Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion
Brainstormin' Help
>
Get to Know Your Character(Popcorn Served)
message 251:
by
M
(new)
Nov 23, 2011 12:19PM
Alex, this is one of the best things I’ve read in the Popcorn Served thread! It’s complex, develops tension, and makes me wonder what’s going to happen next. Sorry I’ve taken so long to get to it. I’m going to spend the next few days drinking mead and eating turkey legs at a big Renaissance festival near Houston, but I promise to check in as soon as I get back. Happy Thanksgiving!
reply
|
flag
Dude, Al. I LOVE Hamlet! :D "Goodnight, sweet prince..."I'm gonna read your stuff later. Promise, sis. :D
Is it bad that, as I'm reading this, I'm running through much better interrogation techniques in my head?I'm not demeaning your writing in any way, Al. This is fun.
Just thought I'd mention a few things about interrogation. One, and most important: torture does not work. Assuming the prisoner doesn't just focus on one thing (like name, rank, serial number, and date of birth) to deal with the pain, it also usually just gets a lie to make the pain stop.
Second, threatening to kill someone only works on and idiot or when there are multiple prisoners. Multiple prisoners, the interrogator can kill one to make a point, or threaten to kill one to make the other talk. A single prisoner however, once dead, is useless. Any remotely aware lone prisoner would realize that they can't kill him and still get their information.
The best (brutal) interrogation is to control the prisoner's state of mind. You hurt them, and all they think about is how to make the pain stop (lying) and how much they hate you. Threaten them with pain, however, without actually doing it to them and they start imagining how bad it would be. They wonder how it could get worse, and ultimately want to do whatever it takes to convince you to not only make it better, but also not make it worse (if you're already torturing them, it can't really get much worse).
Also you, as the interrogator, want to convince them it is in their best interest to tell the truth. So you have to hide what information you know and what information you want. You ask a series of questions that you know the answer to, so that you can catch them in a lie and show them what happens when they lie. (For cops, this is scraping the deal that's on the table, or threatening to.) If the prisoner doesn't know what information he needs to conceal and what they already know then he'll likely let slip at least one piece of information while trying to avoid the undelivered punishment. If you can convince him you're after something else, and already know what you're really after, they might fall for the feint - it'd be a nice touch.
That's interrogation 101. There are actually many different varieties of effective interrogation, and how they are implemented is complicated and a case-by-case basis. It's a game of chess - no one set of moves is going to garuntee a win, so you have to know how to adapt.
I hope that was interesting and not too annoying.
Yeah, I kind of figured you knew what you were doing. Excellent surmisization, by the way. Good to see someone else who understands interrogation.
Well ... that was depressing.Very well done.
Nate! And some random woman ... Are you trying to distract me all night?
What I meant is I think I know what is going on and what's coming next ... to a point, anyway.
Penelope: (With a worried glance at the cabin.) We’ve got to get her to eat.(Spades nods. Penelope goes up the steps, followed by Squirrel and Spades. The steps have sand on them, blown from the dunes by the wind. Spades closes the door. He hesitates, then goes to Tavy’s cot while Penelope takes steaks out of the cast-iron stove. Squirrel, watching from the ancient butcher block used as a table, finishes the olive he had started on when Mrs. Muir had knocked. Tavy is sleeping deeply, apparently in the midst of bad dreams. Spades sits down on the cot beside her. When he touches her, she gasps loudly and her eyes fly open. Seeing him, she throws her arms around him and buries her face in his shirt. For a while he just holds her, running his fingers through her hair.)
Tavy: I don’t want to leave you.
Spades: I don’t want you to.
Tavy: (Smiling weakly, touching his cheek.) You remind me of my father.
Spades: I can’t imagine. (Shaking his head.) There’s nothing scholarly about me.
Tavy: (Taking a deep breath.) You’re going to have to kill me, Spades. (Tears run down her cheeks.)
Spades: (For a moment speechless.) Tavy, I can’t do that.
(Tavy kisses him. Her lips and face are as cold as her hands.)
Tavy: If you love me, you won’t let me become what Celia became.
Spades: (Taking her hands.) I want you to try to eat something.
Tavy: I’m not hungry. (Looking beseechingly into his eyes.) I don’t feel anything but cold.
Spades: Please. Even if it makes you sick. Even if you throw it up.
