So I’m sending out a call. For your recommendations. For books.
Fiction. Non-Fiction. Plays… anything.
Currently I am piling through Mary Roach’s books, “Spook” “Bonk” and “How to Pack for Mars”- and a book about a serial killer in Paris during the Nazi occupation.
So give me a list!
This morning (and several other mornings in the past few months) a crew was hard at work on the apartment building behind mine.
They don’t usually start until 7am, but once they start, they’re LOUD. I’m talking loud music, loud banging and scraping and LOUD yelling.
I know that they have a job to do. But I would appreciate it if they were a bit more considerate of the people nearby.
There are some people (like me) who work from home and their loud music, noise and yelling are very distracting and makes it difficult for me to make phone calls, or to focus for more than the length of one of their songs or clanging.
There are also people who work nights, or at least late (like I used to), and who sleep during the day. I wanted to sleep in this morning, but once they started working, that was it.
So to all of you out there in the internet. (People live in the internet don’t they?) If you have a job that might put your noise level into conflict with the people around you, try to be a bit more considerate. I understand that work can be boring so you might want to play music, and that’s fine! But just think about your decible level. There are other people who might have objections to listening to your music AND your tools at an ear splitting level at 7am. Your tools might have no volume control, but your radio does.
In the words of the venerable Wil Wheaton – “Don’t be a dick!”
I had an interesting couple of coversations about my religious staus today.
It seems that major religious holidays (especially of the Judeo-Christian variety) gives believers license to question and judge those of us who are not. (Or as I like to call myself, able to think for myself and make my own decisions).
My first conversation started off fairly innocuous. My dad was relating a story of a bank teller saying he calls Easter Zombie Jesus day. My dad of course (an Episcopalian priest) says ‘thats what my
daughter says too! She’s in her Active Agnostic Phase.’
If my not subscribing to organized religion is a phase its a pretty long phase, I’ve been in it since I was 10 and able to see holes in religion.
I don’t object to being called an Active Agnostic, but for my dad to call it a phase just lends more credence to my statement that major religious holidays give ‘the righteous’ the sanctified ability to judge the lack of belief of the rest of us.
At family brunch, my uncle went a bit further, implying that it was some big gift my parents had given me all those years ago, the freedom to make my own decisions and to believe what I want. He even went so far as to say I had fallen from the family Christian tree due to my lack of belief. But it wasn’t just what he said, it was more how I felt he saw me, as a godless, morally bereft human being with no spiritual center from which to draw strength.
Let me spell this out for you.
Just because I don’t go to church, don’t believe in God, and dislike all forms of organized religion doesn’t make me a bad person, or lacking in spirituality.
I find all of the spiritual renewal I need by walking in nature, looking out my window on a rainy day and seeing the trees turn green. For me, church is going on a hike, or going camping. My spirit is recharged by being around living things and seeing my place in the greater universe. I am humbled by knowing how small and insignificant I am, and I can see more how my life makes an impact on the world at large.
For those of you who are true believers, who actually live a god-like life, not just preaching and judging others who you have believed to have failed, isn’t that what church is about?
Keep your religion to yourself. This country has no national religion, and has freedom to choose your own or lack thereof. Don’t judge me negatively or presume to assume you know me because I don’t subscribe to your idea of religion.
We all believe something, sometimes they’re just different.
Happy Zombie Jesus day.
My contribution to this week’s Chuck Wendig Flash Fiction Challenge
*****************************************
“Lying To Ourselves”
Jimmy Thornbucket jumped off the railing and did a swan dive to the deck below.
We all breathed a sigh of relief.
It was over.
We were free.
For too long, Jimmy had ruled the Terran colony Birren with an iron fist, with the steel toed boots of his cronies, known “affectionately” as the Bire boys.
And now he was gone, and we were free.
The Colony Ruling Council would finally be free of the corruption and Terran law would be the rule of order again.
***
The gavel rang down hard, echoing its might around the Council Hall.
“Arn Atcheson. You are hereby found guilty of violating the Good Samaritan Law when you helped Darrell Haft get free of the debris that trapped him during the incident at the refinery last week. You caused several thousand credits of damage to Company assets when you used your laser torch to free Mr. Haft’s leg.”
A roar of outrage appeared as if conjured, and again the gavel fell, demanding order.
