Aid and Assistance

Dear people of New Orleans as well as all others directly affected by Hurricane Katrina,

I'm thinking of you. We all are thinking of you. We are going to do what we can to help. Whether it is donating money to the Red Cross, joining the volunteer rescue squads, or anything else of benefit, we are going to do all we can to the best of our abilities and resources.

In the meantime, here is a Flood story from Korea. It has many familiar elements of the fairy tales you know, not the least of which is helping others in distress:

A son was borne to a fairy and a laurel tree; the fairy returned to heaven when the boy was seven years old. One day, rains came and lasted for many months, flooding the earth with a raging sea. The laurel, in danger of falling, told his son to ride him when it came uprooted by the waves. The boy did so, floating on the tree for many days. One day a crowd of ants floated by and cried out to be saved. After asking the tree for permission, the boy gave them refuge on the branches of the laurel. Later, a group of mosquitoes flew by and also asked to be saved. Again, the boy asked the tree for permission, was granted it, and gave the mosquitoes rest. Then another boy floated by and asked to be saved. This time the tree refused permission when its son asked. The son asked twice more, and after the third time the tree said, "Do what you like," and the son rescued the other boy. At last the tree came to rest on the summit of a mountain. The insects expressed their gratitude and left. The two boys, being very hungry, went and found a house where an old woman lived with her own daughter and a foster-daughter. As everyone else in the world had perished and the subsiding waters allowed farming again, the woman decided to marry her daughters to the boys, her own going to the cleverer boy. The second boy maliciously told the woman that the other boy could quickly gather millet grains scattered on sand. The woman tested this claim, and the first boy despaired of ever succeeding, when the ants came to his aid, filling the grain bag in a few minutes. The other boy had watched, and he told the woman that the task hadn't been done by the first boy himself, so the woman still couldn't decide which daughter to marry to which boy. She decided to let the boys decide by chance, going to one room or another in total darkness. A mosquito came and told the Son of the Tree which room the old woman's daughter was in, so those two were married, and the second boy married the foster-daughter. The human race is descended from those two couples.

--Zong In-Sob. Folk Tales from Korea, Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd., London, 1952.

Ode to Bede

Bede is a good guy. Bede is a great husband. I stayed up late last night writing, got up early this morning to write, and then slept in from 8-10 am while Bede hung out with Lucia. Then, Bede went out for his morning coffee, and came back with a 3/4 sized steel-string guitar he found at a yard sale. He paid $10.00 USD. I've been struggling to tune it, but ultimately will have to wait for Ulric's assistance. Perhaps by the time I take lessons in October, I'll have progressed beyond "Smoke on the Water" (played on one string!) and other Forbidden Guitar Shop Tunes™. I have ambitions. Perhaps I'll never rock 'n' roll, but before you know it, I will be Alkelda of the Key of G. As soon as I get it together, I will compose a song and sing his praises. In the meantime, I need to work on a story involving the word "toast," as per ABCGirl's request.

Update: I came home from running errands to find a box on the front porch. Although it was addressed to Bede, it was for me. Behold my new ocarina:



I then called my father to play it for him over the phone. My father said he himself had been planning to go to a music store to find a larger-sized ocarina for me.

Now, I need to make some choices for the rest of the day:

1) scrub out the fridge or play my ocarina
2) vaccuum and do laundry or work on a story
3) mow the lawn or strum my guitar

I am grateful for my life.

Addendum: the guitar neck was warped, and I gave it away to someone else's toddler to wail on while his father's guitar remained safe from harm.

Three Wishes

It's really not fair when someone all-knowing offers a mere mortal Three Wishes with no guidance whatsoever. With free rein like that, it is inevitable that someone would end up with a sausage hanging from the end of the nose.

We, however, shall not be so foolish. We have read the stories. We have learned from from sages and fools. This time, we're going to do it right.

While I am not all-knowing, I shall be your fairy godmother of the moment. I offer you three wishes. In addition to the usual rules (i.e. no wishing for all the wishes in the world, no wishing ill upon anyone), I shall help you form your wishes thus:

1) One wish may be for altruistic purposes.

2) One wish may be for materialistic purposes.

3) One wish may be for a modest superpower.

If my fairy godmother happens to read this post, here are my wishes:

1) From this day forth, everyone in the world gets enough to eat. That food is both nutritious and delicious.

2) I would like for my family a large-enough, affordable, earthquake-tolerant house in the neighborhood of our choice. The house can expand to accomodate guests in comfortable, sound-proof quarters.

3) I would like to be able to stretch my body into a parachute or a boat akin the mother in The Incredibles.

