Titles

On his blog "Dot Dead Diary," Keith Raffel has been polling readers with choices for a title for his new novel. He's at the end of the project without one. A friend told me a few weeks ago that a title was the first step in the process for her. The title pointed the way. I have heard of other people who have changed the title on the way to the printer practically.
For me, it works both ways. The title sometimes comes early and sometimes late. Only rarely do I pick one that I really think sums up the story very well. I think some of the best titles are just one or two words:
The Drowning Pool
The Shining
Mystic River
Officer Down
Priest
Bloodwork
Night Gardener
Brighton Rock
Miami Blues
Miami Purity
The Poet
Trashed
Queenpin,
Moneyshot
Tomato Red.
None of these titles tell you much about what the book is about, but they catch your eye and maybe set a mood. Do you find it hard to find the right title? What are some of your favorites?

Kwame on The Wire

I can't help but see parallels between the fictional State Senator Clay David on The Wire and Detroit Mayor, Kwame Kilpatrick. Both know how to manipulate city residents, getting them to believe that a lack of support for their antics, even in the black community, is racism. Getting them to believe, in Kwame's case, that voting for the other African-American running for mayor in 2006 was racist. That he is the authentic African-American.
Of course racism exists and is a serious problem but it seems like it's being used as a shield, as a defense.

Both men know what words to use and their style of delivery comes from the black church and appeals to black voters. They know how to make the audience cry. They can play the victim of a plot to bring them down.

Unfortunately in Kilpatrick's case, the charges are probably real not fictional. He's likely guilty of a number of crimes, but will the Wayne County Prosecutor, Kim Worthy, have the guts to indict him, coming up for reelection. Will the Michigan Supreme Court turn down his appeal to suppress tapes/text-messaging?

Kwame had everything needed to be a good and decent mayor in a hard time, but he craved the perks that came with it--women, parties, expensive cars and vacations. Maybe he was just too young. We should cry, but for Detroit, not him.

The Song Is You

The Song is You is out in paperback this week with a nice front cover blurb by James Ellroy.
This is my favorite book of Megan's three novels because it is set in fifties Hollywood, about the movie business, and is both tragic and romantic. Plus I like the protagonist, Gil Hopkins, a flawed character who can only do good for so long. I also enjoy the portraits of real Hollywood actors in it--like Barbara Payton. Watching Megan write and illustrate her stories as a child, watching her watch movies as much as we'd allow, this was the book I'd have expected her to write. So if you put off buying it because of its hardback price, here's your chance now.
Sorry for the blatant daughter promotion, but it seeps out of me every now and then.

In Bruges

Sometimes a movie just strikes the right note for your mood and this one rang the bell. Funny, tragic and with the added treat of seeing Bruges on film, it couldn't have been more fun. Two days ago we saw Definitely, Maybe which had all the authenticity of a Hallmark card, but this one just felt like the real deal. I think it's Colin Farrell's best performance and Brendon Gleason and Ralph Fiennes (is he ever bad?) were ridiculously good. Maybe it traded too much on dwarf jokes but other than that, a good time.

The "Just Doesn't Fit in Anywhere Story"

What do you do when you have an idea for a story but you pretty well know you're going to have a hard time placing it if you write it? Do you write it anyway if it's pretty well plotted in your head? What if it's a humorous story that really isn't all that dark. Most venues want dark. If I go the literary route, I'm screwed too because they just don't want people to die. Those crazy bastards. Sometimes people gotta die. Just in humorous or not too dark ways. It's not a cozy; it's not-hardboiled; its not suspense. It's just...well, it is what it is. I need a new zine for stories that just don't fit in other places.

One Last Story--"A Day Late" by Wellesfan

http://wellesfan.blogspot.com/2008/02/day-late.html

Plus Christa's story should go up sometime today (see below). She lost her power yesterday.