“You are hereby ordered to make restitution to The Company in an amount of 15 thousand credits. If you cannot make restitution, this council will have no choice but to send you to the Quix Penal colony on the 15th moon of the Gor system. Where you will be made to work off your debt with the rest of your life.”
The Council Hall erupted into utter chaos. Atcheson’s wife stopped restraining her her sobs, allowing them to grow into deep belly twisting pain.
“Mamma. What wrong Mamma?” A small child had toddled over to Mrs. Atcheson and was pulling at her sleeve. “Mamma, Poppa home now?”
Mrs. Atcheson scrubbed over her face before replying, “No honey. Poppa isn’t coming home.”
During the hubub, the Colony Public Safety Officers had taken Arn away without a chance to say any farewells.
“Oh Emma.” A woman had forced her way to Mrs. Atcheson’s side. “Nobody expected anything like this to happen! In the old days, Arn wouldn’t have even been arrested! Jimmy and his boys would have thrown him a party for being such a hero!” Emma Atcheson fell into her arms.
“Now the only good deeds are the ones that The Company says are good. Try to help someone and get transported for life.” Someone nearby groused.
“Shut your mouth Fird Owens! That kind of talk could land you in a whole heap of trouble.” Someone else snapped.
I just recently discovered Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fiction Challenges, this last week’s challenge was Choose Your Own Setting. http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2012/03/23/flash-fiction-challenge-choose-your-own-setting/
Here is my contribution. I hope to continue posting more of my contributions to the challenges.
It was a well known secret about what goes on at the third house on the right from the reclamation building. It wasn’t a good neighborhood, so the influx of people who came and went and never stayed more than a few hours couldn’t be attributed to wanting to see the sights.
So it blew my top off when the cute girl I met in the Maenon Cafe claimed that house as home.
“…and that’s when she said, that’s not a monkey! That’s my grandpa!”
I let out a peal of raucous laughter, slamming my hand on table for emphasis.
If there were bugs on the moon, I would have said her eyes bugged out, “Okay then,” she glanced at her wrist. “Its getting late. I should be getting home.”
I was being blown off, “Let me at least walk you home, Its dark outside and I don’t want you to get hurt or anything.”
“That’s really not necessary…” I cut off her protest.
“It really is. I want to take you home.”
I watched her pause, considering how best to ditch me?
“Please. My father raised me to be a gentleman, to always make sure that a girl gets home safely.”
I saw her acquiesce. “Okay, but I’m warning you, I don’t live in some fancy place. And my family isn’t all that usual. Certainly not like the chairman of the lunar planning committee.” she threw her thumb over her shoulder at the portrait of my father that adorned the walls of every business in the colony.
“Don’t judge me on my father.” Great. Not another girl chased away by my overbearing ever present father. “I mean, he’s a great man, but he’s not the most helpful in my relationships.”
“No need to apologize…”
“I wasn’t apologizing.”
“Fine, no need to explain.” I was really really screwing this up. “I understand being judged by your family.”
“Come on, I’ll walk you home.” She tucked her hand in the crook of my arm.
We walked past the conversion buildings, “I used to spend hours in there on weekend. My dad would come into work and leave me to wander around. One of the areponics guys found me wandering around the sludge room, and he showed me how the whole process. Growing the algae for oxygen, turning waste into fertilizer to grow more algae…the circle of life.”
“I bet there are fewer lions and tigers and bears.” She grinned, smashing her body into mine, making me struggle for a minute to regain my footing in the lower gravity.
“Plenty of algae lions. I’m sure.” I snarked back.
“Oh, we need to turn here.” She pulled me down an alleyway. “Its shorter.”
The walls turned into smooth, featureless blanks. “Uh… I’m not sure we’re supposed to be back here. Isn’t this the maintenance passageway?”
“Yup.” She drug me by my arm, running out in front and jerking my limbs along for the ride.
“Maintenance areas are for authorized personal only!” I tried resisting, but found myself overpowered.
Again that infectious giggle. “Oh come on Reggie, live a little!”
“My father will kill me if he knew I was back here.” I grumbled, only a little.
We came to a certain section of wall, no different than any other, but she found a slight catch and clicked open a panel. “Home sweet home.” We passed through the open door and into a world of wonderment.
The walls were draped with bolts of richly colored fabric in various textures, with glints of gold running throughout the fabrics. “Holy…crap.” I gasped.
“That’s what everyone says the first time.” She said, reaching over a marble top bar and grabbing a couple bottles of water and throwing one at my chest.