"Pavane for the Nursery" (ocarina tablature)

Sometimes I don't know when to quit. I struggled with this tablature for "A Pavane for the Nursery" (you may find the poem in the original post for Three Songs of Stars and Fire), but finally came up with something I can live with... for now. Fear not, this blog is not going to become Ocarina Central. I just want the music to be available. I want people to know it exists.

I just received a copy of the album "Simon Sisters Sing for Children". The album is a 33 1/3 rpm record that I bought for $4.00 on Ebay. The next step is to get help in transferring the music to compact disc.* At that time, the Simon Sisters' music for "A Pavane for the Nursery" will once more be available for Lucia's listening pleasure.

*Note to the record companies: if you think this is piracy, then please rerelease the album on compact disc. Rest assured, I will buy it. Until that momentous event occurs, don't give me any guff.

Song in the Air (ocarina tablature)

A month ago, I posted lyrics to Three Songs of Stars and Fire, but expressed regret that I had no sound files to offer. Instead of a sound file, I'm offering you the chance to listen to the tune of "There's a Song in the Air" by way of ocarina tablature. I downloaded a free ocarina font and figured out the notations for the tune.

At this point, my high notes are still a little painful to listen to, as the pitch is evocative of a piccolo, but my friends gallantly tell me that I'll get much better with practice. However, I wish for a tenor ocarina now. I want something with similar tones to the oboe without the long-term commitment the oboe requires. Hmmm...

My 33 1/2 birthday is coming up next month. I'll mention it to Bede.

Little Goose*

One of the items in Martha the hippo's purse from Attack of the Combs is a round, earthenware flute called an ocarina. Last week, Lucia and I visited the Pike Place Market specifically to find an ocarina at the Clayzeness Whistleworks table. Originally, the ocarina was supposed to be for her, but after I saw the price-tag, I thought, "Lucia has a guitar and a harmonica and a variety of percussion instruments. Perhaps it is her Mama who needs the ocarina." Although I am not generally a fan of plastic, perhaps a recycled plastic ocarina will be good for Lucia, at least in the beginning. Bede can paint it.**

Meanwhile, I have been tootling on the ocarina and finding lots of free tablature on the internet. As a person who never did well with musical instruments, the ocarina is a boost to my self-esteem. To be sure, Bede doesn't yet recognize all of the songs I'm trying to play, but I've got dreams! I'm even starting to think of how I can incorporate the ocarina into my storytelling. I'll keep you apprised of any developments. In the meantime, check out the free ocarina tablature and audio samples:

Tablature
More Tablature
Zelda, the Ocarina of Time
Blackadder and more
Many thanks to the troubadour Nancy Stewart for introducing us to the ocarina.


*Translated from the Italian, the word ocarina means "little goose."

**No, this is not sneaky advertising. I just want you to have easy access to resources that might interest you.

cockroach vs. gorilla

Lucia has been rifling through Bede's and my books, pushing them in so that they're not edged anymore, and pulling out the ones she finds interesting. I keep telling her that Plato's Republic is not age-appropriate, and that there aren't enough pictures in Andrew Lang's Pink Fairy Book to interest her, but she pays me no mind.

Yesterday, Lucia pulled off the shelf my copy of archy and mehitabel by Don Marquis. Archy is a cockroach who was a human verse libre poet in a past life, and while he still maintains his poetic sensibilities, he can only write his poems by hopping on typewriter keyboard keys. Like E.E. Cummings, Archy types in lower-case because he cannot reach the shift key. At least, that's Archy's excuse.* Mehitabel is an alley cat who claims to have had a glorious past of infamous lives. I didn't think Lucia was ready for archy and mehitabel, as some of the stories within the poems are quite harrowing. I put the book back back on the shelf and brought down Bede's tome of Curious George stories. Lucia was sated for the moment.

That evening, I found a piece of paper on the floor with the following archy poem snippet copied in green ink:

mehitabel is a believer
in the pythagorean
theory of the transmigration
of the soul and she claims
that formerly her spirit
was incarnated in the body
of cleopatra
that was a long time ago
and one must not be
surprised if mehitabel
has forgotten some of her
more regal manners

I am reminded of my tenant Brad the Gorilla, whom some might readily believe has had a vibrant history somewhere in time if not here. Many more would say that not only has Brad forgotten his more regal manners, but that he never had them to begin with. I disagree. For all that Brad is so brusque and domineering (read his blog for yourself if you don't believe me), there is something noble about a gorilla that is fluent in Latin** and specializes in cooking world cuisines. Brad is a real character. I'm not allowed to say too much about Brad's early life for fear of compromising the dignity of a (human) family member close to me, but he's accumulated enough stories to start his own blog.

