I can see it's going to be difficult to find the time to work on this novel now that classes have started. But I'd like to get back to the scene between Michel and Jessie in the last chapter. Now before you get offended (and, no doubt accuse me of being the pervert, coming up with such a story line), I have to ask you, how many of you got turned on by the scene? Is that why you're offended? And if you did get turned on, what does that say about you? What about your own pedophilic impulses? Maybe you're the pervert here, and I'm just exposing you for what you are. And for those who think I'm strangely preoccupied with the topic, perhaps I'm only tapping into the Zeitgeist, as one can see here, where the government is talking about children being "sexual beings" (I knew they were all a bunch of perverts there), and here (really, we need to remove the stigma from pedophiles? really?). So the culture is perverse. We sexualize children, and the natural result is pedophilia and its acceptance. Don't get offended because I am in touch with the spirit of the times. Don't get mad at me exposing you. You're the ones watching that made-for-pedophiles T.V. show "Toddlers and Tiaras," not me.
We have a nation of men like Michel, only he took the last logical step and made his pedophilia complete. How many of you only have the law standing between you and sex with an underage girl? If so, you're no better than Michel (isn't there someplace -- Biblical, perhaps? -- that says that if you sin in your heart, it's the same as performing the actual sin?). But Michel's, and your, pedophilia is only a symptom of the problem. The problem is that we are a nation of children. We are a nation of people who always expect to have our own way, who refuse to take responsibility for our actions, and who expect someone else to take care of us and those we should be responsible for.
But let's get back to the adult-child in this novel, Michel, and where we left him with Sarah. Michel and Sarah continue dancing around the issue of how they feel about each other throughout the meal - Michel, because he's afraid of Sarah, Sarah because she's both attracted to and repulsed by Michel. But this is something I'll have to come back to, after I finish eating - we're having Tuna Helper. Not that I've been able to work on this without interruption anyway, since Donna has called me in to see something about on VH1 between the first two sentences of this paragraph. That, and the fact that my keyboard is trying to die on me (it keeps refusing to read the "O" "L" and "." keys), are starting to get on my nerves.
I'm finished eating, and the show is over, so maybe I'll be able to write. Let's return to Michel and Sarah, particularly to Michel, who has dropped Sarah off at her apartment. Michel, who is driving a little blue Geo, tries to think of something else to do before he decides there is nothing else to do, and so goes home to his apartment. He walks in and catches his ex-girlfriend, now roommate, Jackie, walking around the apartment naked.
"Hurry up and shut the door," Jackie says.
Michel shuts the door. "You know, walking around the apartment naked only makes me want to fuck you."
"Just so long as you don't want some kind of relationship out of it..." Jackie turns and walks into the kitchen. Michel can smell something cooking.
"What are you making?"
"I thought you went out to eat with whats-her-name?"
"Sarah. I did. I didn't say I was hungry."
"I'm making Spanish shells."
"Naked?"
"What difference is it to you?"
"It's not very sanitary."
"Who's the biologist here?"
"What difference does that make?"
"And why do you care?"
"I used to care."
"And I didn't used to think you were a jack-ass, but I changed my mind."
"I'm not arguing with you. I'm going to try to get some work done."
"Okay. Whatever."
Michel looks at the marks Sarah made in his story. He hated to admit it, but he agreed with most of her corrections. Mostly grammatical and spelling, typos, but there were also problems with the story itself. Or at least, she said there were, though Michel could not see it. He thought it was a good story, so he decided to fix the surface problems and leave the story itself alone. As far as he was concerned, it was finished. This is usually the sign of an amateur writer, one who cannot see the flaws in a story, even when they are pointed out by other writers.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Chapter 6
Last night Donna got her nipple pierced. She did it to see if it hurt, the same reason she got her tongue pierced. Now we know: the tongue doesn't hurt, but the nipple definitely does. Of course, now her nipple itches and she can't scratch it, but at least she says her nipple is sensitive now, which it wasn't before. I guess it's difficult to have sensitive nipples when they're on the end of a pair of FF's. Once they get that big, the nerves tend to spread out so much you can't feel too much. Quite a shame, too, since I like breasts so much. She doesn't see any point in my even touching them since they're so insensitive. Maybe that will change now. If it does, it will have been worth the thirty-five dollars.
I'm not sure where I'm going with this, or how it has any relevance to this novel, since I don't see Sarah as having either a tongue or a nipple ring. Earrings, perhaps, but nothing so radical as a nipple ring. I was thinking about giving Michel an ex-girlfriend whom he's still living with when he's falling for Sarah, but I wasn't sure what she was like. I was thinking maybe she was into molecular biology, but giving her a pierced nipple would definitely add to her personality and explain why she and Michel didn't work out. Michel doesn't seem like the pierced-nipple type, though I can see how he could be attracted to a woman with one for a while, to see what she would be like. But I can also see why he would get tired of a woman that radical and independent, so full of self-expression. She would make Michel feel inferior, though that is exactly the kind of women Michel is attracted to: strong women who make him feel inferior. Maybe it helps drive his misogyny, though I'm still not sure why anyone would want to hang onto such outmoded thinking. Of course, I'm not sure why anyone would be prejudiced against anyone, but maybe that's me. I don't understand the kind of fear that leads to hatred, and maybe I shouldn't try to understand Michel's either.
But I want to get back to his neighbor, to this woman he will be living next to in the future. Maybe if we know something about where Michel is going, we can know more about where he's at. First, let's decide on his neighbor’s name. The first name comes to mind is Patricia, though I think everyone will call her Pat. She's a very attractive young woman, maybe twenty-six with an eleven-year-old daughter named Jessica, or Jessie for short. After that first mistake, she was always careful to use the pill, so she did not become pregnant again despite her extreme sexual activity. She slept with her friends and most of her neighbors, and didn’t care if they were male or female.
So it shouldn't surprise us that shortly after Michel moved in next door, they started having an affair. Her daughter was rarely in the house, always running around somewhere in the neighborhood, so it was easy for them to find the time to have sex. Michel found Pat attractive because she kept herself extremely thin, so thin her breasts disappeared when she lay on her back. She also kept herself shaved between her legs, and Michel was surprised to find how erotic this was. He had seen shaved women in porno magazines before, but to see a woman's shaved crotch live, there for him to touch and feel, was almost too much. It's not too much of an exaggeration to say if Michel wasn't writing or eating, he was next door, having sex with Pat.
This provides us with enough background information to get to the truly bizarre aspect of this relationship. One day, late afternoon, with only a few hours of sun left, after finishing a few chapters of his next novel, Michel was walking to Pat's, going from his back yard to hers. There were some shrubs between the two back yards, planted there by the previous owners, and Michel decided to push his way through them, since it would be faster than going around. When he was about halfway, he stopped. Jessie was kneeling in front of a man, easily in his early twenties. It looked so bizarre, seeing Jessie in her yellow shorts and pink top with little white lacy collar performing such an obscene task. Michel watched for a few seconds before deciding he needed to do something. Michel leaped out of the bushes. The man opened his eyes in shock as Jessie turned to see who it was. The man turned and ran off, zipping his pants as he dashed away. Jessie struggled to her feet, hoping to get away from Michel. He grabbed her by the blouse, and said, "What do you think you're doing?"
"None of your damn business!"
"Where'd you learn to talk like that?" Michel was suddenly hit by the irony of his statement, and followed with, "Come on, we're going to go tell your mother."
"Okay. Whatever."
Michel drags her into Pat's house, entering without knocking. Pat is sitting on the couch, watching T.V. She looks up and says, "What's wrong? What's going on?"
Michel finally let Jessie go, and told Pat what he saw.
"Oh. Is that all?"
Michel stares at her for a minute, then says, "You're kidding, right?"
"Oh please. You can't tell me you haven't thought about it."
Michel is silent, trying to think of what to say. Since there doesn't seem to be any right or wrong answer, he decides to say what he really thinks, "Well, uh, yeah. But I didn't actually intend..."
"Of course not. Most men don't intend it, but they do think about it. That's why I'm so thin and why I shave my pussy. I know I look like a little girl when I do. You like it when I put my hair up in pigtails or braids, don't you? But why pretend when you can have the real thing?"
"I'll, uh, I'll have to think about this..."
"No, don't think about it. Just do it. If you want her, you know where her bedroom is."