(Tavy shudders, as though a wave of nausea has come over her. She looks at him as if she would rather do anything than try to eat. Spades gets up off the cot. He helps her sit up, helps her put her moccassins on. Penelope, who has set the steaks, potatoes, and salads out on the table, goes to the sofa, picks up a shawl, and wraps it around Tavy’s shoulders. Though the cottage is warm from the stove, Tavy shivers as she walks between them to the table. Squirrel watches nervously, nibbling on a piece of pimiento from an olive.)
Tavy: Hello, General Patton.
Squirrel: Hello, Tavy.
(The sight and smell of the steaks seems to fill Tavy with revulsion, but she forces herself to sit down when Spades pulls out a chair for her.)
Tavy: I feel dirty.
Penelope: (Sitting down at the table.) What do you mean, Tavy?
Tavy: That girl who bit me. I can’t describe how filthy she was. (Picking up a fork and knife, she cuts a small bite.)
Spades: (Pulling his chair up, he starts picking through his salad.) You’re telling me. I had two of them on me. (He shudders.)
Penelope: (With a disapproving glance at Spades.) There isn’t anything in that salad that isn’t good for you to eat.
(Squirrel gives Spades a cockeyed look, rolling his eyes and indicating Penelope with a quick tilt of his head. Tavy smiles fleetingly.)
Spades: I can hardly wait to get a bath.
Squirrel: (Giving him a sidelong look.) You can hardly wait? (Spearing a piece of salad with an hors d’oeuvre fork.) I smelled better than that when we were fighting the Germans at Mount Etna.
Spades: Isn’t there a place with warm spring water near here?
Tavy: (Nods.) The lagoon. (With a look of disgust, as though she were putting something putrid in her mouth, Tavy eats a piece of steak. The others look on with concern. She chews slowly and, visibly exercising a great deal of willpower, swallows it rather than spitting it out.)
Penelope: Can you read my thoughts?
Tavy: Some. (She looks around for something to drink.) My mind isn’t very clear, though.
(Spades gets up. In the little kitchen, he fills a glass with ice from the bucket, then holds it under the pump. When he brings it to her, she takes a sip and gives him a grateful glance.)
Tavy: (Looking across the table at Penelope.) You’re afraid for Spades. (She looks back down at her plate. Overcoming an obvious urge to push herself away from the table, she cuts another small piece of steak, puts it in her mouth, and chews it up.)
Penelope: Well, what’s the worst thing that can happen to me? I could wind up as marsh gas. (She sighs.) It isn’t as though I haven’t been there.
Spades: (Through a mouthful of potato.) I think I can take care of myself.
(Tavy and and Penelope look up from their plates with expressions of mixed amusement and horror. Squirrel saws away at his little slab of steak. Spades takes a knife and cuts it up for him.)
Squirrel: Thank you, young man!
Spades: My pleasure, sir.
Squirrel: How did you get involved in a dungeon adventure?
Spades: (Turning back to his own plate.) I was tired of being broke. I found out that there was a dungeon under the town, but that it had been closed years before. (He reaches for his glass and takes a swig of sour mash. The ice clinks in the glass.) I came across a friend of mine who was a cleric. We rounded up a couple of girls to keep us company, and went down there for a look. (Leaving his glass to keep the salad-dressing carafe company, he jabs at his salad with a fork.)
Tavy: One of them was Colleen?
(Spades nods, a sudden remorseful expression in his eyes.)
Squirrel: Did you find a treasure?
Spades: (Brightening, his mouth full.) Uhm hmm! (He finishes chewing.) Somebody had robbed the city bank and taken the haul down there.
(Tavy cuts another piece of steak and forces herself to eat it, then timidly tries some of the salad.)
Penelope: Why did you have to deal with those horrid reptiles?
Spades: The dungeons had been closed because they had flooded. The eel monsters got in there afterwards, from an underground swamp.
Tavy: (Setting her fork carefully on her plate.) I’m feeling remarkably ill. (She looks at them apologetically.) If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go back to bed.
Penelope: Of course.
(Tavy gets up and goes back to her cot. Penelope covers her with blankets, then returns to the table, looking very worried. For a while they eat in silence.)
Penelope: (In a low voice, with a hopeful tone.) She ate almost a third of her steak.
