternatives are:
1a Ordinary Roman (non-italic) font, if it’s clear from context that we are reading thoughts, not speech. This alternative is always preferable, so long as it’s obvious to the reader that thoughts are involved, not actual speech.
1b Italics. This is the most common practice. However, if italics are being used for another purpose in the work (e.g., for quoting a book), then also using italics for interior dialog could be confusing or graphically distracting.
In standard submission format, italics are represented by underlining. This practice dates from the days when typewriters were used, and italics were not available.
Large blocks of either italic or underlined type are less easy to read than ordinary Roman type; their use should therefore be held to a minimum.
1c Single quotation marks for thoughts, where the writer is using double quotation marks for speech. This practice is uncommon, but there are precedents and it can be effective.
Single quotation marks are standardly used for speech within speech, e.g., “I said ‘Stop that!’ but he wouldn’t listen.” In a particular work, if speech within speech is frequent (as in some of Conrad’s novels), then single quotation marks should not be used also to indicate thought, to avoid confusion.
Whatever alternative is chosen should be applied consistently throughout a work.
Imagined speech (addressed in thought to another person) may be graphically represented as normal speech, not as internal dialog.
2 interrupted speech
The most common practice is to use a single em dash to indicate an interruption, abruptly broken-off dialogue, or a shift in tone.
A pair of hyphens ( — ) can be used in manuscript to indicate an em dash. This is useful where the em dash could be garbled by the receiving word processor.
Some word processors auto-correct two consecutive hyphens as a single em-dash character. It is advisable to delete this auto-correction, so that two hyphens remain two distinct characters. The publisher can convert these back to em dashes as needed.
3 speech trailing off (not interrupted)
The most common practice is to use an ellipsis ( … ) to indicate speech that trails off or fades out and is likely to begin again; also to indicate faltering or fragmented speech. (This is different from, and in addition to, the ordinary use of an ellipsis to indicate missing or redacted text.)
In some cases it may not be obvious whether a dash should be used, or an ellipsis.
4 spacing and punctuation of ellipses
Examples of acceptable practice:
(a) “almost eight years now, if…”
The ellipse precedes the ending quotation mark.
There is no comma before or after the ending quotation mark.
There is no space before or after the ellipsis.
But, as in the following example, when an ellipsis separates two words without any other punctuation, it is advisable to put a space both before and after the ellipsis, as an aid to the reader.
(b) “It’s … it’s a boy!”
If the ellipsis ends a sentence, then it gets a final ‘.’ making four, instead of three, periods in a row. However, ‘trailing off’ expressions are usually fragments, and rarely constitute sentences. For an example of an ellipsis that does end a sentence, see “Okay….” in Source 3.
Some writers letter-space the ellipsis ( . . . ), but this is generally inadvisable. It also distorts the word count.
5 spacing and punctuation of dashes
Examples of acceptable practice:
(a) “How was I supposed to–” she sputtered indignantly.
The dash precedes the ending quotation mark.
There is no comma before or after the ending quotation mark; the dash sufficiently indicates a pause.
There is no space before or after the dash.
(b) “My God!–” he gasped.
It is acceptable to place an exclamation mark or a question mark immediately before the dash — but not to excess, and doing so is usually unnecessary.
(c) “before the dash — but not to excess”
When a dash separates two words without any other punctuation, it is advisable to put a space both before and after the dash, as a help to the reader.
Even if the text that is broken by dashes would otherwise take a comma or semicolon, do not include one.
(d) “It’s … well–”
“Shut up, Murgatroyd!”
Faltering speech followed by an interruption. There is no period after the interrupted expression (because it isn’t a sentence), but there must be a paragraph break if the interruption is another character’s speech, as in the example.
(e) “It was a case of ‘hyperexcitement.’”
The (unfortunate) American rule is that the period goes inside the quotation marks, whether or not it logically belongs there. In this case the result appears to be a triple quotation mark, which is impossible. Inserting a space between the two closing quotation marks, so: “…‘hyperexcitement.’ ” is not accepted by editors.
5 paragraphing
[In narrative (not in dialog)]
Paragraph-length is a question of rhetoric, not grammar. Keep paragraphs short, but not too short. About 50 words is typical for most modern fiction. However, many consecutive paragraphs of similar length makes for dull reading; vary the length.
Very short or single-sentence paragraphs can be used for special effects, such as when a startling fact is revealed, or as an ironic comment on the preceding (longer) paragraph.
[In dialog]
If there is a change in speaker, there must be a change in paragraph, even if (at the extreme) the characters are speaking to each other in single-word speeches:
“No!”
“Yes!”
“Never!”
“Not ever?”
The question of judgment arises when narrative intervenes between two speeches. How should the following be paragraphed? (Sentences are numbered for this exercise.)
[1] “Or she,” Donald added. [2] Claire looked up abruptly. [3] “They don’t really do that for girls, do they? My folks sure never did that for me!” [4] “Well –.” [5] Donald snickered. [6] “O great feminist,” he said, “do you think it’s just boys who have their backs up against the wall?”
We need at least four paragraphs here, because there are four speeches, alternating between Donald and Claire. But in which paragraph do sentences [2] and [6] belong? With their preceding sentences, or with the sentences that follow them? Or by themselves in separate paragraphs?
In this example, the answer is clear. Sentence [2] introduces Claire’s speech, and should be paragraphed with sentence [3]; likewise for sentence [5] together with [6]. If, however, we have a different sentence [2],
[2] He waited expectantly for her answer.
then [2] would belong with [1], not with [3].
But in the following example, the answer is not so simple.
[1] “The birth was eight years ago, Donald. Dr. Gordon’s probably moved on by now. Or died. He wasn’t young, remember?” [2] Just as the same topic had so long ago, once again nothing came of it. There was quiet for the exact amount of time needed to signal a change of subject. [3] “Look,” Donald began, “I marked up those drawings again and I need to drive over to Danbury and drop them off for Harman.”
Passage [2] could be paragraphed with passage [1], or with passage [3], but not both. Or it could stand alone. Considering that [2] is from the point of view of a third person external to both characters, and considering that it is a change in tone both from what goes before and what comes after, it could have its own paragraph. This, again, is a question of rhetoric, not grammar.
===============================================================
A note on colons and semicolons in dialog:
Some editors strictly forbid the use of colons or semicolons in dialog. This rule strikes me as, well, stupid. The goal is to record a (fictional) voice faithfully, not to be forced to contrive workarounds. Consider:
” ‘She was really lucky; she will have only bruises,’ Humphrey said.” (Washington Post, 19 February 2011, page B1)
The sense calls for a semicolon here, not a comma and not a period. More important, if Humphrey really speaks this way (carefully, but without regard to rhythm), then the dialog as printed should reflect this, as in this case it presumably does.
