Writing Experiments

Happy finals week... to anyone still having to take them. I have one last paper to turn in and I swear, it is this close to being done. That's what today is for. And yet, as you're reading, I feel the the need to make another post. The need itches. Like a sunburn. Or something less peely.

I recently made an account on this fascinating website called Figment.

The website takes its inspiration from Japanese cell phone novels or keitai shosetsu. Writers will choose monikers and create novels from the bits and pieces... the steady flow of words that come unedited to be shared with the world. Some had become so popular that publishers picked them up and they made it on bestsellers lists. Read the article The New Yorker wrote about it for a better idea. With all this buzz, the founders of Figment want to see what we can do in America.

This is isn't the first website of its kind. However, the design of the pages are so inviting and it's hard not to get caught up in the adventure and goodwill that comes with the launch of a new idea.

With sharing stories comes the knowledge that all serious writers know about concerning the availability of online writing and publishing (And I won't go into it for the sake of avoiding ranting and/or being just plain boring). So how could I participate in this with a clear, carefree attitude? By writing something exclusively in mind for Figment.

Presenting my new side project: Birdcage Girl.

Birdcage Girl is a mock cell phone novel that I'll be working on for as long as the story keeps coming. I've written five chapters so far, each of them only a few hundred words long. I'm thinking flash fiction. Very small snippets that will, in the end, add up to a larger story. At least, that's the plan.

The little novel centers around 18-year-old Ashlyn and her mother (aptly named "her mother" for now). Ashlyn spends most of her days in a wire birdcage, wheeling herself around the house and secretly planning her escape. Why is she in a cage? Who put her there? How will she get out? Are those enough hooks for you? Haha.

The personal goal for me is to come up with the quirkiest characters I can, along with bizarre situations and circumstances. I can't wait to see where it takes me and I hope, as readers, you will share in that curiosity. It is free - of course. Just letting you know. You know? Just click on the picture of my hasty book cover to read what I've got so far - and check my link at the top of the blog when this post finally shifts down the page. Feedback would be great, whether through the site or comments on here. I'm listening :)

Oh. I say "mock" cell phone novel because I own a terrible cell phone for writing. Therefore, I simply can't write anything on it (and even text messages from me are horrendous specimens). Sure, my little helper glows like a rainbow when someone is calling, and it's sleek and green and can do tricks. But really, it's so old it's not in stores anymore. It came before the time of keyboards. So, yes, I don't even have a keyboard. Don't pity me.

I'm stretching my imagination by way of flash fiction. I try to put myself on the bus, or train, typing away on a small screen. Creating something that grows with each word.

Oh. My cell phone says "Hi!"

It's Winter Now?

The grass is green, the trees are heavy with leaves, and the sun is beating down on my back. Yes. This sounds like winter. And again, like every winter before, I'm disappointed in my lack of aching fingers and wind-raw cheeks.

It's amazing to see what kinds of snowy contraptions are created to help us Floridians realize it's actually winter. Without wreaths hanging from palm trees and Christmas lights burning up the night, we would continue walking through the days without any knowledge of the seasons. Some people, surprisingly, don't mind this.

I ran into a lady a few weeks ago and we fell into polite conversation in the grocery line:

Me: It's getting a little cooler out, isn't it?
Her: Oh, god. You're so right. It's terrible.
Me: What?
Her: I hate it! You know, last winter it was so cold! We had two whole weeks of it. I thought I was going to die.

Me: (After frowning a bit) But don't you find the chilly wind even a little helpful when you get hot flashes?
Her: (Blinks slowly) Oh. I... never thought of it like that. I guess you're right.

Small victories, ladies and gents.

This morning, we spent a few hours at the mall. I came away with a Little Twin Stars ring and a giant sticker of the same Lala and Kiki that I will be sticking on something very special - when it comes in the mail (More on that in future posts).