A Final Story for V'Day

Afterward
by Todd Mason

It wasn’t until he knew she’d been murdered did he realize how much he missed her, and how terribly fast that came to him. There it was, right in front of him, in the paper. It was a freak story, or else there wouldn’t’ve been a reason for the wire report to be carried from one city/suburban cluster to another, every city has its share of routine murder, young men (usually young men, not always either) drunk on despair and testosterone and whatever substance was supposed to make things easier right then, angry spousal equivalents, payback abuse or just abuse.

He hadn’t seen her in years, hadn’t corresponded (if that’s what one did with email) in months, maybe as much as a year. He knew she was happy, in a way he was quite sure she’d never been when they were together, a way she probably couldn’t be with him. She’d gone through several changes, was settling into a new job, she loved her husband the way you’d want to be loved if you were him. An off-duty police officer who’d developed a habit of pulling over women of a certain age managed to home in on her one night as she was driving home from the night class. Officer Friendly made sure he was the last to see her alive. She was the sixth of seven they knew about. He’d really gotten sloppy by the seventh.

Sitting there staring at the paper, seeing her name there, knowing there was no reason for authorities to contact him (maybe a call from Officer Friendly’s best buddy in the Academy or at the local land-grant school,, or maybe his ex partner), didn’t make him feel any less clobbered. Her husband might’ve, but he’d’ve had his own version of real-time hell to cope with, not this sudden smack after the fact. Cold print. Gasping. Cold, blind rage. Officer Friendly had been called Davy by his family. David Miller. Pillar of the community.

He sat staring at the paper and weighed his options. He could go to the trial, try to find a way to kill Davy Miller or at least introduce him to some small measure of what the wire story didn’t detail too closely of what he’d done to at least seven women. He could go to the trial, in that other big city up north a bit, and try to get some satisfaction out of his Twinkie defense, the slam-dunk the prosecutor would have, the life imprisonment with the hope of a shiv in an ex-cop’s back .He’d never have another conversation with her, he’d never get a card from her again at year’s end, she wasn’t at least walking around somewhere else nor laughing nor thrusting her hips just so as she came, nor rolling her eyes just so at some weak joke someone else would make (she’d wiggle her eyebrows to let you know she knew how weak her joke was, if it was). He wouldn’t know that she was fine. She never would be fine again. His impotence in the face of that fact wasn’t as hard to bear as the thought of her loss, but was no more reassuring.

He sat and thought about what he would do, what he was worth, how little David Miller was worth, what she…had been. He couldn’t completely catch his breath, he wasn’t yet ready to cry, if that was coming. Maybe on his trip north.

Whatever he was going to do, he need to gather a few things, make a few calls. And he needed to know when the services were. And the trial. And whatever came afterward.

I Heart You

The day has arrived and below are the sites where our flash fiction stories appear. Mine is below the list. I hope you enjoy them all and have the happiest of Valentine's Days.

Patrick Bagley "Loving Rachel" http://patrickshawnbagley.blogspot.com/

Sandra Seamans "Bye, Bye Love" http://powderburnflash.blogspot.com/

Aldo Calcagno "Love on the Rocks" http://acalcagno.blogspot.com/

Patricia Abbott 'Tongues" http://pattinase.blogspot.com/

Graham Powell "The Last Time" http://www.myboogpages.com/

Bryon Quertermous "Stand Up on Blow Pops" http://bryonquertermous.wordpress.com/

Clair Dickson "Cupid's Bullet" http://bofexler.blogspot.com/

Cormac Brown "Warmer" http://cormacwrites.blogspot.com/

Gerald So "Connect the Dots" http://geraldso.blogspot.com/

Steve Allan "The Many Forms of Love" http://noirwriter.blogspot.com/

Christa Miller "Beautiful Trouble" http://freelancemother.wordpress.com/

John McAuley "Since I've Been Loving You" http://powderburnflash.blogspot.com/

r2 "Doctor, Doctor" http://powderburnflash.blogspot.com/

Sophie Littlefield "Rival Passions" http://powderburnflash.blogspot.com/

Todd Mason "Afterward" http://socialistjazz.blogspot.com/2008/02/afterward-vignette.html

Wellesfan " Day Late" http://wellesfan.blogspot.com/2008/02/day-late.html

Tongues
By Patricia Abbott

The girl in the dorm room next to mine speaks in tongues. I hear her late at night when all the other girls are asleep. Most of what she says makes use of the more obscure letters of the alphabet—like z,x, and k’s. She sounds angry, like the voice of God in her ear isn’t joyful.