A note on commas preceding a quotation:
Many editors will insist on a comma after “said” (exclaimed, remarked, etc.). Usually, a comma is called for by the rhythm of the sentence, e.g., “No,” he said, “it was a bird.” But at other times the comma interrupts what should be the normal flow of speech. The comma, after all, must serve two masters: grammar and rhetoric. At times these masters disagree.
<END>
What’s the difference between idiom and cliché? Refer to books on usage, and dictionaries, and other sources — various fine distinctions are offered, but most seem to be distinctions without a difference. And look at dictionaries of idioms and dictionaries of clichés — their entries frequently overlap.
Consider this view: a cliché is an idiom that hasn’t settled into the language, that still feels uncomfortable to us, and in which the literal meaning still jars against the metaphorical. In personal terms, a cliché is a turn of phrase that didn’t exist when you were young. If you grow up with a cliché it sounds natural; like an idiom. The literal meaning doesn’t intrude.
“O’clock” is an idiom: we don’t think of actual, physical clocks when we say “o’clock”, even when we’re staring straight at one. When the sun is directly overhead on June 22, it is still twelve “o’clock” even if there’s no clock within miles. At some point in history, “o’clock” [“of the clock”] must have sounded strange; must have sounded like a cliché once more than a few people used it.
As a fiction writer, a cliché substitutes for original thought and should be avoided in third-person narrative, where there are suitable alternatives. Idioms are unobjectionable, but you might try to find something original to say instead. Dialog is different: spoken language thrives on both idiom and cliché; how they are used or not used in a story can help define character.
<END>
The following list of words was pulled from dozens of junk emails (I always read my junk emails — they’re usually more interesting than the unjunky ones). Many of these are actually real words, just very rare. All could have their uses in fiction, especially in the higher forms of fantasy.
afreet
agaze
ahull
avouch
axunge
baboo
bewray
busk
pise
cess
chare
coatee
dicer
dossil
dree
eld
aver
soph
hurra
taluk
adit
dor
elytra
felloe
fossae
ganger
gasper
genet
glaive
gurry
gypsa
hist
hollo
imbrex
ingle
jalap
kail
keeker
loth
luting
morgue
nopal
oakery
oaky
oneman
pant
penes
perse
phut
pilule
pitpat
pleach
pomelo
potboy
pottle
pouchy
puddly
pultun
pyedog
quartn
quire
rappee
riband
roquet
ryot
samp
satis
scop
scree
shewn
sniffy
spruit
stodge
sudd
targe
teasel
teazle
toman
valuer
wold
yaffil
zoic
Some words aren’t easy to pronounce: arctic, antarctic, infrastructure, February, meteorologist, reservoir, vulnerable, vegetable, temperature; and there are plenty of others.
But respect our language; take the time to say it right.
<END>
Fathers don’t get a great press in the TV series Lost. Only one dad (Jin’s father) is presented as a good man. The rest are never mentioned, or [as of the end of Season 4] …
Jack’s father is an alcoholic who performs surgery while drunk
Claire’s father (same man)
Kate’s father is a wife-beater and makes sexual advances to his daughter
Hugo’s father deserts his family for 17 years, reappearing only when Hugo wins the lottery
Sawyer’s father commits murder and suicide after being conned by the ‘real’ Sawyer
Sun’s father is a millionaire who views murder as a legitimate business tactic
Locke’s father is a con man who robs his son of a kidney and tries to kill him
Walt’s father (Michael) is a murderer
Aaron’s father deserts his pregnant wife
Ben’s father blames him for Ben’s mother’s death, continually belittles him.
– I wonder about J.J. Abrams’ father !
See //www.robertswartwood.com/?page_id=8, or navigate to “Hint” via Duotrope.com.
Hint fiction (n) : a story of 25 words or fewer that suggests a larger, more complex story — an idea that should intrigue any writer. Take a look!
Anthology Guidelines
Tentatively scheduled for the fall of 2010, W.W. Norton will publish an anthology of Hint Fiction. The thesis of the anthology is to prove that a story 25 words or less can have as much impact as a story 2,500 words or longer. The anthology will include between 100 and 150 stories.
It’s possible to write a complete story in 25 words or less — a beginning, middle, end — but that’s not Hint Fiction.
Payment is $25 per story for World and Audio rights.
See details of submission requirements and procedures via the link above.
<END>
Concept for a short story:
The future: All those on death row are released to serve life terms. But the government has realized that, although killing its own citizens represents the ultimate expression of state power and serves as a useful caution to its citizens, it is no longer necessary to indiscriminately kill dozens or hundreds of people each year: a single death will do.
The government has also realized that the death of a common rapist or murderer, no matter how deserved, does not fully engage the passions of the public. The scum, they will say, have their reward; and they will shrug their shoulders.
No, there is a difference between the merely brutal and the truly evil, they say. And so the one man or woman to be killed each year, with full offices and ceremonies of state, must be evil. Only in this way can the public be fully engaged, complicit, equally guilty with the state in the commission of this killing. So the quest began for the single most evil man in the country. Not an easy quest, because members of the government were exempted by statute, as were the leading professional sports figures, college deans, and of course lawyers. Other protected classes were added, the deserving poor, the undeserving poor, the huddled masses, the rich, the very rich, and … and …..
And that is why Melvin H. Robertson, an insurance adjuster from Campbellsburg, Indiana, the only one in America not exempted from capital punishment, found himself one day on death row.
<END>
The comma serves three masters: grammar, rhetoric, and logic. Sometimes [,] these masters may be at odds.
(1) Consider this sentence from a short story: “After dinner I carried out the garbage.” Grammar requires a comma after ‘dinner’, and normally the writer should provide one. But consider rhetoric: we may want the comma there, or not, depending on how the writer is shaping the story’s rhythm and narrative voice. The choice is a judgment as to which master must prevail this time.
(2) Sometimes none of the masters is happy. Consider this sentence (from Dana Milbank’s column in the Washington Post, 1 May 2009):
“The stated purpose of the hearing was to examine whether merchant ships need private or military security on board.”
This sentence could mean either:
(a) “The stated purpose of the hearing was to examine whether merchant ships need private or military security on board, or no security at all.”
or
(b) “The stated purpose of the hearing was to examine who should provide on-board security for merchant ships: private firms or the military.”