Jessie begins taking off her clothes and walking toward her bedroom. "I'll be waiting for you, Mikey."
Michel stares after Jessie, then looks back at Pat. "Well, go on," she says again before he shakes his head and walks into Jessie's room to fulfill every American pedophile's dream.
Speaking of children, Donna just got mad at me because she asked me if I could come watch T.V. with her, and I told her I was busy. Now she's throwing a fit while I'm trying to work on this. She's a moody bitch. I'm trying to be the next Nabakov, and I've got to put up with this bullshit.
Well, now that I've ignored her, she's stormed off to the bedroom and slammed the door. I suppose I could get back to that pervert and her boyfriend (yes, I know he's a pervert too, but the mother is just as much if not more so if you ask me -- I know, as a novelist I'm not supposed to make moral judgments about my characters, but there it is), but now, unfortunately, I'm not in too good a mood, and so I'm going to stop writing. Sorry about the interruption, but sometimes you can't always do what you want when you have a child in the house.
I'm not sure where I'm going with this, or how it has any relevance to this novel, since I don't see Sarah as having either a tongue or a nipple ring. Earrings, perhaps, but nothing so radical as a nipple ring. I was thinking about giving Michel an ex-girlfriend whom he's still living with when he's falling for Sarah, but I wasn't sure what she was like. I was thinking maybe she was into molecular biology, but giving her a pierced nipple would definitely add to her personality and explain why she and Michel didn't work out. Michel doesn't seem like the pierced-nipple type, though I can see how he could be attracted to a woman with one for a while, to see what she would be like. But I can also see why he would get tired of a woman that radical and independent, so full of self-expression. She would make Michel feel inferior, though that is exactly the kind of women Michel is attracted to: strong women who make him feel inferior. Maybe it helps drive his misogyny, though I'm still not sure why anyone would want to hang onto such outmoded thinking. Of course, I'm not sure why anyone would be prejudiced against anyone, but maybe that's me. I don't understand the kind of fear that leads to hatred, and maybe I shouldn't try to understand Michel's either.
But I want to get back to his neighbor, to this woman he will be living next to in the future. Maybe if we know something about where Michel is going, we can know more about where he's at. First, let's decide on his neighbor’s name. The first name comes to mind is Patricia, though I think everyone will call her Pat. She's a very attractive young woman, maybe twenty-six with an eleven-year-old daughter named Jessica, or Jessie for short. After that first mistake, she was always careful to use the pill, so she did not become pregnant again despite her extreme sexual activity. She slept with her friends and most of her neighbors, and didn’t care if they were male or female.
So it shouldn't surprise us that shortly after Michel moved in next door, they started having an affair. Her daughter was rarely in the house, always running around somewhere in the neighborhood, so it was easy for them to find the time to have sex. Michel found Pat attractive because she kept herself extremely thin, so thin her breasts disappeared when she lay on her back. She also kept herself shaved between her legs, and Michel was surprised to find how erotic this was. He had seen shaved women in porno magazines before, but to see a woman's shaved crotch live, there for him to touch and feel, was almost too much. It's not too much of an exaggeration to say if Michel wasn't writing or eating, he was next door, having sex with Pat.
This provides us with enough background information to get to the truly bizarre aspect of this relationship. One day, late afternoon, with only a few hours of sun left, after finishing a few chapters of his next novel, Michel was walking to Pat's, going from his back yard to hers. There were some shrubs between the two back yards, planted there by the previous owners, and Michel decided to push his way through them, since it would be faster than going around. When he was about halfway, he stopped. Jessie was kneeling in front of a man, easily in his early twenties. It looked so bizarre, seeing Jessie in her yellow shorts and pink top with little white lacy collar performing such an obscene task. Michel watched for a few seconds before deciding he needed to do something. Michel leaped out of the bushes. The man opened his eyes in shock as Jessie turned to see who it was. The man turned and ran off, zipping his pants as he dashed away. Jessie struggled to her feet, hoping to get away from Michel. He grabbed her by the blouse, and said, "What do you think you're doing?"
"None of your damn business!"
"Where'd you learn to talk like that?" Michel was suddenly hit by the irony of his statement, and followed with, "Come on, we're going to go tell your mother."
"Okay. Whatever."
Michel drags her into Pat's house, entering without knocking. Pat is sitting on the couch, watching T.V. She looks up and says, "What's wrong? What's going on?"
Michel finally let Jessie go, and told Pat what he saw.
"Oh. Is that all?"
Michel stares at her for a minute, then says, "You're kidding, right?"
"Oh please. You can't tell me you haven't thought about it."
Michel is silent, trying to think of what to say. Since there doesn't seem to be any right or wrong answer, he decides to say what he really thinks, "Well, uh, yeah. But I didn't actually intend..."
"Of course not. Most men don't intend it, but they do think about it. That's why I'm so thin and why I shave my pussy. I know I look like a little girl when I do. You like it when I put my hair up in pigtails or braids, don't you? But why pretend when you can have the real thing?"
"I'll, uh, I'll have to think about this..."
"No, don't think about it. Just do it. If you want her, you know where her bedroom is."
Jessie begins taking off her clothes and walking toward her bedroom. "I'll be waiting for you, Mikey."
Michel stares after Jessie, then looks back at Pat. "Well, go on," she says again before he shakes his head and walks into Jessie's room to fulfill every American pedophile's dream.
Speaking of children, Donna just got mad at me because she asked me if I could come watch T.V. with her, and I told her I was busy. Now she's throwing a fit while I'm trying to work on this. She's a moody bitch. I'm trying to be the next Nabakov, and I've got to put up with this bullshit.
Well, now that I've ignored her, she's stormed off to the bedroom and slammed the door. I suppose I could get back to that pervert and her boyfriend (yes, I know he's a pervert too, but the mother is just as much if not more so if you ask me -- I know, as a novelist I'm not supposed to make moral judgments about my characters, but there it is), but now, unfortunately, I'm not in too good a mood, and so I'm going to stop writing. Sorry about the interruption, but sometimes you can't always do what you want when you have a child in the house.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Chapter 5
It's late, but I thought I'd try to get in some writing before I go to bed. I finished putting three new poems on the computer, and got interrupted in the middle of each one by Donna asking me to come in the living room to see something on T.V., so it won't surprise me if she interrupts me while I'm writing this.
I just finished watching The Housewives of someplace or other.
I was interrupted by my girlfriend to come see something on the web - a Saturday Night Live skit called Goth Talk, where the Budweiser Frogs came on and beat up the two Goth kids. I'm not quite sure what the point of it was. But now I'm back, and I'd like to try to get back to what I was thinking.
I just finished watching MTV's old show Loveline online, and there was this kid who called in who said he was eighteen and was dating a fourteen-year-old, but that when he was ten, he was dating and having sex with a fifteen-year-old girl. How bizarre is that? I'm wondering if maybe I shouldn't make it so Michel was in a similar situation as the kid who called in. That would open it up for something I had been thinking about regarding Michel's character anyway.
I know I said we weren't going to delve into Michel's past, but this would help explain some things I think I'll do in the future with Michel. Of course, now I've probably foreshadowed way too much, so I might as well get to the point. Michel and Sarah don't quite work out. That doesn't mean we won't go back to them and discover more about their relationship, because we will, but let's face it, they don't work out. This leaves Michel a bachelor longer than he had planned, even after he gets a novel published. He eventually buys a modest house in a small town, away from any kind of hassles, with only one neighbor.
But it looks like you'll have to learn more about this neighbor later, as well as some other characters I wanted to introduce you to, because Donna came back here and announced that she was going outside, and did I care to join her. Translation: "Come outside with me." So, I'll go, and return to this later. I wish she would hang out with that new friend of hers more often.
I just finished watching The Housewives of someplace or other.
I was interrupted by my girlfriend to come see something on the web - a Saturday Night Live skit called Goth Talk, where the Budweiser Frogs came on and beat up the two Goth kids. I'm not quite sure what the point of it was. But now I'm back, and I'd like to try to get back to what I was thinking.
I just finished watching MTV's old show Loveline online, and there was this kid who called in who said he was eighteen and was dating a fourteen-year-old, but that when he was ten, he was dating and having sex with a fifteen-year-old girl. How bizarre is that? I'm wondering if maybe I shouldn't make it so Michel was in a similar situation as the kid who called in. That would open it up for something I had been thinking about regarding Michel's character anyway.