I gaped around the living room, taking in all the elaborate and rich details that decorated the small building. Far too decorous for such a small colony. As I saw scantily clad women leading men down the stairs, it finally clicked.
“This is the…”
“Yup.” She gave me a smirk as she gulped her water.
“And you…”
“No. I just live here.”
“Then…why?” I could barely squeak out.
“My mother…she’s Lady Abigail.”
“So you’re….”
“I don’t know. Before she moved her, she was already heavy with me.” She moved towards one of the overstuffed arm chairs, patting the seat next to her. I flopped down.
Above us on the landing there was a slight noise, I looked up. “Dad?” I let out a fairly un-manly squeek.
“Reggie? What the hell are you doing here?” His deep voice rumbled down the stairs and scraped up my spine.
“Walking her home! What are you doing here?”
“That’s none of your business! Now go home immediately!” He had made his way to me faster than I could see and his fingers burrowed into my bicep as he pulled me to my feet and shoved me towards the front door. “You will not mention this to your mother. And you will NEVER see this…”His cold eyes scanned the girl next to me and he sneered “person, again.”
He squeezed my arm harder, “Is that understood?”
“Yes Father.” I lowered my eyes and said, “It was very nice to meet you…”
“Jaime.”
“Jaime.”
And the door closed behind me, and I was left in the cold lunar evening, alone.
Been a long while since I’ve posted anything.
Had a job for a while. Got laid off from said job three months later.
Am currently looking for work and doing a lot of writing.
I am doing a writing workshop taught by Jeremy C. Shipp (@JeremyCShipp on twitter) the author of such short story collections as “The Attic Clowns” and “Vacation” I highly recommend that you check out some of his stuff.
I am also participating in a new story a week project called “52 Week Writing Project” – follow it at 52weekwritingproject.blogspot.com
So that’s what’s new with me. What’s new with you?
There’s something magical about this show that just latches on and won’t leave me be, forcing me to write out the thoughts that ruminate in my brain again and again and again.
During the show last night, I thought about what I wanted to write next. There are so many aspects that I could spend hours either talking about or writing about, and I had to pick one. (There’s plenty of time, don’t worry I’m sure I’ll write about everything.)
One thing I like about this show is how it constantly challenges me. Fifteen body mics are a lot to juggle, especially during the scenes with everyone on stage. And it takes a lot for me to make sure everyone sounds good, no one feedsback, and that no one over powers the others. And of course, catching all my cues without getting backstage noise is important too.
And now… onto what I actually was going to write about.
When I was 17, I was visiting a school in New York with my mom, we were in a cuban restaurant, my mom ordered a pitcher of sangrias, and let me had some. A great idea to get your underaged kid a bit tipsy before telling her that you’ve known she was gay since she was like 7, and that you’re okay with it. Of course, I choked a little bit. I thought I had hid it better! (Of course I knew I really hadn’t, but I liked to pretend.)
If only most people had this kind of positive experience letting their parents in on what is for most a terrifying secret to carry around.
And here comes the ‘bare’ tie in-
Peter tries desperately to tell his mom about his feelings for Jason, but during their conversation, she doesn’t want to hear it, she doesn’t want to let him break the secret open. He goes away from the conversation feeling dejected, rejected, but he couldn’t really be further from the truth.
Claire knew her son, she’s always known him, known everything about him, whether she wanted to accept it and make it a part of her public reality or not . Most parents who pay attention, know this secret about their kid. They may react positively or negatively, but deep down, they know. Claire loves Peter, she loves him for who he is, no matter who that is. Her only hesitation is how everyone else will see her, she doesn’t “want their pity, I just want my son.” She’s a good mother, she just wasn’t ready to deal with the reality of having a gay son, though she’s had a gay son since he was born. She just has to own up to it now.
My mother told me that she saw her therapist after she could no longer deny who I was, she told him, “I don’t know how to parent a gay child.” Her therapist said, “It seems to me that you’ve been doing it for 18 years.” I was still the same person who she’d given birth to, I was still the same kid she’d raised, nothing intrinsic about who I was had changed. Looking at it that way gave my mom a sense of peace. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had.
Claire realizes this at the same time my mom did. Peter is still Peter, he’s just not lying about anything anymore. And Claire loves him just as much as she had before.
Like I said, if only more people had such reactions to their coming out.
It does get better.
Spring’- Featuring Charlotte Byrd as Nadia.
