I’m late! I’m late! Her insides screamed,
as she kissed white rabbits hoping for white knights.
But the glass slipper never fit;
fairy godmother never appeared.
So she walks the plank toward midnight,
a punctual crocodile waiting beneath.
Tick tock. Tick tock.
Photo credit: StayGoldMedia via Etsy
Gargleblaster #159: Answer the question “Have all your clocks stopped?” in exactly 42 words.
It was sophomore year of high school, Ms. Hager’s American literature class, when I learned one of my favorite words: semisubnebulous.
It was used in a short story, but I can’t remember which one. Probably something by Faulkner. Maybe Chopin. What I do remember is a footnote at the bottom of the page provided the definition.
It means walking around in dreamlike state. Half asleep. Half awake. It’s basically sleepwalking, but it sounds so much cooler than that.
Or at least that’s what it means to me. Because to this day, I have yet to see it defined anywhere else. It’s a ghost of a word, but I love it just the same.
There are plenty of non-ghost words that start with semi. Semiannual. Semicolon. Semisweet. Semitruck. Semicircle . . . But semifiction isn’t one of them. There’s just no such thing.
That’s because writing is not some two-lane road paved thick in black asphalt with reflective yellow lines that clearly divide the fact from the fantasy. Or if it is, we’re weaving in and out of our lanes like drunk drivers fleeing the scene of a bar fight.
The truth is even our most imagined tales are steeped far too long in boiling kettles of reality and history. And our most honest stories are fuzzied by slanted perspectives, by blurry Polaroids thumbtacked along the walls of our minds.
It’s unavoidable. And poor James Frey had to learn the hard way. But to this girl, there’s no difference between a million little truths and a million little lies.
It’s all in what we remember. In how we remember. In how we write what we remember.
It’s the emotions that seep out of our pores. It’s the words we make up during our high school English classes. It’s the scenes we try to capture–in fiction and in memoir–each one rooted in fading recollections, sepia-toned facts, and yes, even semisubnebulous memories.
So go on. Write your heart out, storytellers. Let all the semitruths spill from your veins.
The world will probably only believe half of them anyway.
Photo credit: ForgottenCharm on Etsy
As the LCD ticked away the time she had left, Joseph took her speckled hand in his.
“You’ve fought a good fight, old friend,” he choked. “But don’t you stay for me.”
“You never did before . . . And now it’s much too late.”
Gargleblaster #158: Answer the question “Tell me something, old friend: Why are you fighting?” in exactly 42 words.
Title: Dreams and Shadows
Author: C. Robert Cargill
Genre: Fiction, Fantasy
Publishing date: 2013
REVIEW
Favorite quotes:
Monsters are real. Very real. But they’re not just creatures. They’re people, they’re nightmares. . . They are the things that we harbor within ourselves. . . there is not a monster dreamt that hasn’t walked once within the soul of a man. (pg 49)
Women were tricky that way. They wanted to be thought of as beautiful, but they only wanted you if you thought they were almost beautiful. (pg 190)
God doesn’t hide himself away because he wants each person to come to him with blind faith; he hides himself away because if people knew the truth, they wouldn’t want to believe in him at all. (pg 211)
Nothing is permanent, but everything is never-ending. (pg 214)
Ignorance is the only one truly unstoppable force in this world. (pg 318)
Yes, people are sheep. Big deal. You need to stop trying to educate the sheep and instead just steer the herd. (pg 318)
The Devil catches every crumb that spills off Heaven’s plate. (pg 354)
The total of our lives won’t be the things we did to survive, but the things we did to change the world. (pg 355)
Synopsis: Two boys from Austin, TX–Ewan and Colby–both end up in up in the Limestone Kingdom, a magical realm filled with fairies, demons, and all things supernatural. Ewan was stolen by a fairy as a baby. Colby stumbled upon the Limestone Kingdom with the help of a djinn (genie). After narrowly escaping death within the walls of the Limestone Kingdom, Ewan and Colby return to Austin. The novel follows the boys years later as they both struggle to deal with the consequences of their actions as children and are forced to fight the ultimate battle against the Kingdom’s most sinister creatures in search of long-overdue revenge.
Opinion:
This book is not for the faint of heart.
