Namo amitabha Buddhaya, y'all.
This here's a religious establishment. Act respectable.

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Since Elisabeth Fritzl Last Saw Daylight...



...Mikhail Gorbachev became the Soviet premier and ushered in glastnost. (1985)

...
the space shuttle Challenger blew up. (1986)

...I graduated from high school. (1987)

...Salman Rushdie published The Satanic Verses, and certain Islamic clerics put out a contract on his life. (1988)

...the Berlin Wall fell, and Prince William Sound was covered with oil after the Exxon ship Valdez ran aground. (1989)

...Nelson Mandela was released from prison after 27 years (three more than Elisabeth). (1990)

...apartheid finally ended in South Africa. (1991)

...the civil war in El Salvador, which dragged on for eight years and killed over a million people, most of them civilians, was formally brought to a close with a pact signed in Mexico City. (1992)

...the "don't ask, don't tell" policy went into effect in the United States military. (1993)

...figure skater Nancy Kerrigan was attacked by rival Tonya Harding's ex-husband shortly before the Lillehammer Olympics (1994).

...O.J. Simpson was acquitted of killing his ex-wife Nicole Brown and her friend Ron Goldman. (1995)

...Theodore Kaczynski, the "Unabomber," was turned in by his brother. (1996)

...Princess Diana died in a car accident. (1997)

...President Clinton denied having sexual relations with "that woman, Miss Lewinsky." (1998)

...Two teenagers killed 15 students and wounded 23 others at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado. (1999)

...Elian Gonzalez returned to Cuba after eight months in the United States. (2000)

...9/11 happened. (2001)

...Jimmy Carter was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his charity, Habitat for Humanity. (2002)

...Johnny Cash died at the age of 71. (2003)

...Photographs of abused prisoners at Abu Ghirab ignited a scandal for the U.S. military. In another inexplicable turn, George W. Bush was re-elected President. (2004)

...Pope John Paul II died after an amazing 26-year reign, and Hurricane Katrina, with the help of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, destroyed much of New Orleans. (2005)

...Pluto was demoted to non-planetary status. (2006)

...the seventh and final Harry Potter book was released. (2007)

Sorry, guys. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it.

...

A candle for Elisabeth

Leaves raked yesterday: Billions.
Playing on the iPod: Something from season III of "Doctor Who", sounds like maybe space rhinos on the moon

I dunno about you, but my parents never threatened to lock me in the cellar. We didn't have a cellar, for one thing. We had a crawlspace under a pier and beam foundation and it was plenty scary (think "attic" with more spiders) but to my knowledge it didn't lock. It had a low ceiling, probably no more than four feet, hence the term "crawlspace." It was also really, really unpleasant. I think most cellars/crawlspaces inherently are. There's something about humans where we just don't wanna be underground if we can help it. Certainly I spent as little time in there as possible.

So imagine, then, spending twenty four years in a cellar. Consider giving birth to children there, alone and unattended, and trying to raise them in the dark, by yourself. Imagine what it would be like to try to explain what the sun was to kids who'd never seen it. Think about what you'd do if you never knew what would happen when the door opened. Would the guy on the other side, who just incidentally is your own father, bring you food? Would he rape you again? Would he take one of your children to live upstairs, if it didn't cry too much? Suppose the guy went on vacation to Thailand and, I dunno, got killed in a plane crash. He's the only one who knows you're down there. You and your children, which are his children, will starve to death if he doesn't come back. What's more, there's no reason any of this is happening. You didn't do anything wrong, except turn eighteen and try to leave the house.

Look, I imagine stuff for a living (or I'd like to anyway) and I cannot, I mean it, I cannot get my mind around this. I could sort of imagine growing up in a polygamous family when that scandal broke because I served some time in Utah as a kid. No, most people in Utah are not polygamists, but they were around, you knew who they were, usually the kids who were dirt-poor and had a lot of "aunts" at home and dropped out of school in the eighth grade. But this--this is just beyond me. This is cruelty on a level I just can't fathom. My brain keeps going crinkle.

Leaving aside the sick dude who did all this (and apparently had planned it for years, undertaking elaborate construction of the soundproof underground cell with its electronic keyless entry in his spare time and without his wife and other kids finding out about it), what happens now to this poor kid, Elisabeth Fritzl? And her kids? She's 42. Her oldest kid is 23 and the youngest about 5. The Austrian authorities took her straight from the cellar to a "place of psychiatric care," whatever that means, and she and the kids are "all together" and "doing well under the circumstances." I dunno about you, but I don't think a locked cellar vs. a locked psychiatric unit is much of a trade. Well, maybe it's not locked. I hope it's not locked.