<END>
1870, Paris: The starving hordes attack the zoo and eat the animals. **
1870, Paris, alternative history: The starving hordes attack the zoo. The zoo-keepers kill and eat the attackers. They give the less-desirable body parts to the animals.
** This much is, apparently, historical fact.
<END>
Anne’s younger sister Marcia joins a cult of fanatics living in squalor in an old house. After two years, Marcia tries to leave the cult, is relentlessly harassed by the cult members, pestered day and night, brow-beaten, compelled to witness at their meetings, etc. They make her life the proverbial living hell. After several more months, Marcia, in desperation, kills herself.
Anne, blaming herself (perhaps unjustly) for not having done enough to prevent Marcia’s suicide, founds an activist group dedicated to preventing young people from joining cults.
The group draws in other affected people, is immediately successful. It receives grants, starts an online newsletter, establishes a modest office in the low-rent district. Anne quits her job, begins to give very successful lectures, appears frequently on television. The movement grows, has a Board of Directors and officers, grants, a growing budget.
After two years, Anne is burned out and feels that she has done all she can for the group. She attempts to resign. The Board refuses her letter of resignation. She quits anyway. She is relentlessly harassed by the group’s members, pestered day and night, brow-beaten, compelled to give more and more lectures, solicit more and more donations, speak at group meetings, etc. They make her life the proverbial living hell. After several more months, Anne, in desperation, kills herself.
Anne’s older sister, Helen, blaming herself (perhaps unjustly) for not having done enough . . . . . . .
I typed-off a David Foster Wallace story a few days ago. It was only 708 words, but typing it gave me a feel (literally – in the fingers) for what he is doing, how well he does it. Reading is good, but not the same, because it’s mostly passive. If you force yourself to write the words he wrote, in the same order, with the same rhythms, you experience the story as a writer. When your fingers stumble, that’s a sign he’s doing something you haven’t learned to do yet — structure, wording, tense, dialog. There’s an awful lot that David Foster Wallace does that we writers haven’t learned to do.
(“Only the copied text commands the soul of him who is occupied by it, whereas the mere reader never discovers the new aspects of his inner self that are opened by the text …” –Walter Benjamin)
<END>
My contribution to a discussion about thesauri in the About.com Guide to Fiction Writing:
“I use, very frequently, the edition of Roget’s published in 1965 by St. Martin’s Press — a wonderful reference book, although time-consuming and clumsy to use. I think that publishers of alphabetical thesauri just don’t understand the thesaurus concept, or how one can best be used. I would be pathetically grateful if someone would publish Roget’s in a PC-loadable/searchable format. I have yet to find even a barely adequate thesaurus on disk or on the Web. This includes thesaurus.com, the thesaurus on the American Heritage Dictionary disk, and the thesaurus function of Merriam-Webster on line. With so much marginally useful stuff on the Web, I would hope that someone could put Roget’s there.”
[Gutenberg.org has a Roget's, but it's from 1911 and without hypertexting or other user tools]
<END>
“How the Foot Came to Be”. A faux-folk tale about shoes, and feet, and a very clever woman. in: Abacot Journal. http://abacotjournal.wordpress.com/archived-issues/current-issue-3/how-the-foot-came-to-be/
“The Dragon’s Will”. A robot programmed to help autistic children helps both them and himself. Anthologized in: Bewildering Stories. http://forum.bewilderingstories.com/anthologies/AR08_antho3.html
“Simon Says”. A man trapped in a mysterious prison suddenly finds a way out. in: Labyrinth Inhabitant. www.labyrinthinhabitant.com/simonsays.html
“The Different Mosses”. There is a high wall in the back of her yard. Her mother and father won’t talk about it in front of her or her brother. Available in print and audio in: qarrtsiluni. http://qarrtsiluni.com/2008/12/31/the-different-mosses
“Thirteen Channels” [published under the name 'Karl Krausbart']. Thirteen paragraphs in which uncomfortable things happen to the same people, in different ways. in: Slow Trains. www.slowtrains.com/issue2/krausbartissue2.html
“Clickers”, a one-act play for four characters. Election night: a dark horse candidate is winning a U.S. Senate race. Then the forces that put him in office exact their price. in: Oregon Literary Review. http://orelitrev.startlogic.com/v3n1/OLR-kuch.htm; vol 3 no 1, Winter/Spring 2008
Previous fiction and poetry published in Timber Creek Review, North American Review, Dust, New York magazine, Commonweal, etc.
The Web site www.britishinformation.com/drama-play/ has an obsolete email address for me, re availability of this play for groups wishing to produce it. The current email address is terencekuch (at) ymail.com. The play may be licensed free of charge, subject only to the proviso that I be identified as the author.
Here’s what britishinformation.com has posted about this play:
By Terence Kuch
This vibrant play, based on historical characters and events, brings vividly to life the struggles of the early English Reformation under Henry VIII, where a wavering king, passionate Calvinists, and adherents of the Pope vie not only for supremacy in the church, but for the success or fall of the Tudor line, and life or death for themselves. The heroine is Anne Askew, “a poor knight’s daughter”, accused of not believing in the miracle of the Mass, and put on trial for her life by the Church. But the secular forces are also interested in Anne, not for her heresy (which they care nothing about) but because she may incriminate the Queen, their enemy. In the midst of the trial King Henry himself unexpectedly appears, ready and eager to interrogate Anne personally (as he did, historically, in several heresy trials). The outcome turns on Anne’s determination to defend her conscience against both Church and State, and against the extreme Protestants who see her as a tool in their own power struggle.
It has been twelve years since Henry VIII broke finally with Rome. At that time, Henry’s vicegerent, Thomas Cromwell, established limited tolerance for Protestantism, and its influence grew. But now Cromwell is dead, and Henry sees the growing Protestant movement as a threat to his crown. Schismatic he may be, but Henry is determined not also to be a heretic, and has taken a hard line with the Protestants, including burning them at the stake. But unknown to Henry, the Protestant cause is favored by some within his own household — even those closest to him.
15 parts requiring a minimum of eight actors, of whom two must be female and at least two must be male. Most of the play is set in a church chancel, where Anne’s trial takes place; most churches will need few props. The actors may be dressed quite simply, or elaborate costumes of the time may be prepared.
A word of advice: This play is not for children, owing to its portrayal of violence, intemperate language, sexism, and moral confusion, all four quite typical of the Reformation era — as of our own.
An examination copy of “The Play of Anne” will be emailed (PDF format) on request.