I know I said we weren't going to delve into Michel's past, but this would help explain some things I think I'll do in the future with Michel. Of course, now I've probably foreshadowed way too much, so I might as well get to the point. Michel and Sarah don't quite work out. That doesn't mean we won't go back to them and discover more about their relationship, because we will, but let's face it, they don't work out. This leaves Michel a bachelor longer than he had planned, even after he gets a novel published. He eventually buys a modest house in a small town, away from any kind of hassles, with only one neighbor.
But it looks like you'll have to learn more about this neighbor later, as well as some other characters I wanted to introduce you to, because Donna came back here and announced that she was going outside, and did I care to join her. Translation: "Come outside with me." So, I'll go, and return to this later. I wish she would hang out with that new friend of hers more often.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Chapter 4
I've changed my mind. I've decided I should describe Sarah. Last night, I went to a café with my brother, and I noticed something very interesting. The men there were in their twenties, though there were at least two there who were in their forties, while all the women, or should I say, girls, were in high school. It was obvious these girls were in their mid-teens, but all the men there - except for three of us - were flirting with them. This made me think about something my brother told me shortly after he arrived. He said the reason American women shaved their arm pits was because of America's obsession with pedophilia. If you consider American men's obsession with not only shaved armpits, but shaved crotches and women having extremely thin, shapeless bodies, it becomes clearer that American men do have an obsession with pedophilia. Why else would they want their women to look like little girls? Now, I'll be the first to admit that I do prefer women to have shaved armpits. And shaved legs. I'm not sure if that is cultural or some semblance of pedophilia on my part, but at least I do prefer my women to have some sort of shape. I like round full hips and bottoms, and large breasts, and some tummy. I find that sexy. Donna of course is over-ample in all those departments. So that's what I think Sarah should look like (not to the extreme of Donna, but more modestly rounded). Sarah looks like a woman, thinks like a woman, and acts like a woman.
That's probably another subconscious problem Michel has with Sarah. Like most American men, he's more than a bit pedophilic. He'd prefer Sarah to be slimmer, and he doesn't understand the way she thinks or acts. He still acts too much like a child: taking everything too serious, throwing fits whenever he cannot have his way. In different circumstances, he'd make a perfect dictator. Dictators are full-grown children with immense power. Hugo Chavez is currently the most obvious child in power, though Barack Obama is little better, only his power is kept in check by our republican system of government, which keeps the damage he can do minimized. But we've seen the results of both him and the Republican House of Representatives throwing fits over not being able to have their own way. I remember back to Clinton. who bombed Iraq whenever he had a problem, and the House Republicans impeached Clinton because Clinton wouldn’t go along with them. This is not to say I agree with perjury and obstruction of justice. I don't. But it’s not enough to overthrow an election. Especially what he lied over. It turns out, at least, that there were some adults in the Senate.
But Michel is not in power. At least, there is little chance of him getting political power. He plans to be a writer. Of course, many could consider this a position of power, especially those mimeticists who don't think people can tell the difference between reality and fiction and so could potentially (and dangerously, to their minds) be moved by the words and emotion in a work of fiction. Of course, they do have a point to an extent. Voltaire helped cause the French Revolution with Candide. Ayn Rand reformed American Conservatism and planted the seeds for modern libertarianism with Atlas Shrugged. Milan Kundera helped cause the student protests that unfortunately led to Prague Spring with The Joke. But at this point in his career, I don't think we have much to fear from Michel. He's not a very good writer yet, though Sarah is trying to help him become one. Probably, by the time she is done with her influence, he will be on the road to becoming worthy of exerting influence, though I doubt it will be on the scale of any of the three novelists I mentioned above.
But let's get these two characters together. Right now I see them sitting together in a restaurant. Mediterranean, I think, because I love Mediterranean. They've finished going over a story, his "Reciprocation," and a number of her poems. I'm thinking in addition to fiction, she probably writes poetry as well. Today she brought poems. He had few problems with her poems, but she had many of the same complaints I had with his story. Now they're finished working on their writing, and are eating and talking.
Michel is cutting his gyros into smaller pieces, then letting the tahini sauce drip off the meat before putting it in his mouth. He likes mixing the rice with the leftover tahini sauce and hummus when he's finished eating his gyros. Sarah has a plate of baba ganoush and is eating it with wedges of pita bread.
"This is good," Sarah says. "Have you ever had baba ganoush?"
"No. It looks like hummus, only gray."
"It's made from eggplants, and it sort of tastes like hummus, only better. You want to try some?"
"Sure." Sarah scoops up some baba ganoush with a piece of pita bread and feeds it to him. "Mmmm. Good. You wanna bite of my gyros?"
"No, thanks. I got this because today is vegetarian day for me."
"Trying to lose weight?"
"No. Just trying to live healthy. Why? Do I look like I need to lose weight?"
"I didn't say that."
"You should think of doing something like that."
"What? Losing weight?" He didn’t think he needed to lose weight.
"No. Having a vegetarian day. It'll make you feel better. It gives your body a day to clean itself out."
"I think you're trying to lose weight. I haven't met a woman yet who thought she was thin enough."
"I'm not every woman. I'm happy with the way I look."
"You'd be the first."
"All women aren't like that, Michel."
"I didn't say I was complaining. I like thin women."
"Well, you're not going to get a thin woman here. I like being big enough to have breasts and hips."
"Now don't get me wrong, I like breasts..."
"I'm sure you do. But women aren't just breasts, either."
"I didn't say they were."
"Then why don't you speak to my face instead of my tits."
Michel blushes. "Sorry."
"That's my point, Michel. You really don't think of women as human beings, as your equals. That's the main problem with your stories. You need to write a story that has a strong female character so you can practice writing women. Who knows, you might even learn to see us as people."
"I see you as people."
"I know you see me as people now, but it's taken you a while."
"Well, maybe there's a good reason for it."
"And what reason would that be?"
"I'll be honest, I really don't care much for people..."
"Well, neither do I, but I don't let that prevent me from creating rounded male characters," Sarah said.
"But I do care about you." Michel looks down at his food, avoiding her eyes.
"Excuse me?"
Michel takes a bite, chews it, swallows, and looks back up at Sarah. "Why did you want to keep meeting with me when everyone else decided to quit?"
"I like having someone give me feedback on my work."
"Okay."
"You don't believe me?"
"I didn't say that. I believe you. I'm sure that was part of it."
"What? You think I like you or something?"
"Do you?"
"You're an asshole, a misogynist, and you get on my nerves."
"So why didn't you leave with the rest of them?"
Sarah looks down at her food now. "I don't know."
Sarah's right. She doesn't know. Or, to be honest, she does know, but she doesn't want to admit her feelings for Michel. How could she, a good feminist, be interested in a misogynist like Michel? Maybe she thinks she can change him. I hope not. I hope she's smarter than that. I'm not saying Michel won't change, because everyone changes over time. But few people have set out to change someone and actually succeeded the way they wanted. And why should Sarah be any different from anyone else? Or, more accurately, why should Michel be any different?
This is not to say that Michel and Sarah are like everyone else. They’re not. And if they were, we wouldn't have a story. You can't have a story about everyman. You have to have individuals. But at the same time, they are both humans, and humans tend to have similar traits. This is what make economics and the social sciences predictive. If people didn't act in certain ways fairly consistently, they could be easily molded to fit anyone's desires. But centuries of utopian experiments have proven time and again that humans can't be molded this way, because of the combination of humans' similarities with their unique tastes. Utopia is not an option, because people are always involved.
But I'm going to have to cut off my musings once again, and leave Michel and Sarah sitting in the restaurant to deal with the hints each has given the other regarding their feelings. It's 2:30, and I have to get ready for work.
That's probably another subconscious problem Michel has with Sarah. Like most American men, he's more than a bit pedophilic. He'd prefer Sarah to be slimmer, and he doesn't understand the way she thinks or acts. He still acts too much like a child: taking everything too serious, throwing fits whenever he cannot have his way. In different circumstances, he'd make a perfect dictator. Dictators are full-grown children with immense power. Hugo Chavez is currently the most obvious child in power, though Barack Obama is little better, only his power is kept in check by our republican system of government, which keeps the damage he can do minimized. But we've seen the results of both him and the Republican House of Representatives throwing fits over not being able to have their own way. I remember back to Clinton. who bombed Iraq whenever he had a problem, and the House Republicans impeached Clinton because Clinton wouldn’t go along with them. This is not to say I agree with perjury and obstruction of justice. I don't. But it’s not enough to overthrow an election. Especially what he lied over. It turns out, at least, that there were some adults in the Senate.