I wrote an e-mail to my ex-shrink to ask him his professional opinion but he hasn't gotten back to me yet. You hear these stories of "feral children" who were confined in similar crazy ways and grew up without human contact. Usually they don't do too well "re-integrating with society", whatever that means. Can they be happy, though? Can they have friends? Enjoy new food, walk outside in the wet grass and be pleased at the splendor of the world? I mean, if they can do that, who cares if they ever get a Fortune 500 job or drive a BMW or even learn to talk?

Elisabeth was 18 when she went in there. She had a life before. Her kids may have grown up in the dark, but they had her and they had each other. So does that mean this story will end happily? Again, forget the sick dude who's certainly going to jail for some period of time; a happy ending for Elisabeth and her kids, that's what I'm talking about. See above re: wet grass.

No, I don't know why this has upset me so much. I don't know why it's giving me nightmares. I don't know why I can't just look at the story, shrug my shoulders, say "Oh my God" or something equally useless, and just go on with my day. I don't know why, but I can't. I think about it all the time. I wanna run out there (to Austria, just across the pond from Dallas, you know) and give everybody hugs and make it all better. A friend of mine told me a story about how on 9/11 she was watching TV and crying, and her four-year-old daughter came up and asked her what was wrong. Mom said, "Something terrible has happened. A lot of people have died. It's a very sad day." The four year old said, "I'm a big girl, Mommy. I can fix it." Yep, that's about my level of perspective here.

The people of the town where all this happened held a candlelight vigil for Elisabeth and her kids, one of whom, the 19-year-old, is in the hospital in critical condition. Candlelight vigils in Dallas being kind of rare, I'm going to light a virtual candle for Elisabeth.

Monday, April 28, 2008

Danger! Inflated Sense of Self-Importance Ahead!

If you think anxiety can be pounded back into the woodwork by a few measly sessions on the meditation cushion, you are so wrong. Shortly after I stopped pounding my head against the keyboard and sent in the synopsis, the truck of Wholly Sheep What Did I Just Do pulled up in front of the house right on schedule and dropped off a crate. Pretty soon I was so nervous I started vibrating, the cats ran to hide and even the house cockroaches (there probably are some, it's an old house) thought of something really important that they had to be doing in, oh, say, Denton County.

Times like this I used to either drink an entire bottle of champagne by myself with no help, or go to Szechuan Pavilion and clean out the buffet. Now I'm both abstinent and annoyingly sober, so my most readily available nervous outlet is to bug hell out of Joan with stupid questions about what I could have sent instead, like, "Do you think I should have done X? What about Y? Hey, maybe Z would have been the best choice." This is the literary equivalent of changing your mind about what you're wearing once you're already at the party. At some point I started relating a story that someone in my writing group had told me and I started tapping on the table so the Devil wouldn't hear me. (Lengthy post on this particular superstition to follow at some point.) Joan said, "You aren't superstitious or anything, are you?" and I said, "Heck, no. It's not like I'm in a high risk profession." Joan gave me this look that makes me feel like I'm about six and covered with mud and said, "Jen, crab fishermen are in a high risk profession. You sit at a keyboard and type things."

Well hey, it's true. But it's not the fault of the crabs that they don't have keyboards.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

A paragraph of the synopsis.

I finished this stupid thing last night and felt like I'd just done an eight hour shift breaking rocks on the freeway. When I fell asleep I slept for ten solid hours and only finally woke up because I was hungry. It's true that your brain uses 20% of your resting calories. Great minds think a lot. Anyway, here's a paragraph of the deathless prose I sent to the editor. Keep your fingers crossed for me. (Note, it's hard to type while doing that.)

After his mother’s mysterious death, twelve-year-old CAMERON and his stranger- father, STUART, go into hiding in Central America. They are staying with Stuart’s friend ILIANA, an art dealer in San Sebastian. Iliana has a tasteful, expensive home full of priceless breakables, and she doesn’t want a kid around. Stuart, a minor criminal, has also borrowed money from Iliana that he can’t repay, and they often have loud, angry fights about it. To make matters worse, Cameron is afraid of “men in grey” that he believes are stalking him in the shadows. Cameron’s anxiety is so intense that it can leave his body in a psychokinetic storm that breaks things and
makes noise and sometimes causes him physical injury.

Intrigued? I hope so. I hope the editor will be, too. I'll let you know what happens.

Saturday, April 26, 2008

Okay. It's done. I sent it.

So everybody can relax now, hear? Geez, I'm tired.

Lawrence of Arabia

Playing in the background: Suzanne Ciani, "Neverland"
Meters swum today: 2200 (WOW!!)

