In the Beginning

My first internet-published short story took approximately twenty years and one hour to write.

For decades I thought about the symbolism in my brief courthouse "wedding." The tale of those few minutes seemed to me to be as rich as many literary works I'd read.

Then one day I wrote that story. The first draft took about an hour. I made only minor revisions after that.

A year or two later, I got serious about trying to write and get things published. I submitted the story to two online magazines. The first rejected it in about a half hour (I appreciated their not keeping me in suspense), but the second, The Legendary, accepted it about three months later.

It's appropriate, I think, that my first internet story is titled "Genesis."

Photo credit: My Friend Jen

"God Bless the Child"

In early 1998, I was in my last semester as a graduate student at UNF. I'd long been a writing dilettante and had watched the announcement for the school's yearly writing contest come and the deadline go past me for years.

Less than a week before the deadline for submissions to the 1998 contest, I saw that year's announcement for the first time, with dismay. Here was my last chance to write for the contest, win it, and change my life, and I had no time to do anything about it. The opportunity was once again going to pass me by.

That night, while I stewed in my frustration over pot roast at Cracker Barrel, at the table next to me dined a man with two small girls, about ages 4 and 5. Dad, as many parents must do, nudged the girls to eat their food. The girls, being kids, didn't have much interest. Dad was patient and kind but didn't get results, so he finally reached across the table and said, "Well, if you're not going to eat that bacon, I am."

No one, I thought, likes to see bacon go to waste.

And that was it, one of those MOMENTS, one of those gifts from the universe, delivered to me as an assemble-it-yourself kit. In an instant, from that simple family vignette, I had a story in full. (One quite unlike the story of the family at Cracker Barrel, in fact.) It took me just a few hours to get it on paper. I edited it lightly the next day, printed it, and delivered it.

And then I won.

The school published the story, "Bacon," in a tiny gray chapbook with limited circulation. I received several copies and gave all but one away. And that's where it stood for years. But for a little extra pride and confidence and a cash award ($75, as I recall), winning didn't change my life.

After I had a story published on the internet last year, however, I started thinking about my little "Bacon" story. I had edited it a few times over the years, most significantly by changing the title to "God Bless the Child." I'd wanted to add an allusion to that song in the story, but all my attempts to insert it were artificial, interrupting the flow of the narrative or adding details that simply weren't necessary. Changing the story's title to the song's title fixed the problem.

I submitted the story to one online magazine, Epiphany. The winning magic the story had displayed in 1998 was still working, apparently, because Epiphany accepted it -- rather quickly -- and published it in its 17th issue, making "Bacon" my first published story, and its revision, "God Bless the Child," my third. (You'll find a link to the story below the picture.)

"God Bless the Child"

Getting With the 21st Century

Recently I was chided by an online literary magazine's submissions page.

Not personally, no, but I took the message personally. Among the requirements for submission of new work was NOT a bio, but instead a website address. You have a website, don't you? it asked. What? Well, you should. It's the 21st century. And if you don't have a website, you should have a blog.

I have a blog, this blog, a blog draped with cobwebs, and over there in that corner of the internet I have another blog that's been left out in the rain too long and is covered in rust.

I see the wisdom of the advice, though. What kind of writer doesn't write and, in these days of instant publishing, publish?

So I will post a little here and a little there, and who knows? Maybe it'll become a habit. In the meantime, I'll post the links to my two-and-only published stories, and that, my very small circle of friends, should bring me into the 21st century.

Getting High

I am afraid of heights.

This seems to be a relatively new phobia, one I have developed over the past 10 or 20 years. This might have occurred since I have little exposure to heights: I live in Florida where most houses are one story, the topography is flat, and a person has to stand on a ladder to gain any altitude.

Before we even went to Garmisch, Amy, who had been there before, went on and on about going up the tall mountain there, the tallest mountain in Germany, the Zugspitze. As we settled in at the resort and talked about our plans for our time there, everyone talked enthusiastically about the mountain trip. I listened, much less enthusiastically. However, I am mature enough not to let my body-wracking terror spoil everyone else’s good time, so I agreed that yes, we should go. (Then I hoped for a small disaster, such as breaking my leg, to get me out of it.)

This was the plan: from Eibsee, up the mountain to the Schneeferner glacier by train, then from the glacier to the mountain peak (a very short trip) by cable car. Rather than retrace our route, we would then return to Eibsee by a different route, in a different cable car.

The train up the mountain was relatively empty. We had our car to ourselves. I chose my seat based on the view, which was facing the mountainside: trees, trees, trees. Trees. The other side offered a different perspective. At one point Amy, who was on the other side, asked, “Don’t you want to look down the mountain?”

“No,” I said, hugging myself and looking at trees.

Trees, trees, trees. Trees.

Partway up, the train stopped for a photo op. People streamed out of the cars, cameras in hand, lining up on the mountain’s edge, smiling on cue. I stood in the train doorway, my arms still snugly wrapped around myself, doing the opposite of smiling (although Amy lured me outside for one photo. ONE photo). Little children not related to me began a game of chase along the unfenced rim of the ledge. I nearly fainted. Then Talon and Wesley began the same. I begged Amy to get them away from the edge and started crying.

I was a bundle of fun for the whole family.

Hiding in the train.

The train continued its slow trudge upward and I tried to think about something, anything, except where I was. I would do this. I would. It was only a damned mountain.