<END>
We write “maybe” — but try breaking this jammed-together word in two: “may be”; doesn’t the meaning “it may be that …” come through more clearly and vividly? Try “any way” instead of “anyway”; or, more daringly, “all most” instead of “almost”, showing the tension, the indecision, between “all” and “most”.
David Foster Wallace, in his story “Everything is Green” has an interesting approach. The story, about a man and a woman, is told from the man’s POV, in indirect discourse. When the woman speaks, she says “everything”; but when he speaks, it is ‘”every thing”. And “can not”; and “her self”. This difference is one of the ways Wallace shows us how different the two characters are, how fragile their crumbling relationship is.
The credits for Jacques Tourneur’s noir film “Out of the Past” (1947) include “Screen Play”. Isn’t this clearer, more necessary, than “Screenplay”?
(Sometimes, compounds break up without our help. In the original KJV Bible, for instance, “shalbe” is used for the later “shall be”.)
<END>
A web site recently included the following discussion. “A” and “B” are real people, not quoted by name because I don’t have permission to do so. “TK” is myself.
A: I’ve recently completed [a story], currently under consideration with several literary magazines.
B: Are these paying markets you’re sending it to? Because I pay $50. I know. Not much. … And if you are sending it to non-paying markets, you might as well use it as toilet paper. Thus ends the sermon.
A: I believe most of them pay. But here’s a question, and I’m not being didactic or defensive. I’m just curious, …. If one of those reputable, prestigious publications that agents, editors, and writers hold in high regard offered to buy your story for two author copies, would you object to the idea? What if a literary review offered you a similar deal — not necessarily one of the top magazines, just a regular quarterly out of some decent university?
B: Which agents, editors and writers hold these literary reviews in high regard? Can you name one non-paying market that actually is held in high regard by agents and editors? Because the highly regarded literary markets and magazines that I can name offhand (Glimmer Train, Story, The New Yorker, The Atlantic, etc.) DO pay real money. But yes, even in the improbable case that a non-paying literary review would impress anyone but MFA programs looking for professors, I would still object strongly to throwing my work away. The only way I could see giving a story to one of these numbskull markets would be if I was GUARANTEED an agent or a publishing contract because of it. I’ve been making money at writing people’s Law School Statements. And essays for classes. I find that infinitely more respectable than getting published in a non-paying market.
TK: Payment in real money is one of the criteria I use when picking a market to submit to. That said, if I were really interested in making more $$$ per hour, I’d just stop writing short stories and go to work at McDonald’s. Viewed that way, getting paid for writing just doesn’t seem very important.
<END>
“Sea change” was original with Shakespeare. But now, every newspaper in the country, and most of the talking heads on TV, use/abuse this weary cliche. Let’s leave this one with Shakespeare; may it be interred with his bones.
I had a dream, or I have a dream? King’s rhetoric played with this ambiguity, brilliantly. But now everybody seems to ‘have a dream’. In retrospect, this cheapens King’s brilliance. ‘Dream’, unless used literally, is another cliche that obstructs clear thought and should be banished from our writing.
<END>
The following discussion occurred in the summer of 2008 in an on-line writers’ workshop sponsored by one of America’s leading literary journals. Participants are identified by code, because I don’t have permission to use their names. “A” is me, and “D” is the editor of the journal and leader of the workshop.
A: I just received an impassioned email from a fellow writer who says she will never, ever, submit to a non-paying market, whether or not she could use the money (a pittance, anyway, in most cases). Her point: Non-paying markets are full of inferior material you don’t want to be associated with, don’t give you exposure, can actually give you harmful exposure, are hardly ever read, are never reviewed or considered for awards, etc. — I don’t agree with her. There are certainly inferior markets, but I don’t know what pay/non-pay has to do with it. — Comments?
B: Your friend’s comment is not coming from an informed point of view. My guess is that she’s very new to the game. The truth is, most literary journals don’t pay anything. And it’s very difficult to get into any of them. if you limited yourself to only the paying markets, you might be missing other opportunities. Getting into any mid-tier journal is a coup, in my opinion.
C: There are some good non-paying journals, but if you really get down to it, they all pay in one form or another since they pay in copies. In my experience, Weber pays over $100 for a story, but I don’t really think it’s all that much better than the Briar Cliff Review, which is a beautiful journal and well edited, just has a much smaller budget. If you’re doing ‘literary fiction’ it’s wise not to turn up your nose at non-payers as many of the markets exist on arts council grants, and NPR-like funding to keep them going. The material they publish depends more on the editor than what they pay, in my opinion. A lot of them pay “token amounts.” I’ve gotten $10 before into a Paypal account. That’s no different than getting copies.
D: I agree with [B] and [C]: Your friend is probably starting out, or really uninformed. Wish her good luck with only publishing in paying markets. And that’s my take on that: good luck.
END
Here’s a very simple market-scoring formula that short-story writers can use:
There are four variables, each scored “A” or “B”. The highest-scoring markets would therefore score AAAA. Other useful variables, such as circulation, speed of yes/no decision, source of funding, institutional affiliation, how long established, frequency of publication, rights retained by authors, etc., are inconvenient to obtain or, in some cases, hard to believe. The four selected variables are easily pulled from Duotrope.com listings and the markets’ web sites.
The variables are not weighted against each other. Each writer may consider some variables more important than others. I find it a real nuisance, for example, to submit by USPS rather than by email attachment.
First variable: Publication medium
A = All-print, or print + electronic (e.g., monthly posting + annual print anthology)
B = Electronic only
Second variable: Submission method
A = Electronic permitted
B = Postal only
Third variable: Paying market or not
A = Pays for at least some fiction in real money.
B = Never pays writers of fiction in real money.
Fourth variable: Name
This variable has one objective, and one subjective, component.
A = The market has a ‘name’ in the business, e.g., has placed stories in Pushcart, BASS, Year’s Best SF, or other worthy reprint anthology.
A = The market has a name you would be pleased to cite in your cover letter. For me, something called “Telegraph Hill Review” would get an A, “Gore on the Floor Monthly”, a B. You may, however, have exactly the opposite valuation.
B = Neither of the above.
Some promising variables were considered but not used:
(a) (Concerning original stories, not reprints:) One-shot anthology v anthology-series v periodical magazine. It’s not clear to what extent acceptance by each medium is more, or less, favorable to a writer. The big disadvantage of the one-shot anthology is that, five years from now, no one will remember it and your writing credit will not carry much weight, compared with being published in a monthly or quarterly that’s still in business. Of course, the magazine might fold, leaving you be in the same situation. On balance, the anthology series looks like the best place to be; but you never know how long the series will last.