Squirrel: (Munching an almond slice.) I’m not sure how to ask this, but, uhm, do you feel at liberty to give us any information about what’s going on in her mind? Do we have reason to be afraid of being murdered in our sleep?
Penelope: (Hesitantly, looking first at Spades, then at Squirrel.) Her mind is so chaotic I can’t make much sense of what I read in it. Her level of consciousness is very low, virtually like that of an animal. She’s operating almost entirely on instinct.
Spades: (Cutting up more of his steak.) Is she hungry for blood?
Penelope: (Shaking her head.) Strangely, no. Mostly she just feels sick to death. I guess the transformation isn’t complete. (Worriedly, picking up her fork and digging at her potato.) She is hungry, though. (She looks at Spades.) For you.
(In unison, they glance across the room at the blanketed figure of Tavy, where she lies on her cot before the fireplace. The slow rise and fall of her breathing tells them she’s fallen into a deep sleep.)
Squirrel: She hasn’t used her powers on Spades before.
Penelope: Her father raised her to have scruples and a sensitive conscience. She isn’t herself right now, though.
Spades: She could be at our throats tonight.
(Penelope nods. Squirrel picks up the shot glass and takes a gulp. Under his hair, his ears turn red.)
Squirrel: If she turns me into a vampire, I’m gonna sink my fangs in Nightmare’s ass.
(When they’ve finished eating, Penelope yawns.)
Penelope: Is it going to bother anyone if I don’t clean up the dishes until later?
Spades: (Shrugs.) Won’t bother me.
(Penelope goes to Spades and kisses him.)
Penelope: Goodnight. (She glances at Squirrel.) Goodnight, Squirrel.
Squirrel: Goodnight, ma’am.
(Penelope lies down on the couch, pulls up a blanket, and is soon asleep. Spades makes himself another drink. He and Squirrel sit at the table, talking about the war.)
Spades: Tell me what happened when you landed at Casablanca.
Squirrel: (Sipping scotch.) Well, there was a Vichy-French warship that fired on us when we first got there . . .
Alex, I hoped you would like it! Tavy’s going to seduce Spades in the next installment, but I’ve got to go out of town tomorrow. Sorry for taking so long to catch up on this thread.
I haven’t looked over most of these posts in weeks or months. It took me a couple of hours just to figure out what was going on in the Spades-and-Penelope story. Originally, I wasn’t going to do a relationship between Tavy and Spades. I was going to have her turn into a vampire and run off to the Moat, and have the others go looking for her. That left me with such an empty feeling, I decided not to do it.What made you suspect Tavy would use her powers on him finally?
Alex, there’s nothing bad about your writing. You manage to write a lot! I’m very slow.
Alex, I haven’t read what you posted, but I promise to read it tomorrow. I’m behind on the threads. This installment has gone on longer than I had intended, and now it’s late. If it’s too mature and I need to take it down, let me know.-------------------------
(Penelope wakes up thirsty. Getting up off the couch, she goes to see about Tavy, who is sleeping uneasily. Penelope lays her palm lightly on the girl’s forehead. Quietly, she then goes to the little kitchen. Squirrel and Spades are still sitting at the table. With a needle and thread, Squirrel is hooking pieces of garlic together like a string of beads.)
Penelope: (Picking up her glass and taking it to the sink.) What are you making, Squirrel, a bracelet?
Squirrel: I’m going to wear this around my neck tonight when I go to sleep.
Spades: He wants to dream about Italian food.
Penelope: (Holding her glass under the pump.) Good luck sleeping with that under your nose.
Spades: (Indicating Tavy.) How is she?
Penelope: High fever. (Drinks the water.) She may be delirious.
Squirrel: So, we’re cooped up in a shack with Marlaina Trevelyan’s delirious daughter, who probably has enough inherited magical power to fly us all and that bear to the moon on a piece of driftwood.
Spades: (Pours another ounce or to of whiskey into his glass, then reaches into the galvanized bucket for the last of the ice.) Thank you, General, for putting us all at ease.
(Penelope takes the tumbler from him, adds water to his drink, then hands it back.)
Spades: Thanks, Nel. (Gives her a grateful look.) What would I do without you?
Penelope: How much of that have you had? (She picks up the bottle.)
Squirrel: If a vampire bites him--and I won’t name any names--, he probably won’t feel a thing.
Penelope: Goodnight, you two.
Spades: Goodnight, Nel. I won’t be far behind.