But Michel is not in power. At least, there is little chance of him getting political power. He plans to be a writer. Of course, many could consider this a position of power, especially those mimeticists who don't think people can tell the difference between reality and fiction and so could potentially (and dangerously, to their minds) be moved by the words and emotion in a work of fiction. Of course, they do have a point to an extent. Voltaire helped cause the French Revolution with Candide. Ayn Rand reformed American Conservatism and planted the seeds for modern libertarianism with Atlas Shrugged. Milan Kundera helped cause the student protests that unfortunately led to Prague Spring with The Joke. But at this point in his career, I don't think we have much to fear from Michel. He's not a very good writer yet, though Sarah is trying to help him become one. Probably, by the time she is done with her influence, he will be on the road to becoming worthy of exerting influence, though I doubt it will be on the scale of any of the three novelists I mentioned above.
But let's get these two characters together. Right now I see them sitting together in a restaurant. Mediterranean, I think, because I love Mediterranean. They've finished going over a story, his "Reciprocation," and a number of her poems. I'm thinking in addition to fiction, she probably writes poetry as well. Today she brought poems. He had few problems with her poems, but she had many of the same complaints I had with his story. Now they're finished working on their writing, and are eating and talking.
Michel is cutting his gyros into smaller pieces, then letting the tahini sauce drip off the meat before putting it in his mouth. He likes mixing the rice with the leftover tahini sauce and hummus when he's finished eating his gyros. Sarah has a plate of baba ganoush and is eating it with wedges of pita bread.
"This is good," Sarah says. "Have you ever had baba ganoush?"
"No. It looks like hummus, only gray."
"It's made from eggplants, and it sort of tastes like hummus, only better. You want to try some?"
"Sure." Sarah scoops up some baba ganoush with a piece of pita bread and feeds it to him. "Mmmm. Good. You wanna bite of my gyros?"
"No, thanks. I got this because today is vegetarian day for me."
"Trying to lose weight?"
"No. Just trying to live healthy. Why? Do I look like I need to lose weight?"
"I didn't say that."
"You should think of doing something like that."
"What? Losing weight?" He didn’t think he needed to lose weight.
"No. Having a vegetarian day. It'll make you feel better. It gives your body a day to clean itself out."
"I think you're trying to lose weight. I haven't met a woman yet who thought she was thin enough."
"I'm not every woman. I'm happy with the way I look."
"You'd be the first."
"All women aren't like that, Michel."
"I didn't say I was complaining. I like thin women."
"Well, you're not going to get a thin woman here. I like being big enough to have breasts and hips."
"Now don't get me wrong, I like breasts..."
"I'm sure you do. But women aren't just breasts, either."
"I didn't say they were."
"Then why don't you speak to my face instead of my tits."
Michel blushes. "Sorry."
"That's my point, Michel. You really don't think of women as human beings, as your equals. That's the main problem with your stories. You need to write a story that has a strong female character so you can practice writing women. Who knows, you might even learn to see us as people."
"I see you as people."
"I know you see me as people now, but it's taken you a while."
"Well, maybe there's a good reason for it."
"And what reason would that be?"
"I'll be honest, I really don't care much for people..."
"Well, neither do I, but I don't let that prevent me from creating rounded male characters," Sarah said.
"But I do care about you." Michel looks down at his food, avoiding her eyes.
"Excuse me?"
Michel takes a bite, chews it, swallows, and looks back up at Sarah. "Why did you want to keep meeting with me when everyone else decided to quit?"
"I like having someone give me feedback on my work."
"Okay."
"You don't believe me?"
"I didn't say that. I believe you. I'm sure that was part of it."
"What? You think I like you or something?"
"Do you?"
"You're an asshole, a misogynist, and you get on my nerves."
"So why didn't you leave with the rest of them?"
Sarah looks down at her food now. "I don't know."
Sarah's right. She doesn't know. Or, to be honest, she does know, but she doesn't want to admit her feelings for Michel. How could she, a good feminist, be interested in a misogynist like Michel? Maybe she thinks she can change him. I hope not. I hope she's smarter than that. I'm not saying Michel won't change, because everyone changes over time. But few people have set out to change someone and actually succeeded the way they wanted. And why should Sarah be any different from anyone else? Or, more accurately, why should Michel be any different?
This is not to say that Michel and Sarah are like everyone else. They’re not. And if they were, we wouldn't have a story. You can't have a story about everyman. You have to have individuals. But at the same time, they are both humans, and humans tend to have similar traits. This is what make economics and the social sciences predictive. If people didn't act in certain ways fairly consistently, they could be easily molded to fit anyone's desires. But centuries of utopian experiments have proven time and again that humans can't be molded this way, because of the combination of humans' similarities with their unique tastes. Utopia is not an option, because people are always involved.
But I'm going to have to cut off my musings once again, and leave Michel and Sarah sitting in the restaurant to deal with the hints each has given the other regarding their feelings. It's 2:30, and I have to get ready for work.
Chapter 3
My brother and I have returned from Austin. The new shows at the art galleries were fantastic. Lots of very good abstracts and some good, bright neo-impressionism and neo-post-impressionism, as well as some other works that would be difficult at best to describe. Same problems as the one I stated for not making Michel an artist.
But let's get back to Michel and his short story. It has quite a few problems, to be honest, that goes beyond making the women in it exclusively "others." For example, it switches point of view too often. Usually, it's best to keep a single point of view in a short story to avoid confusion, unless there is something else being accomplished that only changing points of view could accomplish, but I don't think that really qualifies here. It's bad writing. The dialogue is too formal, but that's something easily be solved by using contractions. The story itself is weak and stereotyped. Definitely a male fantasy like the woman accused him of writing. Clearly Michel has much to learn about writing. I think he may eventually become talented, but he has much to overcome first. But we didn't see this story by Michel to see if he was a talented writer, but to make obvious Michel's way of thinking - especially toward women.
I'm thinking Michel is probably misogynistic because he hadn't dated much, or perhaps he's been hurt by someone. How can you understand women if you haven't made an effort to be around them? He probably didn't have a very good mother, but let's try to avoid Freudian analysis here. Let's look at Michel now, as he is, and not look too far into his past to try to understand why he is the way he is. We never know the entire backgrounds of anyone, even our closest friends, so why should we know Michel any better? But I do think we should know that he's neither dating nor in love with anyone. That is current information anyone could know.
However, most stories do have some sort of love interest in them, even if they aren't meant to be a romance, and I don't see any reason why this story should be any different. I think we'll start with a name again. Susan? Michelle? No, too close to Michel. Sarah? I like Sarah. I think maybe Sarah should be the woman who gave Michel the opening line of the short story we read above. Michel is probably interested in her because she is also a writer, and because of her intelligence. She definitely has to be intelligent, or I doubt Michel would show any interest in her. He's a snob that way. But who can really blame him? You have to have intelligent, interesting conversation with whomever you're seeing or else you'll both get bored. Maybe Sarah has large breasts, because I can see Michel liking women with large breasts, though I don't think that would be a primary concern of his, so maybe she doesn't. Perhaps I won't worry about her description any more than I plan to worry about his, except to say she is probably above average in appearance, though neither beautiful nor plain. You can decide whether she has big breasts or not, or if that even matters to you.
I think maybe, in order to avoid a sudden surge of characters who won't have anything to do with the rest of this novel, I will have the writer's group they had joined to have broken up. Michel and Sarah decided to keep working together so each could help improve the other's work. Of course, the seeds of mutual attraction will have also played a factor, or else we'll have a novel of two people showing each other their stories, and that would get very boring very fast.
This means, of course, that I have to have a reason why Sarah would be interested in Michel, despite suspicions of his being misogynistic. But maybe not. How many times are we attracted to someone and we cannot think of any reason why we would or should be? I think this is one of those counter-intuitive attractions Sarah feels for Michel. It probably bothers her that she feels any attraction for him. She probably doesn't think he is her type. Maybe he isn't. If they were perfect for each other, we wouldn't have a story.