(b) Simultaneous submissions. Some publications forbid this practice, some say OK, some are silent. When they are silent, Duotrope marks these as “no simsubs”, while Writers Digest says “simsubs OK”. Based on discussion in a fiction workshop I attended recently, I tend to ignore prohibitions against simsubs. But if market ‘A’ accepts a piece, you should promptly withdraw it from all other markets where you’ve sent it. TIP: Withdrawals are ignored by many markets, or never quite catch up with your submission. Be sure to save a copy of your withdrawal email, just in case there’s a dispute later.
END
Telepathy is like owning a radio in a country where nobody is broadcasting.
(“Communication from one mind to another other than through the channels of sense.” — M-W)
The following plot is based on events in Pennsylvania surrounding the murder of a woman named Dana Gates, as reported in local newspapers in 2001 and 2002. There was, of course, considerable speculation about the case — and there still is.
1. A woman, ‘A’, is found naked and dead in her front yard. Her fiancé, ‘B’ is found inside the house, severely wounded. Police conclude that ‘B’ ’s injuries could not have been self-inflicted.
2. Police suspicion focuses on a man, ‘C’, who had been annoying ‘A’. Evidence of his presence is found inside ‘A’ ’s home. ‘C’ is arrested.
3. Popular suspicion, however, focuses on a notorious ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ couple, who were seen socializing with ‘A’ and ‘B’ shortly before their deaths. (Both are later convicted of a different murder, in another state, and are given long prison terms.)
4. ‘B’ cannot remember what happened the night of ‘A’ ’s death. ‘C’ admits he was inside ‘A’ ’s home, but denies his guilt in her death. He is released for lack of evidence.
Fictional hypothesis: The murderer knows that ‘B’ might regain his memory of the fatal night at any time. Afraid that if he kills ‘B’ he may be caught, and hoping that ‘B’ will never remember what happened, he takes a job near ‘B’ ’s home. He befriends ‘B’ — and observes. Meanwhile, ‘C’, concerned that if any harm comes to ‘B’ he will automatically be the prime suspect, also keeps an eye out on ‘B’, to protect him. There is an attempt on ‘B’ ’s life, which fails. ‘C’, under suspicion, realizes that ‘A’ ‘s killer is nearby, but does not know which of several people it is. He knows he must find out who the killer is, both to prove his own innocence, and knowing that he, himself, is now in the murderer’s sights.
END
Two writers, A and B, meet on line. They agree to wiki a story. A writes a rough draft. B modifies it. A adds more. B adds his own story elements and new characters. One of the new elements is a murder; one of the new characters is a murderer. A repeatedly deletes the character, but B keeps writing him back in. Just before the collaboration would have broken down in anger and recrimination, the murderer finds A, at work on his computer. B can now complete the story the way he wanted to.
END
Charles Babbage, an inventor of the computer, was a fount of ideas, mostly impractical given the state of engineering in his day. His autobiography is a wonderful document. But he also wrote a lengthy treatise titled “Economy of Machines and Manufactures” [downloadable from Gutenberg] filled with ideas writers may find useful.
For example, Babbage envisioned a tin speaking-tube reaching from London to Liverpool, where each side of the conversation would require a wait of seventeen minutes, owing to the speed of sound. And he conceived a mechanical telegraph that was, of course, never built:
“Let us imagine a series of high pillars erected at frequent intervals, perhaps every hundred feet, and as nearly as possible in a straight line between two post towns. An iron or steel wire must be stretched over proper supports, fixed on each of these pillars, and terminating at the end of every three or five miles, as may be found expedient, in a very strong support, by which it may be stretched. At each of these latter points a man ought to reside in a small stationhouse. A narrow cylindrical tin case, to contain the letters, might be suspended by two wheels rolling upon this wire; the cases being so constructed as to enable the wheels to pass unimpeded by the fixed supports of the wire. An endless wire of much smaller size must pass over two drums, one at each end of the station. This wire should be supported on rollers, fixed to the supports of the great wire, and at a short distance below it. There would thus be two branches of the smaller wire always accompanying the larger one; and the attendant at either station, by turning the drum, might cause them to move with great velocity in opposite directions. In order to convey the cylinder which contains the letters, it would only be necessary to attach it by a string, or by a catch, to either of the branches of the endless wire. Thus it would be conveyed speedily to the next station, where it would be removed by the attendant to the commencement of the next wire, and so forwarded. It is unnecessary to enter into the details which this, or any similar plan, would require. The difficulties are obvious; but if: these could be overcome, it would present many advantages besides velocity; for if an attendant resided at each station, the additional expense of having two or three deliveries of letters every day, and even of sending expresses at any moment, would be comparatively trifling; nor is it impossible that the stretched wire might itself be available for a species of telegraphic communication yet more rapid.“
END
from the Washington Post, 03 August 2008, page A4:
” ‘The use of force sometimes looks violent,’ said Patrick Lynch, president of the [New York City] Patrolmen’s Benevolent Association.”
The Washington Post reports that doctors in Burma have been taking cell phones from bodies of drowned men and women, and calling the stored numbers to inform people that their family members or friends are dead.
This grim factoid could be the basis for quite a nice little piece of fiction. — But it seems to me that if there’s enough water to drown you, there’s enough water to ruin your cell phone.
-end-
extracts from Chapter 2 of Skins, a novel in progress
© 2008, Terence Kuch
[Our story so far: Ron, Cléanthe (Clé), and Roslyn (Ros), escaping from the Caregivers, have entered a large bazaar where they believe they will not be found. Chapter 2 is told by Ros.]
We wandered the narrow angular lanes, making sure not to lose each other in the crowd, browsed the booths and crafts. People grew silent at our approach, stared, muttered in their throaty language. Most of the men were smoking. We approached one of the booths. A woman in a grey scarf showed Cléanthe a small, clever biomachine that walked a few paces on command, nodded its head and turned around when it heard the words “Zafir, haf!” The woman suggested three hundred of the local currency. Clé declined to counter. The small machine looked at Clé, open-mouthed with disappointment. The three strolled away, leaving behind biotronic sounds of weeping.
We looked at more curiosities: music that played itself; perfectly formed food-cubes that set themselves out to eat, then fed on themselves if no one came for the Fresserei; strange, weak, listless inbred striped or splotched mammals. In one dim booth, a few pieces of precisely woven cloth. The shop attendant said proudly “all machine made, all machine made.”