----------------
*I have nothing to say in defense of E.E.Cummings, except that some of his poems make me weak in the knees.

**By all rights, I should have failed Latin. I only passed it because I wrote a seven page paper about Arion and the Dolphin, after protesting that the Latin textbook had gotten it wrong.

The Tough Guide to Running Out of Steam

While searching for online references to Diana Wynne Jones's Tough Guide to Fantasyland, I found Through the Looking Glass: The Secret Diaries. The contributors describe this collection as "A Collaborative Effort Inspired by the Secret Diaries of Cassandra Claire (but without the slash)." I'm embarrassed to admit I recognize the pitfalls of my own writing within these pages. I had hoped I was beyond all of the nonsense of my earlier years. For example, this excerpt from The Secret Diary of Frustrated Writer #42 rings true:

Day 19:

Finished rewriting chapters 1 through 12. Very clever. Characters now eat "zemai" and "t'mat." No one will realize this is corn (maize, get it?) & tomatoes, or if they do, will think I'm clever and original for not having my characters eat stew. Also remembered to mention feeding horses from time to time.

The "stew" reference in the excerpt is a pretty common response to reading Tough Guide. I definitely recommend reading it with a sense of humor intact. After reading Tough Guide, I got frustrated with every single thing in my manuscript. I decided I wasn't going to be anything more than a hack. That decision lasted about five minutes.

Here is a piece of writing I started awhile ago. It was intended as one of the stories the main character in my novel tells her young cousin in order to keep the young cousin entertained:

Once, in a time that was before your time, the King and the Queen of the Azahari lived in a palace cut into the rock of the mountains. The ceilings were covered with raw crystals like the insides of treasure-stones (or geodes, as the people of this age call them). Although there were no windows, the torchlight lamps brought warmth and comfort to all those who dwelled within. The Azahari lived in comfort and ease, for the metals and jewels they mined and crafted were sought by many merchants of the flatlands. Still, the King and Queen were sad, for they had seven sons and yearned for a daughter.

It happened one day that when the King was bathing in his subterranean hot springs, a strange and powerful magician appeared before him. “I know what it is you want,” the magician said, “and I can grant it for you. Take this stone, and grind it into a powder. Mix it into your Queen’s nightly cup of tea, and she will conceive a daughter before the month is gone.” The sorcerer held his hand open, and a dark red stone lay in his palm.

“I thank you, sir,” the King said, and took it.

“There is one condition,” the magician said. “In five years’ time, I will come for your daughter and she will be my own forever more.”

“This I can never consent to,” the King said.

“Then, in five years’ time, if you have not changed your mind, I will ask for something else in your possession that is of equal value.”

The King thought of all of his jewels and precious metals, and said to himself, “Surely, I can afford to give this magician a whole trunkful of treasures.” He agreed to the magician’s conditions. The King did as the magician said, and truly, before the month was out, the Queen was with child. They were overjoyed, for they were of an age when they did not think they could have any more children. Nine months later, the princess Rania was born.

Rania was beloved by everyone, especially her seven brothers, who swore to protect her, no matter what. The King forgot what he had promised the magician until the five years were up. Then, the King told the Queen what he had promised. The Queen was aghast. “How could you have ever entertained such a notion?” she cried. “I will never give my child up.”

“Fear not,” the King soothed. “The magician did say that we could give him something else of equal value.”

“There is nothing that could equal the value of our daughter,” the Queen retorted. “I see I will have to make plans to protect her. Oh, husband, what have you done?”

That night, when the magician came to the gate of the castle in the mountain, the Queen hid the Princess Rania in a treasure chest in a room deep in the mountain. She drilled holes so that Princess Rania could breathe, and set enough food and drink inside the chest for her dinner. “Do not say a word,” she instructed her daughter, “and we will come for you soon.” She did not tell Rania why she was hiding in the trunk, for she did not want her daughter to be afraid, nor did she tell the King where she had hidden their daughter, for fear that the magician could trick it out of him.

“Good evening,” the magician said. “I have come for what you promised.”

“I know,” said the king. “And I remain as firm as I did years ago—I do not want to give up my daughter.”

“Then you must give up something of equal value” the magician said. “Lead me to your treasury, and I will take the equal of your daughter in your wealth.” The King led the magician to the treasury. “There,” the magician said, “I want the entire contents of that trunk.”

The King went to the trunk and opened it. There, inside, was his daughter, quietly munching on a honey-cake. “No!” he groaned.