Every mall has a Santa to sit on. This mall was no different... except, well, they pulled out all the stops. The exhibit (I can think of no other word) is called the Ice Palace. The theme? Narnia: Voyage of the Dawn Treader. I stood on the second floor, admiring the giant bubble palace of ice and snow. Photos of all the characters decorated the gates around the palace, and there were even life-size plastic figures of such characters as Lucy and Edmund, acting out scenes we'll see when the movie comes out. It was beautiful.

There were two difference spots to get your picture taken. One was shaped just like a throne that would hold the caboose of the evil White Witch. However, the other one was a cozy chair made just for Santa. As I watched the little kids run up to the bearded man and beg for gifts, I saw a teenager dressed in a Cinderella dress waiting in line.

I thought that she was working there at first. A weird crossover, but hey, it's possible. However, she moved with the line and did get her picture taken on the White Witch's throne. The Cinderella dress was full of sparkles, just like the crown on her head. I never related Cinderella to winter, though, now that I've seen the snow and ice side by side with the dress, I wonder why I never did. I thought the teen was very brave too. Wearing costumes is a lot of fun, but usually is the norm when you're at a Halloween party or at a convention. Seeing her wearing it out at the beginning of December was just plain awesome I'm proud of her.

So I think I got a bit of a good chill when I got home. The plastic snowmen and penguins outside amongst the flowers made me believe, for a few minutes, that there was frost on the ground. It was fleeting, I admit. But the stirring of hope was much appreciated. Time to break out the apple cider.

Hm. And make more progress on my manuscript. Heh.

UPDATE:

Okay. So only a few days after posting this, I found that a bunch of people are buzzing about the Narnia Ice Palaces. They're invading malls all over with Aslan goodness. Here's an article all about it that I had to share.

Small world!

I'm Watching You, Little German Village

Today is Thanksgiving Day. I hope everyone out there has had a great one. As for me, there isn't much family left here, so I spent most of the day at the Magic Kingdom, and then came home to some delicious leftovers and watched alien shows on the History channel all evening (not my idea, I swear).

Although I had a super time at the Magic Kingdom, my thoughts strayed to my favorite park, Epcot, this evening.

There are many reasons why I love Epcot, but the one I am determined to write about goes way back. In fact, I always vowed that if I ever started a blog, I would post about this one thing frequently. What is it? Well, the little train village in Germany.

The village is a mini-scale model of a vast village, complete with a town square, a castle in the bushy background, and many, many trains. The figurines intrigue me the most and I'm always leaning over the bars, wondering about the little guys and what stories they have. I think I stare so ardently that tourists mistake me for some train fanatic. Truth be told, again, it's not the trains that impress me.

I've taken loads of pictures of the village over the years. I have a fairly good idea where most of the figurines are and what they've been up to. So when I went back this fall, after not having gone for at least a few weeks (yeah, it was a killer to wait so long), I saw a change.

Observe.

On the corner of the display is a church. A wedding has always occurred. Here's picture of it from 2009:

What a joyous wedding it is! There are plenty of figurines gathered to witness the moment. A lot of them are wearing hats. I think it's because of the Florida weather. I don't know what's it's like in Germany, but if those folks are supposed to stand outside for another couple years, they are going to need to those hats. We only get a few good weeks of cold. The rest is like sitting in an oven. Or a kiln, I guess, since we're outside. This state considers us no better than a bunch of soggy ceramic pieces (I'd be a nail-printed bowl). Only when we pass out on the ground is it alright to send a merciful breeze through. The bride and groom are lucky enough to be standing under the shade of the church. The groom poses proudly; he looks like he has no trouble holding up his bride. And the bride - well, she looks content. Not happy. No, this is a much deeper feeling. See how her arms are legs are relaxed? She's not stretching in his arms, getting ready to throw a bouquet. She's not fist-pumping like she just scored a touchdown. No. She looks serene.