Ron asked her what the cloth was made of, but the only words she seemed to know in our language were “all machine made, all machine made,” and prices: one thousand local, she said. Ron declined. The woman persisted: “three hundred.” A few people gathered, frowned with what seemed to be resentment. Ron walked away. Clé tossed her head and followed him, then I, hurrying along as the people followed. After a while they seemed to lose interest in us, gradually dispersed.
In another booth Clé tried on a necklace, a cheap thing, shades of grey; but it glowed when Clé put it around her neck. “It likes you!” the old woman of the booth remarked, smiling and showing teeth the color of black pearls just yanked from the oyster. The necklace warmed and brightened noticeably, attached itself more firmly to Clé’s neck.
“I don’t think I want this,” said Clé, starting to pull it loose. The necklace gave her a slight but unmistakable shock.
“Now I really don’t want this!” she said, trying harder to take it off. The necklace grew additional ornaments; a few of the older ones changed color.
“It’s trying to please you!” the old woman said.
Ron tried to pull the necklace away from Clé’s neck. “Stop it; you’re tearing my skin!” Clé protested. Ron looked helplessly at the old woman.
“Four thousand for the magic word,” she said.
“Fine,” said Ron. “Grue,” said the woman. Instantly the necklace cooled and loosened. Clé jerked it off her neck, threw it down on the counter.
“But,” the old woman added, “now that you’ve bought it, it will be a good friend. I very strongly suggest,” she winked several times, “you take it with you. But if you don’t it will come after you, slowly you know it has no legs, must slither along like a snake and it’s slow going especially if it gets tangled in the horses’ hooves; but it will find you. It will find you.” She sat back on her stool.
“I think we should take it,” Ron said to Clé.
They paid and left the booth.
#
They strolled the maze of bazaar corridors. One lane contained nothing but engineered animals, nothing left in its natural state, all artificial. The booth attendants looked proudly on their masters’ creations.
“Even you,” one said, after he ascertained that the three of us were from the final century, “you have done this, too. Cattle good for nothing but to be eaten, too clumsy any more to defend themselves from wolves; cats smaller than the gods created, too small to eat the baby; dogs — the dogs cannot pack and hunt any more; all they look for is ‘master;’ seedless grapes that cannot reproduce; boneless chicken. So we have just done the same as you, but more.”
Clé called the man an asshole and the three of us wandered on. Ron whispered to Clé something I didn’t catch, probably sage advice about restricting the use of ‘asshole’ to the purely anatomical, and that only on polite occasions, such as when admiring one’s.
#
Past a sign reading ‘Adults Only’ in four and a half languages, we found the sellers of robots ‘for your pleasure.’ “All the protuberances and hollow places,” said one seller, reading his prompt-card. “No need to inflate but if you do comes with multiple pump adapters. Evolution’s triumph! And only sixteen thousand for two, must have two to keep each other amused when you cannot be present to interact with them, you know, or unfortunate events will follow. We learned that hard way and now is government regulation.”
While we were pondering this exciting device (which had been set to ‘demo’ mode, democratically exercising all its artificial organs in conjunction with each other in all possible combinations, with available sound track also), a young man intruded.
“You’re not going to buy that gizmo, are you?” he said.
Ron ventured that he thought not, but it would be up to the women.
“Forget it!” the young one said. “They’re dangerous! You know these robots have their own agenda, they’re just too good at what they do and find us sexually boring. That’s a real downer! Not good enough to fuck a damn machine! So they fuck each other at every opportunity — I caught mine doing that three or four times! And they’re plotting, plotting!”
“Plotting?”
“Against us!”
The hawker intervened. “Pay no attention to him; he is just a jealous young man with a short penis.”
Ignoring him, the young man continued. “And I caught one of them flashing yesterday! In the market! One of my robots! It made some sorry excuse I didn’t believe.”
Ron resolved the matter. “We don’t have sixteen thousand,” he admitted.
The hawker was not to be deterred. “Two hundred a trick. Ten minutes guaranteed. Or three hundred and they call you ‘honey’ several times!”
Ron shook his head, and the three walked out. Behind them they could hear the two men yelling and shouting, and SFX of robots getting horny.
#
Past a booth bearing the sign ‘BioHazard Bitches,’ and the House of Ill Repute of Good Repute, was a peep-show. The proprietor called out “Hey tourists! Peep-show not for chickens ha ha, maybe for chicks! Have you good supply of quarter-coins for the machines?”
Ron thought he might like to see what the place was all about. Clé and I gave him a disgusted look and said we’d stay out in the passage and watch, thank you, while he ‘made a probing inquiry.’
Ron entered the tiny shop. To his left was a series of booths. He picked one at random and entered. On the wall to his right was a menu describing the attractions of each short film in lubricious misspelled detail. On the left was a large-lettered sign “This booth is equipped with a moisture sensing device! Police will automatically alert!” There was, of course, no moisture-sensing device, so the desk-man had to mop up once again.
I noticed Ron tipping the attendant on his way out of the booth. He rejoined us, and we bantered him unmercifully. “Did the movies show ‘coming attractions,’ Ron?” I offered.
Clé chimed in with “how much did you ‘spend’ in there, Ron?” Ron shrugged with a hint of embarrassment.
We left the ‘Adults Only’ section, and re-entered the main part of the bazaar.
[TO BE CONTINUED]
“The trouble is not that there are unreliable narrators but that we have endorsed the fiction of the ‘reliable’ narrator.” –Frank Kermode, p.86 in W.J.T. Mitchell, ed, On Narrative (Univ of Chicago Press, 1981)
TK: Who vouches for the ‘reliable narrator’? Someone just as reliable? Who would that be? How would you know?
END
Q: We’ve been told to keep to a single tense and a single person (e.g., third person past tense) in our short stories. How useful is this advice? How strictly should it be observed? Consider the following tabulation from the anthology, Weird Tales 21st Century, Volume I. This book contains twelve stories. Based on analysis of first two pages of each story, and scanning of the remainder:
.. Stories predominantly * in present tense, first person: none
.. Stories predominately in present tense, third person: three
.. Stories predominately in past tense, first person: none
.. Stories predominately in past tense, third person: six.
Three stories were told without a predominant combination of person and tense, as follows:
.. First person present AND first person past: one story
.. First person past AND third person past: one story
.. Third person present AND third person past: one story.
* The tabulation above concerns the predominant person and tense used. Most of the stories made some use of both present and past tenses; a few, future tense; and another few, second person with past tense.
What conclusion can we draw? That consistency of person and tense, although useful as a rule of thumb, can and should be violated whenever doing so would benefit the story.