But I think I'm going to have to stop thinking about these two characters for the moment, since I have an errand to do. I hate to put it that way, since what I have to do is go get my girlfriend from our friend's apartment, but I don't know how else to put it. I told her I'd come pick her up late, and it's getting close to eleven, so I should go get her. An hour and a half of reading over "Reciprocation" and writing are plenty for now.
But let's get back to Michel and his short story. It has quite a few problems, to be honest, that goes beyond making the women in it exclusively "others." For example, it switches point of view too often. Usually, it's best to keep a single point of view in a short story to avoid confusion, unless there is something else being accomplished that only changing points of view could accomplish, but I don't think that really qualifies here. It's bad writing. The dialogue is too formal, but that's something easily be solved by using contractions. The story itself is weak and stereotyped. Definitely a male fantasy like the woman accused him of writing. Clearly Michel has much to learn about writing. I think he may eventually become talented, but he has much to overcome first. But we didn't see this story by Michel to see if he was a talented writer, but to make obvious Michel's way of thinking - especially toward women.
I'm thinking Michel is probably misogynistic because he hadn't dated much, or perhaps he's been hurt by someone. How can you understand women if you haven't made an effort to be around them? He probably didn't have a very good mother, but let's try to avoid Freudian analysis here. Let's look at Michel now, as he is, and not look too far into his past to try to understand why he is the way he is. We never know the entire backgrounds of anyone, even our closest friends, so why should we know Michel any better? But I do think we should know that he's neither dating nor in love with anyone. That is current information anyone could know.
However, most stories do have some sort of love interest in them, even if they aren't meant to be a romance, and I don't see any reason why this story should be any different. I think we'll start with a name again. Susan? Michelle? No, too close to Michel. Sarah? I like Sarah. I think maybe Sarah should be the woman who gave Michel the opening line of the short story we read above. Michel is probably interested in her because she is also a writer, and because of her intelligence. She definitely has to be intelligent, or I doubt Michel would show any interest in her. He's a snob that way. But who can really blame him? You have to have intelligent, interesting conversation with whomever you're seeing or else you'll both get bored. Maybe Sarah has large breasts, because I can see Michel liking women with large breasts, though I don't think that would be a primary concern of his, so maybe she doesn't. Perhaps I won't worry about her description any more than I plan to worry about his, except to say she is probably above average in appearance, though neither beautiful nor plain. You can decide whether she has big breasts or not, or if that even matters to you.
I think maybe, in order to avoid a sudden surge of characters who won't have anything to do with the rest of this novel, I will have the writer's group they had joined to have broken up. Michel and Sarah decided to keep working together so each could help improve the other's work. Of course, the seeds of mutual attraction will have also played a factor, or else we'll have a novel of two people showing each other their stories, and that would get very boring very fast.
This means, of course, that I have to have a reason why Sarah would be interested in Michel, despite suspicions of his being misogynistic. But maybe not. How many times are we attracted to someone and we cannot think of any reason why we would or should be? I think this is one of those counter-intuitive attractions Sarah feels for Michel. It probably bothers her that she feels any attraction for him. She probably doesn't think he is her type. Maybe he isn't. If they were perfect for each other, we wouldn't have a story.
But I think I'm going to have to stop thinking about these two characters for the moment, since I have an errand to do. I hate to put it that way, since what I have to do is go get my girlfriend from our friend's apartment, but I don't know how else to put it. I told her I'd come pick her up late, and it's getting close to eleven, so I should go get her. An hour and a half of reading over "Reciprocation" and writing are plenty for now.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Chapter 2
I finally got to come back to this novel. I've had a hard time finding the time to write on it with work, my brother being here, and the time demands of my girlfriend. The only reason I have the time to write now is that I asked for the day off to go to some new shows’ openings in Austin's art galleries with my brother. He's in the shower right now. Dona is over a friend's apartment playing in the chat rooms. Our friend, Steve Veritas is in Hawaii for summer break, but he'll be back the twenty second, so soon I won't have the luxury of having this kind of time to work. It will be worse when classes start. It probably wouldn't be too bad if I wasn't also working on another novel while editing and revising two others. Maybe I'm putting too much work on myself, but I know if I didn't, I'd get bored.
But let's get back to work on the writer in this novel, Michel. I don't think I'll give him a last name, since it really isn't important. I think I'll only have a few characters, and I think I can avoid calling any of them Michel too. I'm also convinced I shouldn't bother with a description of Michel. Michel is the kind of person who doesn't give much thought to his appearance, except to keep neat, so I don't see why we should give much thought to it, either. I'll try to stick to what is essential to him as a character. I think maybe he's a misogynist. He doesn't really hate women so much as he doesn't understand them. Of course, this does affect his writing. This would make me think he's not a very good writer right now. This may change, assuming he changes in the story in the right way. Of course, as a writer, he will grow and change, as all writers do, but it is difficult to be a good writer without being well-rounded in your understanding, including, and perhaps especially, women. It's not acceptable, as it was in Goethe's day, to treat women exclusively as the "other." We're not talking archaic "political correctness," but basic consideration of women as human beings.
This makes me wonder if I shouldn't show you one of his early stories right away or if I should continue with my musings as to Michel's character. Perhaps a short story by him would do both:
They herded the men of all shapes and sizes into the breeding camp. Any of them that had a spark of life left in their eyes were beaten until they too had the pervasive dullness of defeat. Perhaps that was why Abe was beaten so much. He was the only one in his company who dared look the women herding him into the courtyard in the eyes. However, a quick nudge by one of the electric prodders made him look away. As he entered the gate, though, he looked back at the woman who had hit him, caught her eye, and looked back away.
The men were quickly separated into different rooms and ordered to bathe and congregate in the main hall within an hour. They knew better than to disobey. The consequences were painful. By the end of the hour, the entire hall was full. The walls were interspersed with guards, every one armed. Almost immediately, a woman walked out on the stage and announced, "You all know why you are here. It is the quarterly breeding time. Soon, the women will be here to choose the man they want. You will each stand quietly and allow them to come and inspect you. But first, we must bow in reverence to Gaia." Everyone bowed their heads for a second, then shot them back up as she suddenly said, "Now line up!" The men lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, having done this every year since their eighteenth birthdays, or since their capture, if they happened to be a captured member of the Equity Front, an underground terrorist group of men and women, though mostly men, who were fighting against the government. They had formed within a year of the 2011 Requital Act, which, in the actual form passed, seemed innocent enough in repaying women for everything they had gone through throughout history. However, it had been quickly interpreted into women having total legal power over men. Further bureaucratic interpretation led to the complete removal of male rights, and now men could not hold property, had to work only in designated places, usually factories and mines, and were herded like cattle from place to place, whether it be to work, to their sleeping quarters, or to the breeding camps.
Abe was one of the people who had been captured. His parents had joined the Equity Front almost from its conception, and gave birth to him a few years later. He had been raised a freeman and was determined to die a freeman. But today, he had to face the fact that there was little he was going to do today except fuck someone; probably some butt-ugly bitch that weighed a ton. That was something he had noticed almost immediately when he had been captured: there seemed to be a total lack of even remotely attractive women. The Equity Front was quite a stark contrast in comparison. He had been raised around beautiful, plain, and even a few ugly women, but they did not seem to have the degree of overall unattractiveness as the women he had seen on the inside. A few women walked by him, inspecting the men closely, but he was relieved not to be chosen by any of them. Finally, a rather plain-looking woman, though astonishingly beautiful by comparison to the others he had seen since his capture, walked up to him and said, "What is your designation?"
"Abe."
She stared up at him, then touched his penis with the tip of an electric prodder for a second. It shriveled in pain as he tensed and gritted his teeth. He finally managed, "You do that again and I won't be worth anything to you tonight."
With that, she poked him in the stomach with her prodder, doubling him over in pain. "What is your designation?" she repeated.
"PBR322," Abe said, finishing in his mind with `you fucking bitch.'
"Good. I will have you then. Come along." She grabbed him by the arm and led him down the rows of naked men and out of the great hall. They walked across the courtyard and over to another large building, passing two guards as they went through the large double doors. They slowly made their way down the hall before finally reaching their destination. The woman opened the door and was startled to find a guard in the room. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"I was given orders to make sure everything was all right before anything happened," she answered.
"Well, as you can see, everything is fine. Now get the hell out of here."