There are a lot of other figurines around the church that are just as intriguing, such as the lonely man on the bench below the church steps. Is he the uninvited guest? A mere passerby? I mused about him a lot. There's also the hunter and the deer, both balanced on mountains separated by the church. The deer is always on its side. Has it been shot, or is it just an accident of the wind? (I promise I'll post pictures of them eventually).

The family and I got into the habit of walking up the Canada side of the World Showcase, so the wedding would always be the first group of figurines I'd see when we got to Germany. I didn't worry about them. I was thinking about the deer.

So I graduate from college. I know that graduation always brings about change, but I never expected to see a change in the German village. It had been the same for so long.

And now? Well, look what's happened:

The church is barren. A leaf from the tall trees above has floated down to rest of the door of the church (not planned). The only figurine near the the building is a lone nun. She sits solemnly with her hands folded. She's holding the Bible. If she had a face, I wonder what her expression would be? Maybe she knows what happened to the newlyweds. For some reason, I don't feel like it's happy. There's a quiet eeriness there.

You know, something interesting happened while I was searching my desktop for all these pictures. I zoomed in very close to get the close ups of the figurines and, in the process, made a discovery that adds to the mystery. In the new picture, with the nun, there is a figurine standing on a bottom step. I noticed, much to my surprise, that he is the same figure that is standing in the front in the wedding photo - he has his arms up like he's looking a long distance and he wears a red jacket. Here he is in the new one:

Scroll up the wedding picture if you don't believe me.

There's a story here, no doubt. Perhaps the man has a relationship with the nun. If so, he could be admiring her from afar, wishing she would give up her vows so that they could run off together. Maybe he knows that she knows something about the wedding, and he is going to interrogate her. What do you think?

I'd like to meet whoever is in charge of this model village. I really would. To me, this type of storyteller is special. Everything is laid out before you like a silent film with missing dialogue. Whoever is willing to take the time to examine such a complex creation will, indeed, find a story waiting to be told.

Dogs

I like to conjure up a particular image when someone asks me if I like dogs. I say, imagine that I'm standing in this dark, foggy alleyway at night. There's a chill in the air and I'm breathing hard because I can feel someone following me. Well, I hear someone shout, "Get her!" and I see, coming through the haze, a pack of dogs dashing toward me. Their eyes glow red, spit slaps their cheeks, and their snarls could make a grown man cry. What do I do? The only thing I can. I fall to my knees with the biggest smile, my hands open wide. "C'mere," I coo. I wait for them, sincerely expecting them to devour my face with kisses instead of... well... actually devouring it. Yes. It's strictly unconditional.

Naturally, I'm also one of the ten percent of people out there who hate movies where dogs die. I think there's even a book inspired by it... called No More Dead Dogs by Gordon Kormen. I haven't read it yet, but this is interesting to note. I can give you numerous stories of how sick I feel when I run into these on-screen or in-pages dog deaths. The most recent one had me so disturbed that I had to pause the movie for at least twenty minutes until I could calm down. That movie is going to collect dust... or forever have that opening scene (opening scene? Come on!) forever skipped. Ugh. Gives me the shivers.

"Do you like dogs?" Isn't that the best opening line for the start of a friendship? Of course, it can come off as a little strange if their are no actual dogs around. Or puppy mugs. Or even a pin. That's how it started out: this one tiny friendship I had in high school. We got off at the same bustop. We lived in the same development. We walked home down the same streets. I couldn't say a word to him because I didn't trust boys who didn't sing video game lyrics at the lunch table and couldn't fathom the satisfaction of playing a Pokemon card battle.

"Do you like dogs?" he asked, as we passed through the gates together. He looked at me, smiling slightly, a little awkward since he knew as well as I did that it was a silly question to ask. But then again, any question used to break the ice of a non-existent acquaintanceship has to be sharp at the edges.

"I love them," I replied, after a pause, and we both smiled and laughed away the strangeness of that beginning.