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“As there is no hard-and-fast line between telling and showing, either in literary narrative or in psychoanalysis, the competent psychoanalyst deals with telling as a form of showing and with showing as a form of telling. Everything in analysis is both communication and demonstration.” from article by Roy Schafer, p.34 in W.J.T. Mitchell, ed, On Narrative (Univ of Chicago Press, 1981).
TK: All narrative is a telling, as is all dialog. As soon as something shown is reduced to words, it is told.
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People can’t help what they’ve been named, although I know a ‘Barbara’ who became ‘Kim’, and a ‘Jennifer’ who became ‘Emma’. While personal names are cast in legal concrete in the records that follow us from birth to death, the names of the products of our muscles and minds could, at least, avoid certain pitfalls. Two examples:
– In choosing new tubs for a bathroom remodeling project, the design I initially favored was called ‘Slipper’; not a great name for a bathtub.
– Medtner wrote a suite of piano pieces under the name ‘Forgotten Melodies’. This is too close to ‘Forgettable Melodies’ for comfort, even though some of the pieces have very lovely melodies. Too bad the tunes he picked for his piano concertos aren’t as interesting.
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Consider this example: “Max follows, his hands bunch into fists.”
This needs to be fixed. Why and how? The traditional rule is that two independent clauses cannot be linked by a comma. This rule makes sense, because each of these three possible fixes sounds more natural and makes better sense than the example:
Fix number 1: “Max follows, his hands bunching into fists.”
Fix number 2: “Max follows. His hands bunch into fists.”
Fix number 3: “Max follows; his hands bunch into fists.”
Fix 1 adds an extra syllable that doesn’t pull its weight, a syllable that we can do without in a fast-moving narrative. This is a matter of style, not grammar.
The example sentence portrays vivid action. In Fix 2, this action comes to a sharp halt at the period, then resumes. As a matter of style, again, the action needs to continue moving forward at full speed, not stopped and re-started. It is no coincidence that what Americans call “period,” the British call “full stop.”
Fix 3 doesn’t slow the action as much as fix 2 does; it doesn’t add a needless syllable; and it is superior, I believe, in style.
The semicolon is your friend!
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Suppose I assert, in no particular context, “Baby Jane had blue eyes.” How would a listener respond? Probably “Who cares?” But the curious might ask “Why doesn’t she still have blue eyes? What happened?” And I could answer “Her eye color was altered surgically,” or, “She’s dead now,” or even “I knew her long ago,” the third answer implying that one of the two others may be correct, but I don’t know which.
Bernard Comrie (Cambridge Textbooks in Linguistics: Tense. Cambridge University Press, eighth printing, 2004) makes the point that, at least in English, a past-tense assertion does not imply anything about the state of affairs at the present time. So, according to Comrie, Baby Jane may still be alive, and may still have blue eyes; and I, the speaker, may even know these facts; and I still use “was.”
Logically, of course, Comrie is correct. But I don’t think that most English-speakers hear it that way, at least in America. Consider a different assertion: “I weighed 200 pounds.” In spite of grammar, I believe that most of us would jump to the logically unwarranted conclusion that I now weigh something other than 200. Comrie points out that English has an expression, “used to” to make it clear that things are different in the present. But most listeners or readers will still assume, reading “I weighed 200 pounds”, that my weight has changed, and that the change was worth mentioning.
How does this affect fiction? Simply this: In a work of fiction told in the past tense, a factual assertion is ambiguous as to whether or not it is true in the present (narrator-time) as well as true in the past (story-time). In some contexts this won’t matter: who cares what color Jane’s eyes are now? But in other contexts, it will matter. When it does, having to disambiguate the meaning can lead the writer into awkwardness of expression or rhythm in making clear exactly what he means.
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Should fiction writers always avoid very long sentences? Here’s an example by Thomas Pynchon, from his novel, Against the Day (page 160f):
“She sang mezzo-soprano and had married almost shockingly young, the boys coming along in close order, “the way certain comedians make their entrances in variety acts,” it seemed to her, and about the time Colfax shot his first brace of pheasant, she had abruptly one day packed a scant six trunksful of clothes and with her maid, Vaseline, reinstalled herself in Greenwich Village in a town house floridly faced in terra-cotta imported from far away, designed inside by Elsie de Wolfe, adjoining that of her husband’s younger brother, R. Wilshire Vibe, who for some years had been living in his own snug spherelet of folly and decadence, squandering his share of the family money on ballet girls and the companies they performed for, especially those that could be induced to mount productions of the horrible “musical dramas” he kept composing, fake, or as he preferred, faux, European operettas on American subjects — Roscoe Conkling, Princess of the Badlands, Mischief in Mexico, and so many others.”
That sentence is 165 words long. Should the writer have broken it into several sentences? The answer is not an automatic “yes” or “no” — judgments as to sentence length (and other questions as well) must be based on a close reading of the piece itself, not on rules of thumb blindly applied.
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Typical advice to writers of narrative fiction: Each story should be told in one tense, and one only. I think that this advice, no matter how well intentioned, is a piece of unjustifiable dogma that, if followed blindly, interferes with effective story-telling.
Below, I’m reprinting a pretty typical piece of of narrative, courtesy of The Washington Post. It isn’t fiction, but it definitely is narrative. (There’s a good reason why they’re called news ‘stories’.) I counted all the verbs in this story: 63% are present-tense (including present perfect), 36% are past-tense (including past perfect), and 1% are future-tense. Would any creative writing instructor tolerate such a mix of tenses in a story submitted to him? And yet, the story makes sense just as it is. And I contend that telling this story in past-tense only, or in present-tense only, would weaken its ability to communicate, its effectiveness; and also its grace as a piece of writing. Take a look and judge for yourself.
“ABINGDON, England — Jordan Webb can predict the exact time of day his head will start aching. If the 10-year-old lingers outside the Reynolds grocery store past 5 p.m., a small black device latched onto the storefront and operated on a timer will emit a high-pitched sound that makes the boy’s skull feel like it’s popping.
“It sounds like ‘Eeeeeeeek’ and gives me a big headache,” said Jordan, who then covered his ears and made a face reminiscent of Macaulay Culkin’s famous pose in the “Home Alone” movies.
Jordan is referring to the Mosquito, a $975 transmitter designed to disperse young loiterers by making a loud humming noise that most people older than 25, such as his 41-year-old mother, can’t hear. The Mosquito has sparked a new sort of buzz in Britain, this time among political and civil rights groups that say the device is discriminatory and treats young people as second-class citizens.