I am not a huge fantasy reader. In fact, this novel is probably my first true fantasy novel. Despite seeing mixed reviews on the book, something drew me to it. And I’m glad it did. I found it fascinating, start to finish.
It’s dark, gritty, sinister, relentless, and horribly pessimistic. It reminded me of Game of Thrones in that any character at any time is at risk of being axed. Even the ones you love. Even the ones you’re rooting for.
The characters are all perfectly flawed, making them feel honest and believable. Cursed genies. Drunken angels. Killer mermaids. Fairies who feed on others’ suffering. A young boy who asks for the wrong wish (twice). And a whole world of supernatural beings who will sacrifice their own young just to survive. The humans are just as flawed as the fantasy creatures. The villains, just as flawed as the anti-heroes.
I found the ideas fresh, imaginative, and unexpected. I loved exploring fairies and genies and trolls and angels and mermaids from a new, exquisitely dark perspective.
The quick-paced plot was packed with relevant, tense events all leading up to a superb climatic final battle. It’s a story line worthy of the big screen; I hope I have the chance to see it there one day.
In addition to an excellent plot, the strong writing was at times poetic and often profound. Despite the unreal world it creates, Dreams and Shadows touches on some very real themes: fate, vengeance, internal demons, and legacies.
Although I’m not big on books in a series, Cargill’s next novel, Queen of Dark Things, features at least one of the characters who manages to survive the horrific events of Dreams and Shadows. And I may just have to read it too.
Overall: 4 out of 5
Who should read this book: Fantasy book lovers. And not teenie-bopper vampire fantasies, either. But dark, dramatic, depressing fantasy lovers. Anyone who loves epic battles and underdogs and imaginative worlds that are even bleaker than our own.
Those looking for a happy ending need not apply.
Mema was just 22 when her dad died. The two were close; quite possibly, she was the favorite of his four children.
As my granddad, who we call Pepa, drove her home from the funeral, he warned, “You know, everything you see is going to make you think of him.” To which Mema responded, “You’re right; it will. And everything will be a beautiful memory.”
That’s the story as Pepa retold it to my sister and me 60 years later, as we drove him home from a new funeral. Now he was the one left with all the beautiful memories.
Infinitesitale: An extremely small story. 100 words or less. This was a second attempt.
“Do you see her much?” she pecked, returning with tea. “Or is she more like a pretend girlfriend?”
“Yes, mother, I see her,” he responded, teeth clenched.
Every night, he thought. But it was complicated now with the restraining order in place.
Photo credit: HoneyPotPhotography on Etsy
Gargleblaster #157: Answer the question “Do you see her much?” in exactly 42 words.
Title: The Night Gwen Stacy Died
Author: Sarah Bruni
Genre: Fiction
Publishing date: 2013
REVIEW
Favorite quote:
To not know whether he would never come back, or whether he would always come back, and always they would be abandoned again and again. (pg. 184)
Synopsis: The life of Sheila Gower, a disinterested high school student by day and gas-station attendant by night, is forever changed when she’s willingly kidnapped by taxi driver, Seth Novak. Still struggling with the childhood loss of his older brother, Novak is tormented by dreams of others dying. When one dream of a man’s suicide begins to repeat itself night-after-night, he “kidnaps” Sheila and sets off to Chicago to try to stop it. The novel follows the young couple – living under the comic-book aliases of Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy – as they evade the police, fall in love, and try to save a stranger’s life in the Windy City.
Opinion: As much as I hate to say it, this book fell flat for me. I liked the premise. I liked the Spiderman angle. But somehow, something missed the mark.
For starters, even though there was action happening throughout the novel, I felt like the plot wasn’t going anywhere. It was more like sequence of events instead of actions with consequences that build on one another. And somehow, the central story line – going to Chicago to prevent a suicide – seemed to get swept to the side for about two-thirds of the novel.
As early as fifty pages in, I had no desire to pick this one up and continue reading. It just didn’t interest me enough and I didn’t really care what happened next. Although the plot did gain momentum in the last 75 pages, the ending still felt lack-luster.
Perhaps part of the issue was in character development. As I read, I felt the main characters were both constantly doing or saying things that seemed weird. Maybe that’s because the characters weren’t clearly drawn from the beginning. I didn’t have a clear picture of who Sheila was, so when she would, for example, have explosive emotions and fits of anger, I was confused. And because I felt like I didn’t know her or understand her, I ended up detached from the story as a whole.