For the next year, we waited for each other to get off the bus and conquered all kinds of topics on the way to our respective homes. We never hung out any other time and when some one else decided to walk with us we both felt offended that we had been interrupted. There was a meandering repetitiveness to our ambles home. It was nice and we both liked having company since the Florida heat was unforgiving and you needed something to make you forget about the sweat sinking into your mind. And then I went to college.

He's gone now. I mean, really gone. I remember driving home from college on a long weekend and seeing the ribbons flapping in the breeze, tied in some way to every house on the block. Small memories. Small friendships. I do believe they all matter, even if we can't always guess why.

He used to earn money by pet sitting for the neighbors. Always a responsible boy. He would do great things with his golf swing and trusty persona. I don't remember if he had a pet. Or a dog. I'm sure, even if he didn't, he loved them.

The family dog, Misty, is smelling my messenger bag and purse. Her little brown nose picks up the scent of three other dogs. She wags her tail at me but she looks confused. "Don't worry," I tell her, scratching under her ears, "I didn't cheat on you. You're my favorite." She kisses me on the cheek and trots away after hearing the crackle of a bag.

Misty giving her sleepy stink eye to the camera.

What I'm Doing When I'm Not Writing: Writers' Harvest

I have a feeling that this might be a reoccurring title... which is why I added the magnanimous colon to make this post specific. Since this is the novel writing month, my mind is wired with guilt for every minute I'm not writing something to add to the word count race. This isn't my first time writing a manuscript, but since the main structure of this one is not quite so linear, writing it is strange and wonderful, but mostly frustrating. Ah, yes. Sounds like I'm right on track.

So this past Monday I went to the Writers' Harvest, an amazing event that our department put together to help raise money and collect cans for Feeding America. I happily brought my cans, listening to them clank in a tinny, musical way. The sun had long set when we got there and the venue, Ella's Folk Art Cafe, was alive and waiting. The building was two-stories, inviting and exotic with its artistic atmosphere and earth-tone colors. We all gathered around the first couple tables, taking in the colorful bar and metal sculptures; Ella's is usually closed on Mondays, so we felt special standing within its doors.

Photo Courtesy of Claire Stephens

Haha, here I am on the left, wearing what I call my "Sci-fi shirt." I fell in love with the teal stripes and the band of brass buttons along the collar. I think I gained a bit of money experience after manning the USF booth at the Other Words Conference, so I volunteered to sell the featured writers' books, tag teaming with fellow MFAer, Alan. With a full bar at my fingertips, I ordered a Diet Coke and got to work...

There are a ton of great readers, the four main ones being Ira Sukrungruang, Jeffrey Thomson, Rita Ciresi, and Katie Riegel. Three MFA students - Melissa Caroll, Jaquira Diaz, and Tristina Dickerson, were also featured and really knocked it out of the park. Sadly, I couldn't see any of them reading from my spot. As the books flew out of my hands, I simply enjoyed listening. The table was awfully comfortable and I rested my chin on my arms and was taken away by the soothing and humorous words floating over my head.

The night ended with hands sore from clapping. The night air was cool, but not cold, and I joined my grad friends in casual conversation. When I say casual, I mean what we all normally talk about - literature and writing. The topic was a heated debate about the literary cannon, among other things. My contribution was a few chuckles and nods and gasps as hands slammed the table and voices rose in good cheer and banter.

While it's always fun to talk about, I don't think we'll ever have an answer to the final, official cannon. The best thing about this is that all of us individually make connections with various authors. There's something cozy about this. You find an author buried somewhere on a shelf or in a pile and you are drawn in like all the magnets in the world are packed within the pages. It's as magical as examining the brush strokes of an old master's painting , more private than the discovery of a breathtaking band.

When we find those authors that mean the most to us, I like to imagine that tiny networks form and stretch over time and space that connect us. How many times (and I guess I'm asking mainly English majors) have you daydreamed about sitting across a table with your favorite writer or poet? What would you say? What would he or she say, for that matter?

I'm wearing a mudmask as I'm typing this. My quiet smiles make the clay on my cheeks crack. It's a good night for thinking.