But the magician laughed, and said, “Your little girl cannot escape her destiny.” The magician grabbed the girl by the wrist and began to drag her out of the mountain-castle.

“Wait!” the Queen said, who had just come in, and saw with dismay that her plans had been foiled. “I must give her bread and meat for her journey.” She gave Rania a bundle wrapped with cloth, and around her neck, she hung a small, embroidered bag. “Keep this safe and close to you,” she whispered, “and all shall be well. I will find you when I can.”

“It is time,” the magician snarled, and this time, he scooped the girl up under one arm. As he strode out of the mountain-castle, the seven brothers, who had just come back from their hunting, saw their captive sister.

“Release her!” they cried as one, and raised their sabers to slash the magician to ribbons. The magician laughed and raised his other arm. The seven brothers fell back and turned into seven stones, black and glistening as obsidian.

As the magician tore down the mountain, the wind became cold and icy and clouds covered the moon. Or so it seemed to Rania, who was terrified. At long last, they reached the magician’s hut. The magician tied a rope around the girl’s ankle and tethered her to a tree. “Here you will stay,” he said, “until I have need of you. Tomorrow, you will do all of the cooking, washing and care of my animals. I will give you no food tonight, for your mother has seen fit to give you provisions.” He shook out his cloak and stomped into the hut.

Rania wept for many things: the loss of her parents, the enchantment of her brothers. But she was also resolute, and decided that the best thing she could do would be to regain some strength. She opened up the parcel and began to eat the bread and meat within. As she ate, she heard a rustling behind her. She saw a hutch, and a hare within. The hare looked at her with dark liquid eyes that seemed to communicate hunger. “Are you hungry, friend hare?” she asked, and offered him bits of her bread. The hare ate them, but only looked quizzically at the strips of meat she had. Rania opened the door of the hutch and the rabbit hopped out. Around its neck was a collar with yellow and white jewels.

***
I ran out of steam around this point. Perhaps the baby had woken up, perhaps I felt as if I really needed a nap, and when I woke up, I lost the initial drive to finish the story just so that the main character would have something to tell. Here are my remaining notes:

Rope cannot be cut. The hare tries to nibble through the rope, but is unsuccessful. The girl finds a pair of scissors in her little bag, and these scissors slice through the rope as if it were butter. Then the hare somehow makes it known that he wants his collar cut. She does, and the hare transforms into a young man. Rania says that she wants to go back to her parents, but the man says that the magician will find them again, and do worse than transform her brothers into stones. He carries Rania down the mountainside and brings her to safety in a small village, where he believes the magician will not find her. “The magician will think you are looking for your parents, and he will look there. Once he finds out that you are not there, he will look elsewhere, but it will be too late. Stay in hiding and do not let it be known who you are.”

“Where will you go?” Rania asks.

“I go East to raise an army against the magician,” he says. “Then, when we have defeated him, I will find my lost kin and return to them.”

Rania then goes to live with her aunt and uncle, and they keep her identity secret from everyone. Someday, she vows, she will find her parents again and they will figure out how to turn the seven stones into her brothers again. Or something. That is to be worked out somehow. Would a young girl have figured things out? This should be a lot simpler.

It rarely is! If I ever do rework this story fragment into something more, it will be simpler, but it will have an elegance that the ornate rough draft does not have.

Attack of the Combs: a puppet play

Once, in the not too distant past, a group of good friends gathered at the house of two hippos. The friends thought they would spend a pleasant afternoon in each other's company. If only they had known that someone (or something) had cruel designs to upset their revelry. The story began on a sunny afternoon:

Attack of the Combs

Dating Truisms from Defective Yeti's blog

Matthew Baldwin of Defective Yeti quoted me in his most recent post! It was a quote about dating truisms, not storytelling, but you can probably surmise from the quote that there was indeed a whole story behind it. I won't recount the story here except to state three true things:

1) I was young and silly.
2) I was old enough to know better.
3) It never happened again.

Puppet show teaser:

Here is the teaser poster for a harrowing theatre production filled with treachery, deceit, and a few shameless allusions to Star Wars: The Phantom Menace. I will not give away important plot details, but as I promised Darth Phil and Galatea,there will be two potamuses and a Sith Lord.

Opening day for the puppet show will be Monday, August 15, 2005.

Originally posted on Saturday, August 13, 2005.

Blog Tee-shirt! (Friday morning silliness)

This tee-shirt is absolutely silly. I admit it. I'm a writer, not a designer. (The circle is supposed to represent the glittery naval ring that alternative-universe Alkelda wears while fighting space-pirates. It's her lucky naval ring.)