Squirrel: I could make one of these for you, Penelope, if you’d like.
(Penelope shakes her head, then goes back to the couch. When Spades makes his way to his cot, Tavy appears to be in a deep sleep.)
Spades: (In barely a whisper.) Goodnight, sweet girl. If I had a god to pray to, I’d pray for you.
(Some time later, Spades awakens to hear Squirrel mumbling and cursing.)
Squirrel: God-forsaken, stinking stuff!
(Struggling with the garlic band, unable to untie it, Squirrel wrenches it from his neck, rears up, and hurls it across the room. His whiskers twitching with annoyance, he watches its progress as it skids across the table, knocks over the parmesan cheese can, and thunks against the ice pail. Then he curls up on his cushion and goes to sleep.)
Penelope: (Sitting up.) What was that?
Spades: Mice.
(Spades is dreaming. He has tried to explain to Colleen why he can’t leave the dungeon, go back above ground--that he’s a player in the game whose time is long up. He has fallen asleep on the big, circular bed. He can feel her hair on his face.)
Colleen: You’re talking in your sleep.
Spades: (Touching her cheek.) You’re burning up.
(Spades can feel the warmth of her breath on his face. Her lips touch his.)
Colleen: I want to spend my life with you.
Spades: I can’t go with you.
Colleen: (Whispering.) I’ve taken care of everything. (She kisses him again.) They’re asleep and will never know.
Spades: (Wearily.) The dungeonmaster never sleeps. (He shakes his head.) This time I won’t be so lucky.
Colleen: We all have to die sometime.
(It seems a strange thing for her to say. He feels her lips again. Her tongue finds his, arousing him.)
Spades: It isn’t the time for this.
(He feels her hand slide along under the sheet and find him and linger there playfully.)
Colleen: What’s the matter, darling? Are you afraid I’ll have a witch child?
(Wondering what she means by that, he feels the cool air of their room at the hotel as she pulls back the blanket, and he wonders if the sliding door has been left open. She pulls the sheet back, unbottons his pajama top, and looks at him a moment.)
Colleen: You have scars.
(She helps him out of his pajama top, then she slides the pajama bottoms off of him.)
Spades: It was nice of your father to leave me his pajamas.
(It occurs to Spades that he has never met her father. What father of Colleen’s wouldn’t like to kill him? Then he feels her weight as she straddles him. He runs his hands along her firm waist.)
Spades: Do you think it’s a good idea to leave the door open?
(Suddenly his face is again draped by her black hair, and there is the smell of her skin, of her warm breath, then the taste of her mouth on his. Farther down, he feels her hand searching him, feels her fingers, then the sudden wet warmth of her. She tries to squelch an utterance of pain. As though a spell has been broken, he finds himself looking into Tavy’s face.)
Spades: (Startled.) Tavy!
(He tries to push her off of him, but has no strength.)
Tavy: (Soothingly.) Don’t talk, darling.
(She’s unclothed. Her hands are warm, her skin no longer pallid but flushed, her hair tangled, as though she were a wild animal. From her neck, her crucifix swings on its silver chain. Her usually clear eyes are bloodshot, and they seem to have hypnotic power. As he looks into them, his thoughts evaporate like mist from hot pavement.)
Tavy: You are soon to be all mine, as I am soon to be all yours.
(The light coming in from the cupola seems diffuse. Her words leave him only the desire to give himself to her in any way she wants. He knows only the smell of her, the taste of her as she bends again to him, the feel of her body’s rhythmic movements, the premonitory signal of her inner pulsations, until a shuddering moment when with wordless exclamations she throws her head back, her eyes closed, and he feels as though his heart and soul have sought to escape him by erupting into her. Moments later, her head lolls and she exhales a long sigh, then falls forward onto him, her crucifix at first cold between them, her mussed hair in his face. He puts his arms around her and holds her. Her face is hot against his neck, and he can feel her fingers clutching him.)
Spades: Tavy, I can’t imagine this is what your father would have wanted.
(Beyond the tangles of her hair, Spades can see her father’s oars and fishing rods that are stored on the rafters.)
Tavy: My father isn’t here anymore to tell me what he would want.