It was the guard's turn to be startled. "Uh, yes, ma'am." She slowly backed out of the room and shut the door behind her.
As the door shut, the woman turned to Abe and said, "Come on, we haven't much time..."
"I thought we had as much time as you wanted to take."
A pair of pants were thrown at him. "Shut up and come on. I'm Barbara. Patricia sent me to get you out of here."
Abe's eyes lit up at the mention of his girlfriend's name. "You know Patricia? But how?"
"A lot happens in six months," Barbara replied as she walked to the closet. She leaned in and pulled out a large board, then looked back at Abe. "Let's go." She pushed Abe in ahead of her, then pulled the board back across the hole, making sure it was flush. She squeezed past Abe and said, "Sorry about what happened in the great hall," as she began walking through the wall space without waiting for a response.
The guard from Barbara's room slowly walked down the hall, the only thing in her mind being to ask her superior officer what she wanted done next. Instead, she was startled to find her commanding officer standing in front of her. She snapped to attention as the C.O. said, "What are you doing here? I thought I told you to keep an eye on Barbara Conti."
"I thought that you wanted..."
"Who told you to think? I told you to keep an eye on Conti."
"But she told me to leave, ma'am."
"And I told you to stay. Come on. If you're lucky, you'll only get ten years in the brig."
The two women walked back down the hall, and burst into the room. The C.O. was not surprised to find it empty. "Make that life in the brig. Now find them."
The guard began searching the room as the C.O. ran down the hall, yelling for the alarms to be set off.
Abe was beginning to wonder how long the passage was, when he suddenly found himself confronted by a flight of stairs rising abruptly in front of them. They led out to a small supply shack containing a few unmarked boxes, but little else. Barbara held her hand out toward Abe and said, "Let me look around outside to see if we can make it out without being seen."
Without waiting for an answer, she tentatively opened the door, allowing a thickening beam of sunlight to peer through. After peering out, Barbara grabbed Abe by the hand and led him into a totally deserted town. The women were all at the camp. Even the young and old had gone; the former to learn how to pick out a good partner when they were old enough, and the later to give advice, whether it was wanted or not. The town was different from those he was familiar with. While it still did not contain electrical poles, flag poles, or any other long, thin object, electricity lines stretched from house to house. There must be a power source nearby. He began to wonder what it was, and asked Barbara.
"There is a coal mine near here, so a coal/electric plant was built."
"I'll have to keep that in mind," Abe said, thinking about what he and the group should do about it, if anything. It was probably government-run, as was nearly everything. If so, it was fair game. He was about to ask about this when he was suddenly pulled into an alleyway.
"I thought I saw a guard," Barbara whispered in reply to his inquiring look. "We need to get out of town as quickly as possible." With that, she pulled him down the alleyway. It was not long before he was totally lost; not that he really knew where he was in the first place. They finally broke back out on a street, near some houses. They darted through the yards, trying to get to the woods as quickly as possible.
The guards saw Barbara and Abe and patiently worked their way toward where the pair was moving. They knew they wouldn't get far. None of them were surprised to finally see them dashing across open yards toward the woods. They could have the woods surrounded in moments and move in on them. It was a matter of time. They worked their way through the woods and finally found them in a small clearing. Just as the operation coordinator was about to step into the clearing with her fellow guards, she saw Barbara pull out a small handgun and point it at Abe. The young man seemed surprised at this treachery, but did not have time to think about it as she suddenly shot him five times without flinching. Abe doubled over from the shots and fell to the ground. Barbara turned and began walking toward the O.C. The O.C. stepped out of the woods, giving Barbara a start. "Where'd you come from?"
"We were sent after you for helping a renegade escape."
Barbara was incredulous. "Don't they tell you anything? I set this entire thing up to get rid of Mr. PBR322 there. He was subversive and dangerous. Had he stayed any longer, he would have caused us problems. However, since murder is still illegal, an escape attempt had to be made..."
"I was unaware..."
"Well, on second thought, I'm not surprised. We had to make it look legitimate. Now come on. Let him rot. The bastard deserves no better." Barbara grabbed the guard by the arm and spun her around, leading her away from the clearing. As they walked away, Barbara leaned close to the guard and whispered. "If you keep this quiet, I can make it worth your while." With a quick blow and surreptitious kiss on the ear, the guard smiled in understanding. After all, Barbara was somewhat attractive.
Abe lay on the ground until he could hear no more movement. When he was certain no guards were left, he slowly stood and darted into the woods. He was not sure which way he should go, but he was fairly certain he knew which way the town was, so he headed in the opposite direction. He walked for nearly an hour when he suddenly heard a familiar sound. It was a whistle. A signal from the Front. He stopped and whistled in response, then suddenly found himself surrounded by familiar faces. All at once, he was almost tackled by a beautiful young woman. He managed to keep his balance as he gripped her in a fierce hug, kissing her passionately. "Oh, it's so good to see you Abe!"
"God, I love you, Patricia. It's been so long!"
A man from the group suddenly spoke up: "Sorry to interrupt your reunion, but it's good to see you. Sorry it took so long, but we had the damnedest time finding you."
Abe looked up at him and smiled. "Well, I'm glad you finally did." He gave Patricia a quick kiss, then put her down and walked over to his friend. "The town I came from has a coal plant."
"Government run?"
"I don't know for certain, but do you know of anything that isn't?"
"Good point. What do you suggest? It's really not that big of a town..."
"Ever been bit by a mosquito, Frank?" Abe smiled.
"Good point. We should hit at night to minimize deaths."
"Actually, it would be best to hit as soon as possible. They are at the camp getting laid. There's no one in town. If we hit now, there won't be any casualties."
Frank thought this over for a moment. "This is awfully quick, but I think we can do it. But we'll get someone else to do it. You're tired. You need to rest."
"No, man, I want to do it. I've..."
"No way. We've got plenty of people to do it. You need rest. It's been a long eight months."
Abe was about to protest, but his mouth was suddenly occupied by Patricia's. Well, it HAD been a while. "Are you sure? I mean, I..."
"Don't worry. It will be taken care of. You get some rest. No more protests."
Abe smiled. "Who are you going to send?"
"Joel..."
"Joel! He doesn't know anything about...!"
Frank laughed. "Abe, you forget that it has been eight months. Someone had to take your place in the mean time, and Joel was willing to learn. He's not quite as good as you, but he's getting there."
"Well, if you think so..."
"Don't worry about it. You come on home."
Abe lay back in a nice warm bath. Patricia walked in, holding a large towel. "Are you ready to come out of there?"
"Why don't you come in here and join me?" Abe said as he reached for Patricia and pulled her toward him. As he kissed her lips, he heard a loud explosion in the distance.
_________________________________________________________________
I have to be fair to Michel. This story was done as an exercise for a writers’ group. They had had each of the members write a first line of a story, then exchange these first lines randomly. What else could he have done with a first line like that? When he turned this story in to the writers’ group, the very woman who had written the line asked him why men always had to write dominatrix stories whenever they created a matriarchy. She wondered if it wasn’t a common male fantasy. Personally, I suspect she may be at least partially right.
But it looks like I'll have to halt these musings for a time, since my brother is calling for me to go. We have to go eat and get to Austin.
But let's get back to work on the writer in this novel, Michel. I don't think I'll give him a last name, since it really isn't important. I think I'll only have a few characters, and I think I can avoid calling any of them Michel too. I'm also convinced I shouldn't bother with a description of Michel. Michel is the kind of person who doesn't give much thought to his appearance, except to keep neat, so I don't see why we should give much thought to it, either. I'll try to stick to what is essential to him as a character. I think maybe he's a misogynist. He doesn't really hate women so much as he doesn't understand them. Of course, this does affect his writing. This would make me think he's not a very good writer right now. This may change, assuming he changes in the story in the right way. Of course, as a writer, he will grow and change, as all writers do, but it is difficult to be a good writer without being well-rounded in your understanding, including, and perhaps especially, women. It's not acceptable, as it was in Goethe's day, to treat women exclusively as the "other." We're not talking archaic "political correctness," but basic consideration of women as human beings.