Just because I'm not an artist doesn't mean I don't know artists. I'd probably don a Blogapotamus Rex tee-shirt if someone were inclined to create one. It would probably have a nifty cartoon on the front and something clever underneath the picture.

Now, I'll see if Galatea takes the bait...

Addendum: Yes, she took the bait.

A King, a Coin, and the Ferryman (plus her dog)

This story is for Bede, who gave me the phrase "drive the bus." The featured picture is "Cerberus" by William Blake.

Everybody and his dog wants to go to the Elysian Fields. Nobody wants to go to Tartarus. I don’t decide where they go. I’ve explained to them that I’m neither the Ruler of the Underworld nor the Demi-God of Death. I don't make the rules. I’m just the ferryman.

Ferrying the dead across the Acheron River into the Underworld wasn't my first choice of occupation. When I was a young girl, I wanted to drive the bus. The tour-bus guides in Athens seemed to have all the fun, all the adventure. Now, I wouldn’t pick any other job. The hours are long, but the pay is good, and I meet a lot of interesting people. If you want to hear the best stories this side of Creation, Acheron is the place to be. Besides, Hades relies on me. I'm smart, fast, and immune to flattery. Everyone has to pay a toll to get across the river, but some Shades of the Dead don't want to part with their obolus coins. Others have inconsiderate relatives who totally neglected to place the obolus coins under their tongues. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn't the poor who get the raw end of this deal as much as the rich.

Today, I had a particularly good run of passengers. The obolus coins were rapidly filling up my toll-bag and I had heard a particularly fine tale of the Great Vizier Winston Churchill. I could hardly wait to tell Hades. Hades was throwing a surprise party at the Asphodel Ball for his wife, Persephone, in honor of their wedding anniversary. He’d asked me to be the featured storyteller. Of course, he was going to pay me.

Then, “Hog” Sewerbug showed up. “Hog” Sewerbug was the recently-deceased king of a super-powerful country, and like Sisyphus of thousands of years ago, he exuded entitlement and resistance.

“Hog” Sewerbug walked up to the edge of the riverbank and wrinkled his nose. "This wasn't quite what I pictured for my luxurious afterlife," he said. "This place is the sticks."

“Yes,” I replied. The guy didn’t look too bright, and I wasn’t often fooled by appearances, but perhaps Mr. Sewerbug wouldn’t need the general spiel about the procedures to follow Down Under.

Mr. Sewerbug looked at me. “I thought Charon was supposed to be male,” he said. “You are a ferryman, right?”

“Yes,” I said. “I am Karen the ferryman, but I'm female. Down Under, we don’t go for politically-correct titles. Hades says that the only job requiring a specific gender is child-bearing, and there’s not too much child-bearing going on around here. Every other job is up for grabs, whether you’re female, male or Hermaphrodite.”

“So, how much advancement does your job offer?” Mr. Sewerbug asked. “As far as I can tell, all you do is row people back and forth across the boiling water. It looks boring to me.”

“I don’t want advancement,” I said. I was beginning to get steamed. My parents were always lobbying Hades for me to get a promotion. They said that ferrying the Dead was a dangerous job and one never knew what sort of people would show up needing passage. Hades pointed out that eventually everyone showed up for the big boat ride and that I could take care of myself. Besides, I had Cerberus for backup. If a man’s best friend was his dog, then I was a thrice-blessed woman. Cerberus had three heads, and each head liked to be scratched behind the ears. However, right now, Cerberus was baring all three sets of teeth.

“Well, never mind that,” he said. “We can’t all go far in Life.”

“No, but we can go pretty far into Death,” I said. “Do you know yet where you’re headed?”

“The Elysian Fields of course,” he said. I sighed. Obviously, Mr. Sewerbug hadn’t gotten his paperwork processed yet.

“Let’s see your coin, then,” I said.

“Coin? What coin? I’m a righteous man, and I don’t need a coin to get into the Afterlife.”

“Everyone has to pay an obolus,” I explained.

“What about the poor people?” he asked.

“Did you ever really care about the poor people?” I asked.

“Only around election time!” Mr. Sewerbug said. He laughed as if he had said something funny, but Cerberus just glowered.

“Let’s see your coin, then,” I said.

“Um, I don’t have one,” Mr. Sewerbug said. “Surely money is no object Down Under?”