So I was looking at yesterday's post and I thought, "Ya know, if I wrote a synopsis about something I'm not emotionally caught up with, ie, not the creator of, I might be able to figure out how, or at least come up with a template to follow." Star Wars wasn't really a good choice, so I decided to attempt my second favorite movie, Lawrence of Arabia. Here's what I came up with. Warning, serious major spoilers ahead.

The story begins with the state funeral of English Great War hero Colonel T.E. Lawrence, who recently died in a motorcycle accident. After the funeral, American journalist Jackson Bentley, who once knew the colonel, is asked by another reporter what he thought of the man and describes him in glowing terms. When the reporter leaves, Bentley says to his companion, "He was also the most shameless exhibitionist since Barnum and Bailey." Overhearing this, an English officer takes exception, saying, "It was my honor to shake his hand at Damascus." The officer admits he didn't actually know Lawrence, however, and Bentley says, "I wonder if anyone really did."

In a flashback, Lieutenant Lawrence appears as an indifferent and sometimes insubordinate soldier at an English post in Cairo. Partly to get rid of him, the post commander sends Lawrence to check on Prince Faisal's "Bedouin revolt" against the Turks in what is now Saudi Arabia. When Lawrence arrives in the desert, he befriends his guide, and gains the man’s respect by learning to ride a camel
and tossing out his army rations in favor of Bedouin food. They stop for water at a well owned by the Harith, a rival tribe, where the guide is shot and killed by Sherif Ali, a minor prince and leader of the Harith. Ali offers to take Lawrence to Prince Faisal but Lawrence, horrified and grief-stricken by the murder, tells Ali that "so long as the Arabs fight tribe against tribe they will continue to be a little people, a silly people, greedy, barbarous and cruel." He then sets out to find the prince by himself.

Lawrence manages to find Prince Faisal's camp before he dies of exposure. He is surprised and upset to also find Sherif Ali, sitting at the prince's right hand. Some other English officers are also traveling with Faisal. One is urging the Prince to attack the distant city of Aqaba, thereby seizing a critical Turkish port. The other thinks the Prince can't do this without returning to Yenbo to pick up English
reinforcements and artillery. The Prince is curious about Lawrence and asks him what he thinks. Lawrence tells the Prince that if he takes on English reinforcements, he will also put himself under English rule. The Prince asks if all Englishmen think that the Arabs are "a little people, a silly people, greedy, barbarous and cruel." Embarrassed, Lawrence says he believes that the Arabs are and should be a free people. During the night, Lawrence comes up with a plan to take a small force to Aqaba and attack on the landward side. This will avert the need for artillery by taking the Turks' seawall guns out of the picture.

Sherif Ali denounces Lawrence's plan as "madness" but when it becomes obvious Lawrence means to try it anyway, he takes some of his Harith men and goes with him. Two orphan boys, Daud and Tafas, are fascinated by Lawrence and demand that Lawrence hire them as his "servants." The trek across the great Nefud Desert, called the "Sun's Anvil" by the Bedouin, is long and arduous. One of Ali's men, Gassim, falls asleep and slides from his camel during the night. When the lone camel is found the following morning, Ali gives Gassim up for dead, saying he will die within hours once the sun comes up; "so it is written." Lawrence says that "nothing is written" and goes back to find Gassim. As the sun gets higher in the sky, Daud, Tafas and Ali wait on the edge of the Anvil, each certain that Lawrence will never return. Just before noon, he finally appears, exhausted and depleted
but, miraculously, with Gassim, who is near death. Lawrence refuses water from everyone except Sherif Ali, who tells him, "Truly, for some men, nothing is written."

The next morning Lawrence finds that the men have burned his English officer's uniform and replaced it with Bedouin robes. They also give him a new name, El Aurens. Another tribal leader, Auda Abu-Tayeh of the Howitat, joins Lawrence's attack on Aqaba after Lawrence tells him there is much gold in the city. The next night a fight breaks out between two of the tribesmen, and a Howitat man is killed. "This is the end of Aqaba," Ali tells Lawrence as the two tribes prepare to go to war. To
save the mission, Lawrence steps between the tribes and says that he will execute the killer himself "because I have no tribe, and no one will be offended." Lawrence then discovers to his horror that the killer he must execute is Gassim, the man he rescued from the desert. After killing Gassim Lawrence throws the gun away and sinks into a deep depression, refusing to speak for days.

The attack on Aqaba is a triumphant success. The city is looted and burned, but Auda is angry because no gold is found. Lawrence writes Auda a promissory note "signed, in His Majesty's absence, by me" and sets off across the Sinai Peninsula to inform the Cairo command of the victory. During the journey Tafas falls into quicksand and drowns. Grief-stricken, Lawrence continues on with Daud, but seems to be losing his grip on reality; he talks about seeing a "pillar of fire" even
though Daud tells him "It is only dust, Aurens."