Outside of the plot and character development, I didn’t find the writing particularly moving, which can sometimes win me over regardless of what transpires between the pages. The language wasn’t challenging and neither were the ideas or themes.
In summary, it was a decent story told in an unremarkable way.
Overall: 2 out of 5
Who should read this book: Young adults, especially teenagers who have an affinity for comics and superheroes. I imagine as a nerdy 16-year-old girl, I would have enjoyed it more than I did now.
Forever had always seemed impossible. But as they tore away from the chapel, high on champagne and confectioner’s sugar, he began to believe they could actually make it.
He admired her from the passenger seat, wishing it hadn’t taken him this long to figure it out. So many infidelities. So many lies. So much lost time.
A sudden acceleration followed by a sharp turn shocked him back to the present.
Crashing through the guard rail on the bridge, he looked at her with panic-stricken eyes: “Forever?” they pleaded.
Hers narrowed in response: “‘Til death do us part.”
Infinitesitale: An extremely small story. 100 words or less. This was a first attempt.
Sheltered behind my cubicle walls, I heard her voice above the typing of keys, the slurping of coffee, the early morning chatter, as she agonized over a breakfast spread set up just outside a neighboring conference room.
As others came by, grabbing scones or muffins or fruit cups or coffee–definitely coffee–she chatted them up. Hello’s and how-are-you’s and an occasional introduction.
But those little chats were just circles; they never ventured far from where they started. And they always came back to the bagels.
“I’m thinking about having a bagel,” she’d declare to no one in particular. “I ran this morning, so I think it’s okay.”
Minutes would go by. Others would come to stake their breakfast claim and again, she’d pipe up: “I already went for a run today, so I can probably have a bagel and it’ll be okay” or “Six miles is enough to cancel out a bagel, right?”
Part of me mentally smacked myself in the forehead each time I heard her seeking out justification for her food choice. We’re talking about a bagel for heaven’s sake, not deep-fried challah french toast. Not to mention it wasn’t even nine ‘o clock in the morning and the woman had already run half a half marathon.
Part of me wanted to stand up, peer my head over the wall of my cube and say, “YOU’RE GONNA BE FINE. EAT THE DAMN BAGEL ALREADY!!”
But part of me was all too familiar with the circuitous journey she was on. A roundabout road toward health and happiness and self-contentment with the occasional toll of sanity that must be paid along the way.
I’ve argued myself in and out of many a morning run, a tiramisu, and yes, even a fresh-baked bagel. I’ve measured out two tablespoons of hummus to accompany my carrots, just to make sure I didn’t accidentally overdo it. I’ve brought my own packed lunches to untrustworthy dinner parties, so I wouldn’t be trapped without a healthy option. I’ve sopped the grease off my pizza with a paper towel. I’ve had my fair share of low fat and no fat and low sugar and no taste.
I’ve fallen victim to the endless pinwheel of longing, indulging, guilt, and regret, and I’m acutely familiar with the same empty hole that waits in the middle . . . whether you eat the bagel, or you don’t.
Somehow, I found my way out of the loop. I’ve stopped running from bagels or running for bagels. I’ve stopped counting calories and fat grams and minutes until lunch.
But I still recognized the dread and doubt and indecision in that woman’s voice. And I hated every moment for her.
I’m not sure if she decided to eat that bagel or not. And really, it doesn’t matter. It would have plagued her either way.
I do hope one day she sees the justification she needs can’t come from her coworkers at the breakfast buffet. Or her husband. Or her children. Or parents. Or friends.
I hope one day she stops running in circles and makes peace with herself. And all the bagels she has yet to consume.
Photo credit: Pretzel Bread Bagels via Miss Munchie on Etsy
Fresh blood spilled on the ground,
eyes darting all around.
Suspicions rose,
but bodies froze,
as ears rang from the sound.
With tensions running high,
none knowing truth from lie.
The smoking gun—
held by each one—
whispered in the air, “Goodbye.”
Photo credit: Neon Noir Smoking Gun Art Print by Etheloos on Etsy
Gargleblaster #156: Answer the question “Who dunnit?” in exactly 42 words.
writeamuck 