No one else on our floor ever mentions it.

Speaking in tongues is not as common as you’d think—even at the Southern New England Bible College. My parents sent me here, not realizing that all Christians don’t play bridge and drink martinis on Saturday night. The ones at SNEBC would never slip between their starched sheets without first pressing their knees to the floor in prayer

At Karin’s church, parishioners speak in tongues, give testimony and lay on hands. Karin likes to tell her personal salvation story. It happened in a Thunderbird on a country road as she was weighing the sin in letting her boyfriend unhook her bra.

Does everyone who speaks in tongues use the same language? Can they talk to each other? Were they born knowing “tongues” or did it come to them like a taste for artichokes came to my father months after he returned from Korea? I never find the right words to ask Karin this.

It’s spooky listening to her, knowing she’s pacing her cell-like room and talking gibberish for hours. The syllables seem to rush out of her mouth and bang up against the wallboard. If I put my palms on the wall, I can feel the vibrations.

In daylight, Karin seems normal, pretty in a wispy way. She baby-sits for a woman who once dated President Kennedy and works the dinner shift at the second cash register in the cafeteria. I can see her from behind the counter where I restock the applesauce and Jell-O. Her checkout line moves much faster than the other one.

In December, Karin invites me in to watch “Color Me Barbra” on her contraband TV. She teaches me stuff, telling me that my favorite song on my Lawrence Welk album is actually a movement from Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto # 1. She plays it for me on her record player.

One night Karin comes to my room, mumbling the words I usually hear through the wall, letting her tongue flutter near my ear like a trapped moth. I can smell her breath—it’s anise or licorice and sends shivers down my spine. In the cafeteria later, I stare at the picture of Moses on Mt. Sinai over the tray table while holding a flashlight. She empties both cash registers in seconds.

When the campus police arrest Javier, a work-study student, Karin seems surprised. She puts a dollar in the canister being passed around. His picture from the yearbook is glued to the front. He’s smiling and you can see the gap in his teeth. Someone says they’ll be sending him back to Haiti or Trinidad or wherever he came from.

On Valentine’s Day, Karin invites me to spend the weekend at Kennedy’s mistress’ house. We take the children duckpin bowling and feed them hamburgers. Later we look for things the Sprague’s won’t miss. Karin looks over my haul with a practiced eye, telling me that paste jewelry and ceramic birds are junk.

Karin lights candles in the living room and draws my trembling hands to the flame. She makes me kneel with pebbles under my knees on the tile floor, telling me I’m a bad influence and that she didn’t steal things before I was assigned to the room next to her. I look up and see the little girls huddled on the steps. Their bare legs look like pincers in the half-light.

Two men come for Karin the next morning and take her away in a Volkswagen bus. Mrs. Sprague removes stones from my knees with tweezers and bandages my hands, shaking her head and asking me why I didn’t tell anyone about Karin.

“You two are students at a Bible College,” she tells me “How did this happen?” I want to tell her that a love for Jesus isn’t the only kind of love.

LAST CRY FOR V'DAY FLASH FICTION

If anyone has a story they haven't made me aware of as yet (or Mystery Dawg or Gerald So), please do so pretty quickly. My tech skills are such that last minute subs may drive me over the edge. Plus I want to go to the movies and lunch with my honey.

Is It Over for Senator Clinton?