Back in Cairo, Lawrence realizes he no longer fits in with the culture of the British officers and their condescending attitude toward non-Englishmen in general and Arabs in particular. He tells his commander that he killed two men, and "there was something about it I didn't like. I enjoyed it." The new commander, General Allenby, sends Lawrence back to Arabia with instructions to disrupt Turkish railways and supply lines. During this mission Lawrence meets journalist Jack Bentley, who tells him that the Americans need "inspiration" to join the war effort. Bentley follows Lawrence on his exploits, painting Lawrence as a mythical hero, "Lawrence of Arabia." Lawrence, while obviously reveling in the attention, starts to believe his own myth; he tells Ali "They can only kill me with a golden bullet" and "I am invisible."
Lawrence's ideas of his own godhood are shattered when he is captured near the town of Derra and tortured by the Turkish commander. He escapes, but the experience makes him even more unstable and he announces to Ali that he's going back to Cairo. "I am just any man, and I'm going to ask for a job that any man can do."

In Cairo, however, the war in North Africa is winding down and the political situation is very different. Britain is concentrating on the war in Europe and France is now expressing an interest in the Arab territories. Lawrence learns about a secret pact to divide Arabia between France and England as soon as the city of Damascus is retaken from the Turks. Infuriated, Lawrence returns to Arabia again, this time to lead the Arab tribes to Damascus first and ensure their liberty.

The campaign is a military success but devastating for Lawrence personally. Daud is wounded in an explosives accident and cannot ride. “Salute Tafas for me,” says Lawrence, and kills Daud rather than leave him for the Turks. Later a retreating Turkish army crosses Lawrence's path, and Lawrence orders an attack instead of going around them. Lawrence goes on a rampage during this battle, killing men with their hands held up in surrender and finally collapsing next to a wagon, a knife in his hand and blood all over his clothes. Jackson Bentley finds him here and takes the famous picture of a world-weary Lawrence that causes a sensation in
the West.

The Arab army reaches Damascus several days before the British, but tribal infighting makes it impossible for them to hold the city. After days of trying to hold the feuding tribes together, Lawrence visits the military hospital where he finds thousands of wounded and dying Turkish soldiers without water, food or medicine. With no choice but to call in the Army doctors, Lawrence watches the British take over Damascus. Most of the Bedouin drift away from the city. Ali stays "to learn politics" and says of Lawrence, "If I fear him who love him, how must he fear him, who hates himself?"

Back in Cairo, Prince Faisal enters into delicate negotiations with the French and the British. Although the cause of Arab independence is lost, Lawrence can see that Faisal will be able to secure favorable terms for the Bedouin; "Someday," he says to Lawrence, "I must be a king." General Allenby promotes Lawrence to Colonel and gives him an honorable discharge. A jeep takes him to a ship bound for England. Rather than look forward to the ship, Lawrence turns around as they pass a tribe of Bedouin and looks after them. He has lived in two worlds, but he doesn't have a home in either one.

Pretty melodramatic, right? But it's readable. So let me give Mindbender another shot. I'm not procrastinating. Honest.

Friday, April 25, 2008

Still working on the synopsis.

And for the record, it still sucks, though maybe not quite as bad as before (I've torn up two versions already). Times like this I feel like if I could just get myself out of my own way I'd be unstoppable, or immovable, or something like that. As in, just crank out the sentences, Jen, and who the hell cares. Well, me, for one thing, because when I crank out the sentences and line 'em up I could put my own teeth to sleep. Nothing sounds very exciting in a synopsis. Life, death and the meaning of God sound about as thrilling as watching paint dry. Seriously, try writing one of these and you'll see what I mean.

And if you think writing one's bad, take pity on the poor soul who has to read it. For example: "A farm boy on a remote planet dreams of being a fighter pilot in the rebellion against the Empire. Then one day he finds a droid that carries secret plans for the Empire's new superweapon. He tries to return the droid to its former owner and meets an eccentric old man who tells him strange stories about his father. His aunt and uncle get killed, and he goes off with the eccentric old man to fight the rebellion against the Empire. Oh, and he falls in love with a hologram." With material like this, you gotta wonder how in hell George Lucas became a multibajillionaire. I mean, he had to pitch this to somebody. Somebody had to read that paragraph, or one kind of like it, and say, "Sounds good, here's $20 million."

(You think that's bad, try being David Lean. "A British soldier meets a band of Bedouin nomads. They march across the desert with a bunch of camels. They attack a city. Then he goes home." "Great, son, here's the money. We think there's an Oscar in this!")

Should I quit whining and get back to work? Of course I should.