This makes me wonder if I shouldn't show you one of his early stories right away or if I should continue with my musings as to Michel's character. Perhaps a short story by him would do both:
MICHEL'S SHORT STORY
RECIPROCATION
They herded the men of all shapes and sizes into the breeding camp. Any of them that had a spark of life left in their eyes were beaten until they too had the pervasive dullness of defeat. Perhaps that was why Abe was beaten so much. He was the only one in his company who dared look the women herding him into the courtyard in the eyes. However, a quick nudge by one of the electric prodders made him look away. As he entered the gate, though, he looked back at the woman who had hit him, caught her eye, and looked back away.
The men were quickly separated into different rooms and ordered to bathe and congregate in the main hall within an hour. They knew better than to disobey. The consequences were painful. By the end of the hour, the entire hall was full. The walls were interspersed with guards, every one armed. Almost immediately, a woman walked out on the stage and announced, "You all know why you are here. It is the quarterly breeding time. Soon, the women will be here to choose the man they want. You will each stand quietly and allow them to come and inspect you. But first, we must bow in reverence to Gaia." Everyone bowed their heads for a second, then shot them back up as she suddenly said, "Now line up!" The men lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, having done this every year since their eighteenth birthdays, or since their capture, if they happened to be a captured member of the Equity Front, an underground terrorist group of men and women, though mostly men, who were fighting against the government. They had formed within a year of the 2011 Requital Act, which, in the actual form passed, seemed innocent enough in repaying women for everything they had gone through throughout history. However, it had been quickly interpreted into women having total legal power over men. Further bureaucratic interpretation led to the complete removal of male rights, and now men could not hold property, had to work only in designated places, usually factories and mines, and were herded like cattle from place to place, whether it be to work, to their sleeping quarters, or to the breeding camps.
Abe was one of the people who had been captured. His parents had joined the Equity Front almost from its conception, and gave birth to him a few years later. He had been raised a freeman and was determined to die a freeman. But today, he had to face the fact that there was little he was going to do today except fuck someone; probably some butt-ugly bitch that weighed a ton. That was something he had noticed almost immediately when he had been captured: there seemed to be a total lack of even remotely attractive women. The Equity Front was quite a stark contrast in comparison. He had been raised around beautiful, plain, and even a few ugly women, but they did not seem to have the degree of overall unattractiveness as the women he had seen on the inside. A few women walked by him, inspecting the men closely, but he was relieved not to be chosen by any of them. Finally, a rather plain-looking woman, though astonishingly beautiful by comparison to the others he had seen since his capture, walked up to him and said, "What is your designation?"
"Abe."
She stared up at him, then touched his penis with the tip of an electric prodder for a second. It shriveled in pain as he tensed and gritted his teeth. He finally managed, "You do that again and I won't be worth anything to you tonight."
With that, she poked him in the stomach with her prodder, doubling him over in pain. "What is your designation?" she repeated.
"PBR322," Abe said, finishing in his mind with `you fucking bitch.'
"Good. I will have you then. Come along." She grabbed him by the arm and led him down the rows of naked men and out of the great hall. They walked across the courtyard and over to another large building, passing two guards as they went through the large double doors. They slowly made their way down the hall before finally reaching their destination. The woman opened the door and was startled to find a guard in the room. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"I was given orders to make sure everything was all right before anything happened," she answered.
"Well, as you can see, everything is fine. Now get the hell out of here."
It was the guard's turn to be startled. "Uh, yes, ma'am." She slowly backed out of the room and shut the door behind her.
As the door shut, the woman turned to Abe and said, "Come on, we haven't much time..."
"I thought we had as much time as you wanted to take."
A pair of pants were thrown at him. "Shut up and come on. I'm Barbara. Patricia sent me to get you out of here."
Abe's eyes lit up at the mention of his girlfriend's name. "You know Patricia? But how?"
"A lot happens in six months," Barbara replied as she walked to the closet. She leaned in and pulled out a large board, then looked back at Abe. "Let's go." She pushed Abe in ahead of her, then pulled the board back across the hole, making sure it was flush. She squeezed past Abe and said, "Sorry about what happened in the great hall," as she began walking through the wall space without waiting for a response.
The guard from Barbara's room slowly walked down the hall, the only thing in her mind being to ask her superior officer what she wanted done next. Instead, she was startled to find her commanding officer standing in front of her. She snapped to attention as the C.O. said, "What are you doing here? I thought I told you to keep an eye on Barbara Conti."
"I thought that you wanted..."
"Who told you to think? I told you to keep an eye on Conti."
"But she told me to leave, ma'am."
"And I told you to stay. Come on. If you're lucky, you'll only get ten years in the brig."
The two women walked back down the hall, and burst into the room. The C.O. was not surprised to find it empty. "Make that life in the brig. Now find them."
The guard began searching the room as the C.O. ran down the hall, yelling for the alarms to be set off.
Abe was beginning to wonder how long the passage was, when he suddenly found himself confronted by a flight of stairs rising abruptly in front of them. They led out to a small supply shack containing a few unmarked boxes, but little else. Barbara held her hand out toward Abe and said, "Let me look around outside to see if we can make it out without being seen."
Without waiting for an answer, she tentatively opened the door, allowing a thickening beam of sunlight to peer through. After peering out, Barbara grabbed Abe by the hand and led him into a totally deserted town. The women were all at the camp. Even the young and old had gone; the former to learn how to pick out a good partner when they were old enough, and the later to give advice, whether it was wanted or not. The town was different from those he was familiar with. While it still did not contain electrical poles, flag poles, or any other long, thin object, electricity lines stretched from house to house. There must be a power source nearby. He began to wonder what it was, and asked Barbara.
"There is a coal mine near here, so a coal/electric plant was built."
"I'll have to keep that in mind," Abe said, thinking about what he and the group should do about it, if anything. It was probably government-run, as was nearly everything. If so, it was fair game. He was about to ask about this when he was suddenly pulled into an alleyway.
"I thought I saw a guard," Barbara whispered in reply to his inquiring look. "We need to get out of town as quickly as possible." With that, she pulled him down the alleyway. It was not long before he was totally lost; not that he really knew where he was in the first place. They finally broke back out on a street, near some houses. They darted through the yards, trying to get to the woods as quickly as possible.
The guards saw Barbara and Abe and patiently worked their way toward where the pair was moving. They knew they wouldn't get far. None of them were surprised to finally see them dashing across open yards toward the woods. They could have the woods surrounded in moments and move in on them. It was a matter of time. They worked their way through the woods and finally found them in a small clearing. Just as the operation coordinator was about to step into the clearing with her fellow guards, she saw Barbara pull out a small handgun and point it at Abe. The young man seemed surprised at this treachery, but did not have time to think about it as she suddenly shot him five times without flinching. Abe doubled over from the shots and fell to the ground. Barbara turned and began walking toward the O.C. The O.C. stepped out of the woods, giving Barbara a start. "Where'd you come from?"
"We were sent after you for helping a renegade escape."
Barbara was incredulous. "Don't they tell you anything? I set this entire thing up to get rid of Mr. PBR322 there. He was subversive and dangerous. Had he stayed any longer, he would have caused us problems. However, since murder is still illegal, an escape attempt had to be made..."
"I was unaware..."
"Well, on second thought, I'm not surprised. We had to make it look legitimate. Now come on. Let him rot. The bastard deserves no better." Barbara grabbed the guard by the arm and spun her around, leading her away from the clearing. As they walked away, Barbara leaned close to the guard and whispered. "If you keep this quiet, I can make it worth your while." With a quick blow and surreptitious kiss on the ear, the guard smiled in understanding. After all, Barbara was somewhat attractive.
Abe lay on the ground until he could hear no more movement. When he was certain no guards were left, he slowly stood and darted into the woods. He was not sure which way he should go, but he was fairly certain he knew which way the town was, so he headed in the opposite direction. He walked for nearly an hour when he suddenly heard a familiar sound. It was a whistle. A signal from the Front. He stopped and whistled in response, then suddenly found himself surrounded by familiar faces. All at once, he was almost tackled by a beautiful young woman. He managed to keep his balance as he gripped her in a fierce hug, kissing her passionately. "Oh, it's so good to see you Abe!"
"God, I love you, Patricia. It's been so long!"
A man from the group suddenly spoke up: "Sorry to interrupt your reunion, but it's good to see you. Sorry it took so long, but we had the damnedest time finding you."
Abe looked up at him and smiled. "Well, I'm glad you finally did." He gave Patricia a quick kiss, then put her down and walked over to his friend. "The town I came from has a coal plant."
"Government run?"
"I don't know for certain, but do you know of anything that isn't?"
