Strutting to Bach

Sometimes I want to get Susan’s attention.

A special kind of attention (wink wink, nudge nudge).

That’s when I strut.

Our neighbors can tell when I’m a’struttin’ because they hear Susan laughing hysterically.

Yeah, I’m a good strutter.

But I’m nothing compared to these fine young chaps.

Especially when they be a’struttin’ to Bach.

Susan really gets a treat when I be a’struttin’ to Bach.

You can tell by her gasps of joy.

Or laughter.

No problems. I’ll take what I can get.

You?

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Marianne

Marianne started life as a rewrite of Mitre. I wrote the original Mitre sometime in the mid-1970s and have never been happy with it. The current version (I’ll share it next week so you can see how Mitre and Marianne differ and how Mitre‘s change from the first sharing back in Oct 2018.

Anyway, Marianne is a different take on the same idea.

As always, let me know what you think.


Marianne

 
Marianne looked up as Rose threw some paperwork down on her table. “What are plane tickets doing on your MasterCard bill, Mother?”

Marianne turned her wheelchair and glanced at the bill. “How many guesses do I get?”

“Well?”

“What exactly is the problem? I paid with my own money, used my own phone, tapped the order with my own fingers, arranged for Uber to pick me up and drop me off on both ends of the trip, – ”

“Are you going to Oregon to commit suicide?”

“I can’t go to see my sister?”

“Is she going to help you commit suicide?”

“She’s always been such a dear, hasn’t she?”

“You think I’m going to allow you to do this?”

Marianne laughed. “You won’t allow me to do what? How about I won’t allow you and that Captain Holes-in-his-Pockets husband of yours four thousand a month rent for this – ” She looked around her. ” – room.”

Rose’s face blanched.

“Is that your big worry? You won’t be able to keep your house once I’m gone? How about you stop spending money you don’t have. And I don’t remember giving you Power-of-Attorney. What gives you the right to open my mail?”

“I just thought I’d be helping -”

“You just thought you’d be snooping.”

Rose clutched her arms to her chest.

“Close the door on your way out, Daughter.”

Marianne checked her wall calendar. June. Doctor Mulvaney said she’d be bed-ridden by this time next year and little more than a locked-in idiot in two. “I’d like to go while I’m still able to know I’m doing the going.”

She grabbed a Mackintosh apple and a small paring knife and wheeled herself to her window. A crow and a catbird stood on either side of a feeder she attached to the window when she moved in. “Hi, Amos. Hi, Andy. How you boys doing? Your chicks worried about how many seeds you’ll leave them when you pass?” She gazed at the knife. “I suppose if I was brave enough I’d just do myself in. Nobody’ll notice until a bill needed to be paid.”

Amos hopped closer to the window. Andy watched, a sunflower seed rolling in his beak as he cracked the shell.

Amos tapped on the window.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t know Morse code.”

Andy hopped over to Amos.

“Teaming up on me, boys?”

They both tapped.

“Want some apple?” She raised the window. The birds hopped onto the sill. Marianne cut slivers of Mackintosh and put them next to the birds.

Amos looked at the slivers. “Thank you.”

Marianne looked at the bird and blinked.

Andy pulled an apple sliver from his beak with a claw. “Don’t worry, M. You’re more sane than not.”

Marianne stared at Andy, then at Amos. Amos nodded. As much as a bird can nod, Amos nodded.


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Samuel

They only come out at night (with all due apologies to The Edgar Winter Group).

Truth is, our coyote come out fairly often. Mostly late afternoons into evening, granted, but often.

This is fine with us.

One of the habits of denning coyote is foraging at night when most reasonable Two-Leggers are asleep or at least safely tucked indoors.

Not so us.

The Wild knows we are not reasonable Two-Leggers.

So it is with Samuel, a handsome and robust father of (we suspect) at least two.

We make sure Samuel has something for his pups.

It’s not our job to preserve The Wild.

But we do attempt to maintain balance. There are many more Two-Leggers who are not willing to share.

You’re not one, are you?

And if you’re not willing to share, you’re not willing to share because…?

 

Arthur Plotnik’s “The Elements of Editing”

Serious writers and all the authors I know know Strunk&White’s “The Elements of Style,” aka The Little Book. I mention in Strunk and White’s “The Elements of Style” I have several copies and all are near my workstations so I’ll be no further than a click or arm’s reach should I need, and I need often enough they are a click or arm’s reach away and no further.

Few authors and no writers I know know Arthur Plotnik’s The Elements of Editing and, while not what I’d call required reading, it is definitely useful reading.

 
Plotnik’s The Elements of Editing is about the jobs of editors on the publishing end. This book will not help you edit your own work (at least not much. I did find some useful information in it, but I’m just that way. I’ll find useful things everywhere. It’s a developed trait and strongly recommended).

It will help writers and authors better understand what editors do and why some editors reject your work with a form letter and others write a glowing acceptance and ask for more (this has happened to me many times. Example: I wrote Morningsong in 1987 and nobody wanted it for over thirty years. I submitted it to Harvey Duckman and they asked me to become a regular contributor). It will help writers and authors get a feel for an editor’s day and what’s required to put out a regular magazine, journal, anthology, newspaper, book, and basically any form of regular media.

Most importantly, it’ll help authors and writers recognize a good editor from a bad editor (not to mention recognizing the unhandiwork of a machine editor. Avoid them in publishing).

Here’s some of the gems I found in an afternoon’s read:


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Steam

Another flash piece (~430 words). Steam is my first attempt at the Steampunk genre and, being honest, I’m not sure it’s Steampunk so much as it’s Josephpunk.

The initial inspiration came pre-covid. I participated in a mostly steampunk con. I walked the hall meeting authors, asking questions, looking through their books, and wondering, “WTF is steampunk all about?”

My previous experience with anything steampunkish was several years ago reading Fantasy and Science Fiction magazine. A story (and sorry, I can’t remember the title) about a steam-powered airplane (and if anybody remembers its title, please share it in a comment). The technology was interesting, the aircraft feasible, and what caught my attention was the emphasis on character in the story. I read the story because I wanted the characters to succeed.

But none of the books I scanned at the con dealt with character, all focused on technology, and could probably be classified as “Tour of Wonders” stories more than anything else.

Not for me.

But as I stood beside my table signing books, I wondered, “What would a truly character-centric steampunk story be like?”

The concept came to me immediately.

This flash piece took about fifteen months to get to a first draft and a few more to polish.

Let me know what you think.


Steam

Arrival

 
The shrieking of my wheels on the tracks as I pull into the station, so like your screams when you realized what they’d done.
The hiss of my brakes, my body slowing as my heart began racing.
But could not; eyes on meters, release valves turn lest all their work be in vain.
Has no one told you?


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