I’ve said that I’ve heard a lot of interesting stories on the banks of Acheron. This is not one of them. I ended up having to leave Mr. “Hog” Sewerbug by the edge of the bank. He tried to force his way onto the ferryboat, but gave up after Cerberus bit him on the ankle. "Hog" Sewerbug sputtered and swore, but no amount of curse words produced a single coin. The Sewerbug family was loaded, but as they were cheapskates in Life, so they begrudged their son a single obolus in Death.

There were people in Life who hated “Hog” Sewerbug and had wished would go to Tartarus. Mr. Sewerbug didn’t even make it to the other side of the river. The last I’d heard of him, Mr. Sewerbug had started a tour-guide business up the road. To this day, he’s trying to earn enough money to pay his ferry-toll. Despite myself, I have some admiration for the guy. It can be hell trying to make a decent wage.

Edited and updated 8/11/05

Bartholomew

My brother Bartholomew: May 11, 1979--August 8, 2003.

Here's what I wrote last year around this time:

While I cannot remember what I had for dinner two nights ago, I can recall clearly where I was, what I was thinking, and what was said when I found out that Bart had died. In Seattle, the morning of August 8 was beautiful, sunny, yet balmy. There was a slight chill in the air under the warmth of the day. That day, I was going to see "Pirates of the Caribbean" with a friend, but since our baby daughters were napping at different times, we opted to go to the 2:30 pm showing instead of 12:30, as originally planned. At around 12:30 pm, Aunt Brigit called. She asked me if Bede was home, and then said, "I have some news. It is very bad. Bart is dead."

Of course, my first reaction was, "No, he's not." I had spoken to him that past Monday. He called while Lucia was crying, and I could barely hear him (he had a low voice), so I said loudly that I couldn't hear him, and asked if we could we call him back in a bit. On Wednesday, August 6, Bart called again. Bede chatted with him about Catholic theology, but then had to get off the phone because we were putting Lucia to bed (often a 2 hour ordeal.) Bart called us almost every day. We had every reason to think that we would speak to him again. But the night of Thursday, August 7, he went out to a movie. The morning of August 8, Bart left his house for work. He got off the green line Metro train at the Fort Totten platform in Washington, D.C. to transfer to the Northbound red line. But instead of getting on the northbound train, he jumped in front of it. Bede, Lucia and I flew out East the next morning, and attended the funeral Mass on Tuesday, August 12. Over 200 people attended Bart's funeral at the Catholic church of St. Jerome.

*
Bart was constantly accosted with intrusive thoughts. but he was also focused on being a force for good in the world. As much as he suffered, he would not have wanted to inflict that suffering upon anyone else. Perhaps it was a spontaneous jump, perhaps it was planned. Everyone's got a version of the story, based upon the frame of his or her particular world view. This is one of the times in which I don't want stories. I want "just the facts."

1980: Alkelda with her brothers.

1998: Alkelda with her brothers.

Cat in the Hat: a Reluctant Reader's guide

Carissa of Happy Stuff asked me "Will you grace us with any of the treasures that your parents saved?"

Now, how can I refuse a request like that? Instead of torturing you with poems about the last unicorn,* followed by poems about my loss of innocence** (inspired by the cryptic verses of Simon Le Bon), followed by poems about how cross I was with my first boyfriend,*** I shall offer you my favorite project from my high school senior year creative writing class: The CliffsNotes version of Dr. Seuss's classic text, The Cat in the Hat.

Major Characters

Theodore Geisel—The narrator of the story. He is protective of his sister, but rather confused at the tender age of four. He wants to be good, but feels powerless in the face of evil.

Sally Geisel—Theodore’s younger sister. Sally is only two years old. She embodies the virtue Innocence. Sally shows complete trust in Theodore, even when he cannot avoid catastrophe. Sally does not talk, and she trusts that Theodore will voice her concerns and fears.

Fish—His true name is Simon, but is only addressed as “Fish” throughout the story. He is silent and content in his bowl of water until the Cat in the Hat appears. He then becomes gifted with speech. Simon is also able to poke his head out of the water and shake a fin at the Cat in the Hat in lieu of a forefinger.

The Cat in the Hat—The anti-hero of the story. He invokes mayhem and terror, but really means well. He surprises everyone in the end by taking responsibility for his actions.

Mother—Little is known about her, and the fact that her face is never shown only adds to the enigma. She is away for most of the story, having left Theodore and Sally to take care of themselves. While a number of critics believe she is a negligent parent, others believe she is simply trying to teach her children responsibility. The children have no father, since he left Mother when Sally was born. Nothing is known about the father except that he may have been a convict.

Thing One—a friend of the Cat in the Hat’s trouble-making friends.