We arrived at the glacier train station and climbed up stairs and up stairs until we reached a level with a snack bar, a gift shop, an exit to the area where we could explore, and the stinkiest bathroom in Europe. (Fortunately for us, after we stepped inside and decided we could hold it until bedtime, Paige noticed a sign indicating other facilities. The alternate bathroom was clean, modern, and odorless.) Our bladders comfortable, we stepped out onto the glacier.

Amy, who had been excited to show us the view, was immediately disappointed. From anywhere else I might have reported that the area was foggy, but here, thousands of feet above sea level, we were standing in a cloud.

I, on the other hand, was thrilled. The less I was reminded that I was up seriously high, the happier I would be.

Heads in the clouds.

Before we could decide what to do next, the cloud did something, one of the few things a cloud knows to do. It began pelleting the area with hailstones. People ran screaming for cover. Once the pelleting stopped, the cloud was gone and we could see our surroundings.

Hail!

Frankly, it was stunning. When we left Eibsee, we left summer and the mild July heat. Here on the glacier the air was bracing and snow dotted the ground. To our right was the rest of the mountain. Directly in front of us was a snack bar, beyond that an area for snowboarding and a little chapel, and the cable car that would take us to the top, now not so far away. To our left was a fenced platform and a panoramic view of other mountains, the view Amy wanted us to see.  Since we weren't quite on the edge of the glacier (there was no immediate dropoff) and the platform was fenced, I walked gingerly to the edge. There’s something to be said for the psychological safety offered by a fence. Unlike the thrill of terror that I felt as the boys were running along the unenclosed mountain’s edge, this view brought me a thrill of joy. Maybe being on a mountain wasn't quite as bad as I thought.

The kids snowboarded (and got inconveniently wet in the process), the adults explored the area and took in the views, and we thought once we had the kids in dry clothes again, we’d continue our journey to the top.

Think again, American tourists.

The brief storm that delivered the hail had also disrupted the power to the facility. Not only could we not get a snack or buy anything at the gift shop, but the cable car couldn’t operate.

We were stuck.

On a mountain.

Indefinitely.

We also had massage appointments in a few hours – my first massage – and no way to call the resort to cancel.

I suspect that most of us react the same way stuck in an unpleasant situation against our will: we feel disbelief, outrage, anxiety, confusion, and finally – if we’re lucky – acceptance. That’s the cycle I went through stuck on a mountain – UP HIGH – for an indeterminate period. We couldn’t go up. We couldn’t go down. We couldn’t go.

We climbed the small hill to the chapel. We talked. We took pictures. A few times the power blinked on and we shopped at the gift shop. We got some hot chocolate. (I can’t remember why this was possible since most of the food options were unavailable, and I think we had to pay cash.) We waited and waited.

The chapel

A view

Another view

But a lovely thing happened during the two hours or so that we had nothing to do but be on a mountain: I became comfortable being on a mountain.

Eventually the power returned (and since most who worked at the Zugspitze did not speak English, finding out exactly what was happening was … interesting) and we made the short rest of the trip up in the cable car. We were told we couldn’t stay long because things were shutting down. So we spent a hectic half hour or so running along the (fenced!) platform at the top of the mountain snapping, snapping, snapping pictures, me enjoying my new hobby: being on a mountain, 9700 feet above sea level.

Looking back at the glacier.

At the top. The misty clouds make it a little difficult to tell how high we really are.

Eisbee Lake

This is a picture of Joe and Wes. Really.
See them there on the right?

When it was time to leave, I pushed to get into the cable car first, so as we made the trip down, instead of hiding, I was at the front like Kate Winslet in that disaster movie, the Queen of the World experiencing for the first time the true joy of getting high.

The view from the front of the cable car. We weren't going straight down, but it seemed like it.
And I was all right with that.

Adventure taken: Sunday, July 10, 2011

Welcome to New York!

Nothing ever quite works out the way you plan. We flew into New York from Rome on time, but we sat (crawled) on the runway for about 50 minutes. Between that and waiting in line for 25 minutes to check baggage at the only desk Delta had, behind a man with a Major Problem, we missed our flight to DC. No more flights out until morning...

Matilda and Anna of Alitaria at JFK in New York are ANGELS. They found us a room and a car to drive us to the motel and back to the airport in the morning. The final flight home ultimately was swift and uneventful. Its only memorable quality is that the airplane was freezing cold. Yet it got us where we needed to go.

Ah...my first night ever in New York, and I did nothing but sleep.

Leavin' on a jet plane..

Packing up the computer now...preparing to board airplanes small and large. It's all over but the tears and the x-raying of suitcases and shoe-removal exercises.

It's been fun, and I've hardly had time to even begin to document it. I guess that's what the next several months of my life are for.

In the meantime, I have two more weeks of vacation with relatives and friends in Maryland.

On to the next journey!

A Few Images from Firenze

Beatrice. I purchased two small watercolors from her. :)

This was probably the best part of the day. Three (I presume) art students of Asian descent spent the day recreating a masterpiece by Rafaello, on the ground, in chalk.

The very best part of this story: minutes after I took this picture, an ambulance came tearing down the road straight toward it. Everyone scattered. We were certain the ambulance was going to run over it. Instead, the driver swung wide to avoid it. Such respect.

This was a little later in the day.

Adventure taken: Tuesday, July 26, 2011