(They fall asleep in each other’s arms. Spades has dreams of school, of final exams, and of an architecture project he hasn’t finished. He wakes up to the sound of Penelope’s yawns. Nearby, on the couch, she has her blanket wrapped tightly around her. On his small cushion by the fireplace, Squirrel is alternately snoring and, in his sleep, giving orders to some lieutenant.)
Penelope: (Liberating herself from her covers, she sits up and rubs her eyes.) I don’t think I’ve slept that well in a long time. (Looking around the cottage, suddenly alarmed.) Where’s Tavy?
Spades: (Seeing the empty cot.) I don’t know.
(There’s a sound of footsteps. The latch clinks and the door opens. Tavy enters, dressed in clean clothes. Her hair is combed but damp. In her hands are soap, shampoo, a washcloth, and a wet towel.)
Penelope: (Getting up.) Tavy! (She goes to her.) How are you feeling?
Tavy: (Smiles weakly.) I’m not ready for rowing practice, but I feel better now that I’ve had a bath.
Penelope: (Relieved, she hugs her.) Some of your color has come back! I was very afraid for you.
Tavy: Thank you, Nel.
(Hung over, Spades starts to throw back the sheet and get out of bed, when he realizes he doesn’t have any pajamas on.)
Penelope: I wonder if there’s any pancake mix in the cold room?
Tavy: I believe there is. (The cold room door appears.) I think it’s on the second set of shelves. (She puts down the soap and towel.) I’ll help clean up the plates from last night.
Thanks, Alex! I’m sorry to be posting so late. I’ll be back to do some reading on this thread after I get my first cup of coffee in the morning. Good night!
You’re very good with dialog! I’m not entirely sure what’s going on in the story, but the last installment you posted piqued my curiosity with the relationship between Richard and the wife he doesn’t know or love. In the ways that matter, many or most married people hardly know the person they’re married to. A story exploring that might be interesting!
I think this is a witty sequence:Dr. F: I don’t want you to sleep yet, I want to know what’s going on with you.
Elle: You tell me, you’re the doctor. What do the tests results show?
Dr. F: Nothing, absolutely nothing.
Elle: Hmm, are you holding them the wrong way?
I think the observation about Frank, that as an ordinary person he would be “dull, without a personality, with everything she loved about him gone” is very interesting in light of Jung’s notion that aspects of a person that exercise a mesmerizing hold over us are really projected aspects of the unconscious in ourselves, that we see reflected in someone else, in someone our psyche is using as a mirror, in order to see itself.
It may be that Elle has used Frank like a coat hook to hang a psychological projection on, and that when the projection is withdrawn, as happens in this installment, Putnam can be seen for what he is, just an ordinary person.
Showing the characters the way they actually are is a fascinating twist!
Hi, Alex! Freaky seems to be what I am. If it’s a good thing, I’m glad.
Alex, I just read your latest installment. It was so good, I couldn’t stop reading! I wonder if you realize how much more interesting Putnam is now that you’ve made him ordinary. As a psychopath, he couldn’t love Al, but he can now.
You don’t have to love somebody you’re crazy about. Love is what’s required when it comes to ordinary people, who have all kinds of ordinary problems and who can’t hope to cast a spell over you.It’s time for me to crash. See you tommorrow!
The worst thing about a 350Z is finding a dead woman in the passenger seat. I used to have a London Fog trenchcoat. I loved it.I’m reading the installments in reverse order. I may not get to all of them tonight. I have a feeling Al has glimpsed a side of Frank that’s may exert a more irresistable and lasting attraction than his dark side. That’s what happened to M with Alison.
Elle’s mother has a boyfriend? You’ve got Hannah stealing cars? I’m curious to know who murdered poor Jerica. The dialog is great! It’s natural and reads easily.
Alex, I’m shocked. “Moats: (He watches her leave, staring at her backside.) Damn hot ass I’d ever seen.” Tsk. Tsk. Do you want to have everyone on Goodreads reading this stuff?My wife probably wonders why I’m sitting over here laughing. “Dr. F: No, I want the Aspirin. (He looks down at himself.) Where are my clothes?”
This is hysterical:“Hannah: Yes indeed! It was strange. I was in the middle of hot wiring Dr. Putnam’s pretty little Nissan 350Z when all of the sudden everything around me vanished. I woke up sleeping on a park bench dressed in nothing but my bunny slippers and a trench coat. It was a very strange day.”