Others have worried that the Mosquito is the next step in Britain’s Big Brother society. Britons are among the most photographed, filmed, speed-checked and monitored people in the world, thanks to an interlocking system of computerized government devices.
Many Britons are deeply ambivalent about having a closed-circuit television camera in practically every public space; they appreciate the help in solving crime but worry that the government sometimes comes too close. A new high-tech device to shoo away teenagers like so many pesky squirrels strikes many the same way: a good idea with an unattractive flip side.
On a recent sunny afternoon in this historic town near Oxford, Jordan was kicking a soccer ball outside Reynolds with four other boys his age, all wearing red Manchester United jerseys. At 5 p.m., right on schedule, the grocery store’s Mosquito began squealing. Jordan said he felt a painful “scratch” in his ear, and he hustled across the road to get out of the machine’s 50-foot range.
The device has sold about 3,500 units in Britain since its introduction in 2006, according to inventor Howard Stapleton. Outside Britain, about 1,500 more have sold, including about 200 in the United States, by distributor Moving Sound Technology Inc., which says its U.S. clients are mainly schools and convenience stories. Schools use them to ward off kids at night, and the stores use them to discourage young loiterers, the distributor said.
The gadget exploits a peculiarity of aging. At a certain age, hair cells in the inner ear start to deteriorate and so does the ability to hear high pitches.
“I have spoken to young children across the country, and they are angry,” said Al Aynsley-Green, the children’s commissioner for England, who recently joined several civil rights groups to launch a campaign against the devices called Buzz Off. He has persuaded five stores to remove the units and plans to continue his quest for a total ban.
Aynsley-Green’s counterpart in Scotland, Kathleen Marshall, started her campaign five months ago. “This is a war on young people,” she said, noting that some of the slogans for the device — such as “teen tormentor” — did not go far in winning the hearts or minds of the teenagers who have told her through her Web site that they feel demonized.
Some young people have gotten back by using similar technology — cellphone ring tones in those same high frequencies. Kids can hear them, parents and teachers often can’t, thwarting many an effort to limit the phones’ use.
If the Mosquito devices are shelved, it would be a dramatic reversal for a country that makes a lot of fuss over petty crime and antisocial behavior. A few of the British tabloids are running campaigns (“Broken Britain” in the Sun; “Can It! Stop Kids Boozing” in the Mirror) with reams of copy on loutish behavior.
This kind of talk remains popular politically. Since coming into power in 1997, the Labor Party government has dished out more than 10,000 Anti-Social Behavior Orders, a sort of restraining order that can be issued to children as young as 10 for causing “harassment, alarm or distress.”
But even if the mood did shift, it would be unlikely that campaigners could squash the Mosquito quickly. For starters, the units, being inconspicuous and inaudible to many people, are difficult for campaigners to find.
Officials of the Mosquito’s manufacturer, Compound Security Systems, said their clients range from corner stores to cemeteries to construction sites. But they said it’s still difficult to know, because they can be heard only by young people. That’s harder to detect than the more traditional Barry Manilow method of discouraging teenage loiterers by playing opera or other music that they consider unhip.
Several police officers have said during the recent furor that they are fans of the Mosquitoes. Officers in Merseyside, in the northwest of England, patrol the streets with what they call a mosquito vehicle that allows them to break up unruly groups with a high-pitched sound. An official with the force said it reduced disruptive behavior by 60 percent in some areas.
James Lowman, chief executive of the Association of Convenience Stores, which represents 33,000 local shops, said retailers find it a “very useful tool” for combating vandalism and crime.
Rej Parshad, 53, has owned Reynolds, a grocery store nestled in a run-down mini-mall, for 20 years and said he has never seen anything quite as effective for dispersing young people. Two years ago, he affixed the box, which has a picture of a mosquito bug on it, a few feet above the entrance to his store.
He estimated that petty crime has decreased 80 percent. He balked at the idea that he was infringing on human rights. Youngsters loiter outside his shop and pester customers to buy them alcohol and cigarettes, he said.
“They harass customers, and I lose business,” Parshad said. “You can’t keep everybody happy. You have to look after the customer first.”
Natalie Saunders, manager at Martin’s Newsagent, a store three doors down from Reynolds, said she had no idea that a screech of about 85 decibels, the level of city traffic, filled the air outside for five hours every night. “I didn’t even know it was here,” she mused. She is 25.
When asked about the device, Laura Cook, 17, scrunched up her face and called it a “horrible thing” that didn’t work particularly well because many teenagers just put up with it.
One woman who was happy to hear the buzzing: Cook’s mother, Trina, 39. The only ambient noise she could hear on this particular evening was birds chirping nearby. But the other day she went into Reynolds and heard a “high-pitched whistle that cracks.”
“I must be getting younger,” she said with a laugh.”
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Performance Art — Two sets of instructions — one for a killing, one for something worse. (attached file)
In 2002, I published Midnight Central, under the pen-name ‘Karl Krausbart’. It’s available at Amazon, and listed at (although not available through) Barnes and Noble (bn.com). The attachment includes a few of the more restrained poems from this collection.Excerpts from book, Midnight Central, by Karl Krausbart (Terence Kuch)
Here’s an excerpt from a story I wrote, “Thirteen Channels”, published by Slow Trains under the pen name Karl Krausbart. For the full text see www.slowtrains.com/issue2/krausbartissue2.html.
1 Henry and Marie. They are on a bed in neutral territory, a friend’s bed. Henry does not look at his ring. The window is open. They are careful not to make too much noise. Each one hears distant freeway sounds, not the same freeway sounds each hears at home. There is a clock on the dresser, an antique, stopped at an exact second, an exact minute, some indeterminate day.
2 A large party. Is he the one she’s been seeing? Am I looking at Marie too often? Alice imagines she has never heard laughter and hears how grotesque it is, like twenty animals each choking on a bone. Outside, four noble horses are slowly becoming mice.
3 Alice and Marie. They are having a heart-to-heart and telling all. They are lying through their teeth. They are revealing very deep feelings. They are concealing their “little” indiscretions. Neither says she might enjoy intimacy with the other. Both go home and watch the six o’clock news.
4 Henry and Arnold. They are trying something new for both of them, though Arnold came close to doing it once before with another man, a long time ago. Everything is prepared, liquor gulped down, hard rock. Henry wants to continue to the end, but Arnold is getting twitchy about the whole thing. Overhead, the 10:18 to Boston has reached 8000 feet. Engine number two is making a faint new sound, a kind of breathing.
(read the rest at www.slowtrains.com/issue2/krausbartissue2.html)
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