Smoke Screen by Jean Pierre Jacquet.And, if so, why? Was it her negatives that sealed her fate? Would the voters have been satisfied with Clinton as a candidate if Obama hadn't come along? Was it his exceptional charisma or would other candidates have achieved the same thing? If Al Gore had entered the race, would he have pushed her off the podium too? Was it Obama's unique message of hope and transformation? Was it his race, which took the expected constituency of African-American voters away from her. Did she seem like old hat? Like we were electing her for a third time?
Was it her personality once people got a good sample of it in the debates. Was being a woman harder to overcome with voters than being African-American? Their message was virtually the same. She would seem like the more experienced bearer of that message. Was it her history that did her in? Were Bill's remarks in South Carolina the death knell? What do you think is the single greatest reason for her probable failure? I feel sad for Hillary Clinton. Sometimes you do everything right and something still derails you. Look at Ted Kennedy. Wouldn't he have been a great President?

The Wire (SPOILERS)

By Pat Dostine. (See below for website)This picture reminds me of The Wire, one of the few shows we really look forward to. This year the showdown between Omar and Marlo has completely dominated the hour for us. Although I look forward to watching Gus Haynes (City Editor on the Sun) bring Templeton to his knees, and watching whether a alcohol-fueled McNulty will end up murdering someone to get police funding to investigate last year's "bodies in houses" story, it's the dynamics of the Street that holds my interest. It's playing out like a Shakespearean tragedy. How about you? Will Omar or Marlo persevere?

"At Last"

More art from Jean Pierre Jacquet to reflect "Love Hurts," a Valentine's Day blogorama. Speaking of which, what song will you be most likely to play on the 14th. I vote for Etta James' "At Last." Lots of cover versions, but that's my favorite.

My problem in getting these links up here makes me wonder what's gonna happen on Thursday. I hope Aldo and Gerald are more proficient.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=csoMt1CiP04
http://jeanpierrejacquet.com/NewWebdocs/JPJ/Blind_Trust.html

Have You Ever Written a Love Poem?

Our artwork today comes from Pat Dostine, whose first artshow opened this week at the River Gallery in Chelsea, Michigan. http://patrickdostine.blogspot.com/

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; mere anarchy is loosed upon the world. The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned.The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.

My husband wrote me this one. Okay, well William Butler Yeats wrote it first but my husband copied it and gave it to me when I was seventeen. Asking for a poem was too much pressure to put him under. He went on to write many things, but no poems.

Have you ever written one for someone special? I hope so. There's nothing like a poem.

"Don't Squat with Your Spurs On"

Artwork begins today for our St. Valentine's Day flash fiction fun. This evocative piece comes from Jean-Pierre Jacquet, renowned for his marvelous artwork for Hardluck Stories last year. This piece is called Plumb Lines.

Sometimes I find myself going to a ridiculous amount of trouble to get a small detail ( that probably no one will ever notice) correct in a story. Right now I am trying to find the exact phrase a cowboy uses to get the cattle moving and to that end spent most of the morning looking at sites, fascinating but time-consuming to find this out. It ended with my emailing a cowboy. Let's see if he responds to my strange question.
Do you do this too or is it just me? What's the most ridiculous piece of information you got by doing this? I can't tell you how much I found out about being a midwife in England like this a few years ago. I'm still getting emails asking me if I still intend to enroll in a training hospital in London.
And you can imagine what happened when I googled "school girls" once looking for the correct dress at private schools.
The Internet, a curse or blessing.

Could this possibly be true?

That Michigan, land that I live in, may have another primary? How can this be? It would cost the financially-strapped state a million dollars. And this Super-Delegate thing is bugging me too.
Forty percent of the delegates to the Dem. convention are Super-Delegates, most of them pledged before Obama was a viable candidate. When did elections in the US start resembling those in Soviet Russia? Oh, I guess about 2000. Or was it always like this?

Where Do I Begin

Three people have read my novel. All three of them have suggested a different point to begin the story. One scene is the essence of the book but would require two immediate flashbacks. The second possibility is the scene that points out the dilemma but it's a talky scene. The third is a driving scene that's in reaction to her discovery of her dilemma. The last possibility casts her in the most negative light so maybe it's not a good place to start. If a unlikable person puts a reader off, this would be most likely beginning to do it, but it does allow me to move forward instead of doubling back.
Do you have trouble knowing where to begin your story?
P.S. Now two recent readers have told me I am writing a rumination on an artist's life with crime elements. WTF. How did that happen? How do I pitch this?