This is glib and wonderful: “Moats: Her fingerprints were all over the accountant.”I just read the most recent installment. Wow! So Ginny was sweet for a while but has turned back into Vanessa. Graphic writing, and very readable.
More tomorrow. I’m going to feed my eBay addiction for a few minutes, then hang up my pirate’s hat for the day. I still have the previous page to catch up on.
M, I agree. Tsk tsk! Alex is my sister after all. ;)
It occurs to me that Dr. Fredericks would wear a Rolex Submariner and keep it in a safe deposit box when he isn’t wearing it. He’d have some underling take it to the bank or retrieve it.
I can tell you what I know about the Submariner. It’s one of the most beautiful diver’s watches ever made, is big and heavy, and is doubtless the most prestigious. You can order them made of solid gold and with diamonds. I’ve seem them for sale as high as $99,000. A plain, stainless one that isn’t collectible costs about $3,500. They’re accurate to within a few seconds a day, but to keep good time, they have to be cleaned and adjusted every five to seven years by someone licensed by Rolex, at which time the technician also replaces the mainspring and any jeweled bearings that are worn. It costs between $400 and $600 to get one serviced. It comes with a bracelet that has a clasp.When my sister was an OR nurse, she knew a surgeon who was trying to sell his Submariner because it cost so much money to keep it running. One of the girls who worked at our clinic had previously worked for a doctor who owned one of those watches. When he wanted to wear it, he would send her to the bank to get it out of a safe deposit box.
Lamentably, I don’t have one. I wear a Seiko. :-(
You could always buy an automatic, though you’d probably have to buy it on eBay, and that’s a let-the-buyer-beware market. You never know what you’ll get. Watches with automatic movements have been obsolete in the U.S. since the 1970’s, when quartz movements came on the scene, but they never need a battery. I got one for our receptionist because there’s no jeweler here (thus, no one reliable) to replace watch batteries. Seiko still makes a lot of automatics. They’re sold overseas, though.
Great photo, Alex! It’s film noir-ish.We spent a long weekend at the other lake, so I’m way behind on the threads. I’m just checking my Goodreads trotlines to see if anybody bit on the hooks I baited last time I was signed in.
This kept me laughing! It’s very witty, and it brings us right back to the beginning of the Popcorn Served thread:Al: *munch, munch* (With mouth full) Dis is ’eally goo’ popcorn, eh, Frank?
Putnam: God, woman! Chew with your mouth closed and don’t talk with it full! Didn’t your mother teach you manners?
Al: Wha’ would you know o’ manners?
Putnam: A lot more than you do, obviously.
Al: Well, sorry, Mr. I’m the Best in the World, but this is really good popcorn and I was hungry, so I couldn’t help but shove it in my mouth and eat it all at once!
Putnam: Sometimes I wonder why I ever “hang out” with you....
In a not-very-good movie, The Fabulous Baker Boys, Michelle Pfeiffer sings “My Funny Valentine.” I thinks that’s probably my Valentine song, though I hadn’t thought about it until you posted #640. The transmission out here is too slow for me to follow links.
I know that song, and I’m very familiar with Tony Bennett, but I’ve never heard him sing it. I’ll check it out. Have you ever heard his version of “The Shadow of Your Smile,” the theme from The Sandpiper? He did that in 1966.
You’re beautiful, Alex! Now I know your secret. It’s the frozen custard.
It’s a tempting topic, the first I’ve found myself mulling over, trying to figure out what I could write for it. I’ve been in so many rooms, so many situations, I shouldn’t have been in.
When I signed the application for the doctoral program in English at Baylor, I lied. I hesitated because I knew I would have to lie to sign it. That’s one thing I could write a story about.
I’ve heard horror stories about tuition these days. Alex, I guess what I’ve heard is too horrifying to have sunk in. A few years ago, I read in The Baylor Line that tuition for four years at Baylor was over $100,000. It made so little sense to me that I might as well have been reading science fiction.I started college in 1979 and finished my B.A. in 1983. I went to Centenary College of Louisiana. It’s a private Methodist school, the oldest college west of the Mississippi River. Tuition was $1,100 a semester. The total cost of my four years of college, a semester of law school, 2 1/2 years of a master’s program in English, a semester of an M.F.A., and three years of a doctoral program in English, including room, board, and books, was less than $90,000.