"Good point. What do you suggest? It's really not that big of a town..."
"Ever been bit by a mosquito, Frank?" Abe smiled.
"Good point. We should hit at night to minimize deaths."
"Actually, it would be best to hit as soon as possible. They are at the camp getting laid. There's no one in town. If we hit now, there won't be any casualties."
Frank thought this over for a moment. "This is awfully quick, but I think we can do it. But we'll get someone else to do it. You're tired. You need to rest."
"No, man, I want to do it. I've..."
"No way. We've got plenty of people to do it. You need rest. It's been a long eight months."
Abe was about to protest, but his mouth was suddenly occupied by Patricia's. Well, it HAD been a while. "Are you sure? I mean, I..."
"Don't worry. It will be taken care of. You get some rest. No more protests."
Abe smiled. "Who are you going to send?"
"Joel..."
"Joel! He doesn't know anything about...!"
Frank laughed. "Abe, you forget that it has been eight months. Someone had to take your place in the mean time, and Joel was willing to learn. He's not quite as good as you, but he's getting there."
"Well, if you think so..."
"Don't worry about it. You come on home."
Abe lay back in a nice warm bath. Patricia walked in, holding a large towel. "Are you ready to come out of there?"
"Why don't you come in here and join me?" Abe said as he reached for Patricia and pulled her toward him. As he kissed her lips, he heard a loud explosion in the distance.
_________________________________________________________________
I have to be fair to Michel. This story was done as an exercise for a writers’ group. They had had each of the members write a first line of a story, then exchange these first lines randomly. What else could he have done with a first line like that? When he turned this story in to the writers’ group, the very woman who had written the line asked him why men always had to write dominatrix stories whenever they created a matriarchy. She wondered if it wasn’t a common male fantasy. Personally, I suspect she may be at least partially right.
But it looks like I'll have to halt these musings for a time, since my brother is calling for me to go. We have to go eat and get to Austin.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
My Brother on Beauty
My brother is going on and on about beauty and how, since he's here in Dallas, and since I'm a grad student at UT-Dallas, that he just has to meet Frederick Turner. My understanding was that Turner was a poet, not a painter, but my brother says he's not interested in his poetry, but in his ideas on beauty. He's also obsessed with the ideas on beauty of Woody Brock, who appears to be some sort of economist or something. Brock's idea is that beautiful objects have themes and transformations -- if one is complex, the other is simple, and vice versa, if you want it to be beautiful. At least this guy is interested in the beauty of physical objects, rather than of poems.
I mostly tune out when my brother begins talking about beauty. I could care less about beauty. More than that, I reject it. Donna is certainly no beauty -- quite the contrary -- and that's how I like it.
I mostly tune out when my brother begins talking about beauty. I could care less about beauty. More than that, I reject it. Donna is certainly no beauty -- quite the contrary -- and that's how I like it.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Chapter 1
When I first came up with the idea of writing this novel, I had originally planned to start writing it on August 1. But my brother came down from Alaska to stay with me and my girlfriend, Donna, for a while before he had to put on an art show for the Anchorage Chamber of Commerce in September, so I chose to spend some time with him instead of starting this novel on time. He is still here, but he's working on some drawings and pastels, so I have time to get started. I also had to work some overtime at the hotel where I work while I’m going to school at the University of Texas in Dallas here in Richardson, because the relief night auditor decided not to show up on Friday and Saturday, which gave me less time to visit with my brother while he was here. Oh well. Nonetheless, I've decided to start now, and it's better to have started a few days late than to put off the novel for a whole year so I can start on August 1. Which assumes nothing will happen then to prevent me from beginning the novel on August 1, 2012.
But let's get back to the novel. To be honest, I have no idea what this novel is going to be about. I don't have any characters, story line, or plot in mind. I don't even have a theme. The only plan I do have is to write this novel from August 1, 2011 to July 31, 2012, and write no more. Which is why it's important to get it started as soon as possible.
The reason I have time to write it now is not only because my brother is drawing, but because I have the day off and my brother and I have returned from Austin, where we spent the day looking through galleries, hoping to find one appropriate for the type of pastels and paintings he does. We think we found several galleries willing to take his works. Now he has to get some work done and make slides of them to send to the galleries so they can decide if they want to show his works.
All of this makes me think one of my characters could be an artist. Perhaps I could make him avant-garde or something shocking. The only problem with having a painter as a character is I have to come up with different things he will have painted and describe them to you. That is more difficult than it seems, because how do you really describe a painting? I mean really describe a painting. Unless you give a detailed description of the brush strokes, most modern paintings are hard to describe with words alone. That's why we've come up with different terms to describe different styles. If I say something is impressionist or cubist, most people know what I am talking about. But what if the style is something new? It becomes very difficult to describe a new style of painting short of describing exact brush strokes. You have to see it to know what I'm talking about. And how do you describe something abstract? Abstract paintings come in several types, and the term abstract is itself abstract enough to prevent precise definitions from being possible. So I don't want to make him a painter, though I can relate to the way he thinks.
Perhaps I should come up with a name for the main character first, then decide what or who he is. Perhaps I will call him Michel. I know that is the French spelling, but I've been heavily influenced by the French novelists, Victor Hugo and Andre Gide in particular. I've also had some influence from Andre Breton, especially with his idea of automatic writing. In fact, that's what I'm using now: the idea of automatic writing. With automatic writing, you sit and start writing whatever comes into your head, and if a story comes about, then that's well and good. If not, then according to Breton, that's good too, perhaps better. I disagree. I do think there needs to be a story. Otherwise you won't be able to keep people's interest for long, and that's what we novelists have to do, after all, is keep your interest from beginning to end.
Considering that Gide is such an influence, and I'm reading his novel The Counterfeiters, which is about a novelist, maybe I should make Michel a writer as well. Many novelists have made their main characters novelists or writers. It's easier to write about writing because words can and do describe words very well.
But right now Donna is calling me to come see something on T.V., so I'm going to stop writing for a while. At least my main character has a name.
But let's get back to the novel. To be honest, I have no idea what this novel is going to be about. I don't have any characters, story line, or plot in mind. I don't even have a theme. The only plan I do have is to write this novel from August 1, 2011 to July 31, 2012, and write no more. Which is why it's important to get it started as soon as possible.
The reason I have time to write it now is not only because my brother is drawing, but because I have the day off and my brother and I have returned from Austin, where we spent the day looking through galleries, hoping to find one appropriate for the type of pastels and paintings he does. We think we found several galleries willing to take his works. Now he has to get some work done and make slides of them to send to the galleries so they can decide if they want to show his works.
All of this makes me think one of my characters could be an artist. Perhaps I could make him avant-garde or something shocking. The only problem with having a painter as a character is I have to come up with different things he will have painted and describe them to you. That is more difficult than it seems, because how do you really describe a painting? I mean really describe a painting. Unless you give a detailed description of the brush strokes, most modern paintings are hard to describe with words alone. That's why we've come up with different terms to describe different styles. If I say something is impressionist or cubist, most people know what I am talking about. But what if the style is something new? It becomes very difficult to describe a new style of painting short of describing exact brush strokes. You have to see it to know what I'm talking about. And how do you describe something abstract? Abstract paintings come in several types, and the term abstract is itself abstract enough to prevent precise definitions from being possible. So I don't want to make him a painter, though I can relate to the way he thinks.
Perhaps I should come up with a name for the main character first, then decide what or who he is. Perhaps I will call him Michel. I know that is the French spelling, but I've been heavily influenced by the French novelists, Victor Hugo and Andre Gide in particular. I've also had some influence from Andre Breton, especially with his idea of automatic writing. In fact, that's what I'm using now: the idea of automatic writing. With automatic writing, you sit and start writing whatever comes into your head, and if a story comes about, then that's well and good. If not, then according to Breton, that's good too, perhaps better. I disagree. I do think there needs to be a story. Otherwise you won't be able to keep people's interest for long, and that's what we novelists have to do, after all, is keep your interest from beginning to end.
Considering that Gide is such an influence, and I'm reading his novel The Counterfeiters, which is about a novelist, maybe I should make Michel a writer as well. Many novelists have made their main characters novelists or writers. It's easier to write about writing because words can and do describe words very well.
But right now Donna is calling me to come see something on T.V., so I'm going to stop writing for a while. At least my main character has a name.
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