Super Tuesday

Yesterday two friends sent me detailed defenses of Hillary Clinton, one from Robin Morgan, the other from Stanley Fish. You can find either editorial by googling their name. I do believe an agenda is being served with the attacks on Hillary Clinton and that many of these attacks are orchestrated by the Republican Party and the media. Shoot down the stronger candidate now--or at least the one that appeared to be the stronger candidate.
It is easier to get away with attacking a woman than a black man. Racism trumps sexism as an issue as it did in the sixties. We can talk about ironing shirts but not about shining shoes. It is sickening that there are still people who would define either of these candidates in this way.
The important thing to remember is that the Democrats have come up with two highly credible candidates that are both from minority groups. Can you imagine the Republicans even choosing a VP from either group much less a President? And instead of reveling in how far we have come, we have been manipulated into choosing one and denigrating the other. I'm not talking about a vote in a primary but a public show of preference, name-calling and sickening jokes.
Hillary or Obama, take your pick. I will happily vote for either-- candidates who care about universal health care, an end to the insanity it Iraq, a serious commitment to improving the environment, insuring children don't go to bed hungry, a fair tax system, better schools. The list goes on.
It is so important to stand behind whoever the nominee is because we are in danger of doing what seemed impossible a few months ago--losing the White House to another supporter of the war, someone else who says America first, last and always and the rest of the world be damned. Sure McCain looks good next to George Bush but they are not very different at all. They didn't look very different eight years ago and time has not changed that.

Some Things I Have Recently Enjoyed

Persepolis. I admired more than loved this movie because the story was so familiar (not the author's fault) from Reading Lolita in Tehran. But the images were haunting and the story clearly told. A good capsule of what's happend over the last 30 years. And some of the artwork is stunning.
In Treament is my new addiction. Five nights, five patients, each of them telling a story that is poignant and riveting. All of this is held together by therapist, Gabriel Byrnes, who sees his own therapist on Fridays. I didn't like HBO's fall try at a therapy series but this one, minus the embarrassing clinical sex, looks to be a winner.
I've only seen the first two episodes of this Breaking Bad but Brian Cranston holds the screen with the story of a high school chemistry teacher with lung cancer who raises money to suppost his family (his son has CP and his wife is pregnant) by opening a crystal meth lab in the dessert. It manages to be funny, sad and engrossing so far.
This book defies the notion that a murder must happen by page 3. No crimes take place for 3/4 of the book and I was not bored for a second. Willeford is a genius at setting , character and atmosphere, and most of all, humor. I laughed more reading this book than anything I can remember. I dread the day when I close my last Willeford book

Insomnia's my middle name

Dinner conversation tonight: what do you watch at 2:00am when you can't sleep? My husband picks movies. It doesn't matter where in the movie or whether he's seen it. He just likes the pace and feel of a movie to get him sleepy.
I can't do this. I have to watch a movie from the beginning, even if I've seen it.
Our two guests, not married, both admit to watching infomercials. Neither cook yet both are mesmerized by cooking gadgets-blenders, processors, coffee-makers, knives. At some point I learned how to tune out commercials (much like Sunday sermons) so this isn't for me either.
I watch old sitcoms-I need a narrative, something cheerful, something short. I wish there was a channel that always had an old sitcom on at 2:00. Maybe Sports Night or Frasier or The Larry Sanders Show.

What do you watch at 2:00 am?

Is sending out queries hard for you too?

Here I am after two weeks of doing this and I have only sent out 8 queries to agents. What makes me so resistant to doing this? Is it fear of failure? Is it the work involved in figuring how who, when, where and what? Something stands between me and finishing this task. Is it hard for everyone or do you whizz through it? So many of their websites seem to chide you for bothering them. Or warn you. Some seem determined to reject you from the start. Are these people any nicer once they've taken you on?