I don’t know how to advise you, other than to tell you to get a degree in something you can get right of college and make a good living at. Obviously, that means nothing very enjoyable.
I stayed up way past my bedtime last night!A job as a nurse or a medical assistant would be your ticket to independence. The clinic where my wife works uses a lot of medical assistants. Some of them go back to school to become LVN’s or RN’s.
I just checked the cost of Baylor tuition and fees. I can’t believe the cost of a dorm room.
(Perplexed, Spades glances around and retrieves his underwear, then climbs out of bed and puts on his pants and shirt. As he does, the events of the night begin to come back to him. Tavy watches him apprehensively as she carries plates to the sink. The clatter of the plates awakens Squirrel.)Squirrel: (Sitting up.) Damn lieutenants. (He feels around his neck for the string of garlic, then remembers having thrown it across the room. With a look of alarm, he checks his neck carefully to see if he has been bitten.)
Spades: (Smirking.) At ease, Squirrel. There’s not enough blood in you to feed a vampire poodle.
(Penelope comes back from the Cold Room, humming some old song, carrying pancake mix, milk, and a slab of bacon. She sets them down on the big cutting board.)
Penelope: It’s too cold in there for bare feet. (Seeing that Spades is sitting on his cot, dressed.) Get up, sleepyhead. (She looks at Tavy.) How are you feeling?
Tavy: Better. (She gives Penelope an appreciative glance.)
Penelope: Do you still have the vampire girl’s memories?
Tavy: (Nodding.) Whatever it is, I’m not sure I’m over it. (She piles the plates and silverware in the sink.)
Penelope: (Puts her palm on Tavy’s forehead.) At least you aren’t cold and clammy anymore.
Tavy: (Heaving a long sigh.) Nel . . .
Penelope: (Running her fingers through through Tavy’s long hair, she starts to speak but hesitates, as though she hasn’t finished thinking something through. Then she takes Tavy’s face in her hands.) You don’t have to tell me anything, honey. (She puts her arms around her.) I already know.
(Tavy, clutching Penelope, begins to cry, shaking.)
Penelope: (Looking across at Spades.) You belong to Tavy now.
Spades: (Shakes his head.) No, Nel, I don’t.
Penelope: (The expression in her eyes more of hurt and a dread of eventualities than of anger.) I don’t think you understand what’s happened.
Spades: I know very well what I’ve done. (He puts on his shoes and gets up.) But if I belong to anyone, I belong to you. Look, I don’t blame you for being mad at me. I wouldn’t blame you for kicking me out of your life. But don’t tell me who my heart belongs to. (He heads toward the door.) Nobody knows that but me.
Penelope: Where are you going?
Spades: I don’t know. (He opens the door.) Back to where I came from.
Squirrel: (His ears perked up.) Not without your old tagalong buddy. (His eyes dart toward the kitchen.) I don’t want to be here when the witch decides she wants squirrel for dinner.
(Squirrel leaps up and dashes out the door. Spades goes out and closes the door behind him. There’s the thud of his Topsiders on the wooden steps.)
Penelope: (Shaking her head.) Men. (Worriedly.) I’d better go after him. (Looks at Tavy.) Will you promise me something?
(Tavy, her eyes swollen from crying, nods.)
Penelope: Stay here and mix up the pancakes. Try to act as though nothing has happened.
Tavy: (Regarding her incredulously.) It isn’t as if nothing has happened. I don’t understand you. (She looks down at the board floor.)
Penelope: I’ve known for a long time now that you’re in love with Spades. He reminds you of someone, just as you do him. I also know that Spades loves me. (She shakes her head.) It’s hard not to read minds, honey, when it’s as natural a thing to do as it is for me.
Tavy: Now he’ll go away.
Penelope: Perhaps. He and Squirrel are on their way through the dunes to the Field of Enchantment, and I probably shouldn’t waste any time catching up with them.
Tavy: (Nods, understanding.) If they fall asleep out there, they may find themselves at Dims Hall or some such place, toys of the Mistress of the Realm. (Looking at Penelope with stark honesty.) I’d have thought you’d have killed me this morning, in a blind rage--done to me what you did to those storm troopers.
Penelope: (Wiping Tavy’s cheek gently with her finger.) It was a temptation. Were you hoping I would?
Tavy: I don’t know. Maybe. (Looks away.)