Thing Two—Thing One’s twin brother. He is also one of the Cat in the Hat’s troublemaking friends.

Synopsis of Story

Section I: It is a cold, wet, rainy day. Theodore and Sally are left home alone by Mother. Since there is too much precipitation to play outside, the children sit by the window in complete ennui.

Section II: Theodore and Sally hear a “bump” at the door, and the Cat in the Hat strolls in. He promises a plethora of amusements for the children, and proceeds to balance objects on various parts of his body while standing on a ball. They are: the Fish in his bowl, two books, a cup, a teapot, a cake, a toy ship, a toy man, milk in a dish, a rake, and a red fan. The Cat in the Hat loses his balance, much to the chagrin of Theodore, Sally and the Fish. He falls, and the Fish lands in the teapot. The Fish tells the Cat in the Hat to go away. Theodore and Sally feel helpless.

Section III: The Cat in the Hat refuses to leave, and brings in an enormous red box using his Herculean strength. He opens the box, and Thing One and Thing Two pop out. Thing One and Thing Two start flying kites in the house. They also string up Mother’s red and white polka-dotted dress along the kite cords. Theodore and Sally are disconcerted.

Section IV: The Fish sees Mother coming home, which dismays the children. They finally exert control over the situation and with nets catch Thing One and Thing Two. Theodore and Sally order the Cat in the Hat to take them [Thing One and Thing Two] away. Dejectedly, the Cat in the Hat complies. Unfortunately, Theodore and Sally must now clean up the house, which is in shambles.

Section V: The Cat in the Hat returns with a magic machine to clean up the house. He assures Theodore, Sally and the Fish that he always cleans up after he plays. This is the author’s lesson to children. The Cat in the Hat finally exits, tipping his hat as he goes out the door. Mother returns soon after, and asks what the children did while she was out. The children do not know what to say.

Possible Essay Questions

1) Describe the symbolism of the characters using Freud’s psychology.
2) Contrast the morals of the Fish (Simon) and the Cat in the Hat.
3)Discuss the symbolism of the two books the Cat in the Hat balances (Divine Comedy and Aeneid.)
4) Compare the character of Theodore with that of Hamlet.
5)"Have no fear… I will not let you fall." Discuss the meaning of this quote and how it pertains to the book as a whole.

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*As if there's any other kind but the "last" unicorn.
**Rough translation: "My parents don't understand how hard it is to be thirteen years old."
***Eighteen years later, we're actually friends again. I'm not cross anymore.

Murder in the Mansion and the Immortal Beloved

My first novel

When I was in seventh grade, I hand-wrote a nineteen page story called “Murder in the Mansion.” I decided it was my first novel. The main character, a 17 year old heiress named Diana, is to meet the other 2/3 of her triplet sisters for the first time. The signature feature of each sister is that Diana has brunette hair, Julia has blonde hair and Cynthia has red hair. Cynthia turns out to be the most interesting character of the bunch: she is fiesty and very, very angry. It is revealed at the climax that she is in fact Diana’s mother, and has killed off Diana’s real sister Cynthia in order to pose as Diana’s sister and claim the inheritance Diana’s mother thinks rightfully belongs to her. Diana eventually pushes the false Cynthia out of the window.

You have no idea how disappointed I was to return to my junior high school to reclaim my English writing folder (the one that all the teachers said would follow me around until the end of time, that I could not escape even if I moved to Japan), only to find out that it had been thrown out three years earlier. The teachers all asked me, “You didn't have a copy on a computer disk?” conveniently forgetting that when I was in seventh grade, not many children in my class had computers in their homes. Fortunately, my mother was a better banker,* and underground classics such as "Face to Face With Death" and "Revenge of the Zombie Sock-Monkeys"** remain safe in my childhood travel trunk.

My second novel

When I was a senior in high school, I typed up two chapters of a historical novel based upon the mysterious lover of Ludwig van Beethoven, the Immortal Beloved. You might think that I was simply copying the movie, only I graduated from high school in 1990 and the film starring Gary Oldman as Beethoven wasn’t released until 1994. My main character was an Austrian widow named Xanthe Alighieri, who had once had a promising career as a pianist, but was married off to a cruel baron instead of her lover, Beethoven. I don’t remember too much about the two chapters except that I tried so hard to make them historically accurate. With a straight face, I warned my creative writing teacher that she needed to be prepared for a steamy romantic scene in chapter three. My teacher reassured me that she could handle the heat. I stopped work on the novel after I went to college, and when I returned to it a year later, I was so appalled by the writing that I nearly chucked it out the window, much as Diana did with her treacherous mother in "Murder in the Mansion."