Penelope: I know you wouldn’t have used your powers on Spades if you had been in control of yourself. Anyway, it can’t be undone. Tavy, look at me.
(Tavy raises her head.)
Penelope: (Clearly fighting to maintain her composure.) All we have is each other. If we let things tear us apart and make us go our separate ways, we’re lost and whatever the forces are that we’re fighting will have won. (She kisses Tavy on the forehead. Then she takes off the apron she had put on and hands it to Tavy.) I’ll be back in a few minutes.
As Penelope goes to the sofa and quickly dresses, Tavy puts on the apron and pumps water into the sink.
Tavy: I can’t imagine what you’re made of, to be this way.
Penelope: I’ve lived through a lot of things. (She sighs.) What I wouldn’t give for a Size 12 pair of bluejeans, a decent bra, and a light cotton shirt from Talbot’s. (She hurries out the door.)
(Filling the sink, Tavy scrubs the plates. She listens to the low, ceaseless sound of the surf, and of the clock ticking in it’s place on the wall between the shuttered window and the door. Suddenly her eyes are brimming.)
Hi Al and M! Now that I'm Mac-less, I've taken the time to pop into popcorn. What great fun. I've had a blast reading these dialogs! And I confess to feeling completely intimidated by the ease and humour you express. Thank you both for th explosion of creativity.
Thank you, Guy! I never intended to pour as much of my heart and soul into this thread as I have.
This thread is surprisingly engaging, and I understand how it could become cathartic. Good luck with the school search, Al. That the costs have become what they are is, I am sad to say, one of the symptoms of a society whose economic practices have become anti-social.
I hope to amass enough courage to jump in. Although my biggest impediment is time.
Guy, I find your economic and social philosophy infectious in spite of my reservations. I’m no fan of a government that has a file clerk mentality, but I’m a foe of a nanny government as well. The problem, as I see it, is that our only choices are a government run by big business, in which profit is always the bottom line and people don’t matter, or a government that would turn the country into a vast childcare in which adults, and freedom, are a thing of the past.I hope you’ll jump into the Popcorn Thread! Pick a few characters from your stories and start interacting with them!
M, you express a common fear leading to a bifurcated decision. But governance is not normally b&w -- except when setting up that choice structure is to the benefit of those who aver the wisdom of delimiting choice. Canada & the US are oligrarchies, not democracies. So we live in a time in which the governance is being done by and for the benefit of the oligrarchs. In this scenario it is easy to paint the government as bad for the working class, because it is. The question to ask is who seems to be receiving the bulk of the society's resources and who seems to be getting the least amount. I recently read an interesting anecdote regarding Warren Buffet. He became curious about how his office staff were being taxed, and so asked them to provide their tax info. It turned out that one of the richest men in the word paid the lowest rate of tax; the person who paid the highest rate was the cleaning staff. Here's the URL to the article with the Buffet anecdote: http://www.thesunmagazine.org/issues/...
Also consider that any user pay or user fee based system for public services, such as libraries or schools, are in effect a disproportionate tax on after tax / disposable income. Attend to those who most strongly aver their benefit, and you will see that it is the people who will be least hurt by the user fee, and make the most from income tax reductions. Economics / governance is not hard: it begins by the age old saw of following the money.
After teaching my little economics course, one of the students sent me a link to an interview with a British economist, with a PhD who made the same arguments and points I did.
Oddly enough I am fundamentally an anarchist, in that I see no real need in an ideal world, for government. The purpose of government is to temper selfish behaviour, which if the society wasn't selfish would 'naturally' remove the need for government. See, I am certainly capable of naive delusion! But those kinds of societies have actually existed here and there through out the history of man. In typical fashion the age we are living in provides us with the false notion that not only is it right, but that it is both natural and inevitable.
Here's the link to the interview with the British economist -- look for 'Economics as Public Art'
http://www.cbc.ca/thesundayedition/sh...
Guy, we have even more in common than I had thought. Like Will Durant, I would be an anarchist if it weren’t for the practicalities of things.The fear I have doesn’t lead to “bifurcated decision.” As you well know, that kind of thing isn’t at all natural for me. I think men like to think they’re in control of things, and that’s a big part of the problem. I think that when a civilization becomes large and complex, there are forces at work in the face of which statesmen and tyrants alike are little more than pawns.
What’s “spam”? I’ve seen it mentioned, but I don’t know what it is.