My third novel

My third novel is still a work in progress. It's had three different incarnations. It may take my whole life to write, depending upon how long I live. I used to try to write serious, inspiring stories that would (take a deep breath) show all my wretched classmates of yore that just because I was unpopular and a lousy student didn’t mean I wasn't a genius. A genius! Now, I should just write what I love to read. There's no shame*** in creating escapist quest-fantasy fiction, especially if I use The Tough Guide to Fantasyland.

I know that it’s not my job to be a genius. It’s not my job to write deep, enduring literature and win awards for doing so. It’s my job to tell you stories.

Here’s what’s coming up in the next month:
1) That puppet show I keep promising to produce
2) A story involving the phrase “drive the bus”
3) A new version of a tale of Fionn MacCumhail
4) A list of nursery rhymes to sing to the tune of “Twinkle, Twinkle”
5) (This one is up to you)

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*Both my parents were quite supportive of my writing, although they often laughed when I wanted them to shiver with dismay.
**I am kidding.
***See above.

Siegfried on the rocks

(1) Brunnhilde goes grocery shopping for Siegfried after he wakes her up on the rock surrounded by fire. Brunnhilde, now mortal after Wotan "kissed away her godhood," is fine with no longer being a Valkyrie. Domestic bliss is hers, now that Siegfried is here.


(2) What? Siegfried wants to leave Brunnhilde on the rock while he goes off on adventures? Siegfried wants Brunnhilde's armor for himself, and is leaving her a cursed ring in exchange? No, Brunnhilde, no! Rise up, give Siegfried what-for, and then go off on your own adventures. Forget the lout. If you want a hero worthy of you, ride East and meet up with Manas or Atilla the Hun. Don't let the confines of historical accuracy restrict you. Love is timeless, eh?

Tonight, Bede and I are going to see "Siegfried." Our friends who were supposed to go had the misfortune of their car breaking down on the way back from their trip. Plus, they're tired from travel. The good news for them is that on Thursday night, when they attend Götterdämmerung, the Norns will offer a recap the first three installments of the Ring Cycle.

Thanks to Isidora for the use of these photos. Isidora is a Yankee-Brit Valkyrie with a booming soprano and uncanny talent for making vegetables taste good. She also rides a motorcycle, and draws pretty pictures, though usually not at the same time.

Walküre/Valkyrie

Comedian Anna Russell has a spot-on parody of Wagner's Ring Cycle. Here's what she has to say about "Die Walküre," the opera Bede and I saw last night:

In Part 2 you find Wotan wandering about on the earth, and he has a couple of illegitimate children by a mortal—Siegmund and Sieglinde-—whilst disguised under the singularly appropriate name of Wolf. These children become separated at birth, and Sieglinde marries a funny sort of a man called Hunding. He plays the Wagner tuba. [Plays.] He plays it very well. He also has an ash tree with a sword stuck in it growing through his living room floor.

Well one day who should turn up but Siegmund, and he falls madly in love with Sieglinde, regardless of the fact that she’s married to Hunding, which is immoral, and she’s his own sister, which is illegal. But that’s the beauty of Grand Opera, you can do anything so long as you sing it. And after having given Hunding a Mickey Finn so that they won’t wake him up, they certainly do sing it! [Plays and sings.]

Well when they’ve got that off their chests, Siegmund pulls out the sword that’s stuck in the tree that grows in the house that Jack—that HUNDING—built, and they run away together. Well of course when Hunding comes to he’s very annoyed, and he chases after them, and there’s a tremendous battle that everybody gets mixed up in. [Piano.] There’s Hunding dead. [Piano.] There’s Siegmund dead. [Piano.] Mr & Mrs Wotan have an argument. [Piano.] And Wotan’s furious with Brunnhilde.

He’s mad at Brunnhilde because he told her she was NOT to side with Siegmund...and she DID. So as a punishment he puts her on a rock and he surrounds her with impenetrable fire. And that’s the end of Part II. [Piano fillip.]

Wait until you find out what happens in Siegfried, the next opera. Anna Russell says of Siegfried's discovery of Brunnhilde on the rocks:

Well now he’s never seen a woman before, so he doesn’t know what she is...but he soon finds out...and they go in for some very competitive singing—the type of thing “anything you can sing I can sing louder.” And... [Plays and sings.] Oh, it’s terrific. I think probably she wins.

Once Bede and I recover from the two operas, I'll start production of Galatea's and Darth Phil's puppet show. It won't be as dramatic as the Ring Cycle, but that doesn't mean I won't try.