Showmanship*
(*nominated by Hobart for a 2004 storySouth Award)
Savannah Schroll
Standing in the enormous walk-in closet, he drew his finger languorously over the shoulder seams of over a dozen jackets, deciding. What was appropriate for a trial? Surely not red. They would draw the wrong conclusions. Also, nothing in leather.
On the shelves along the far wall, a pair of Italian-made shoes, covered to the tops of the soles in rhinestones, glittered with self-assured opulence. There was a confidence in these shoes, a silent fluency that would speak so that he would not have to. There was always the obvious predominance of images over of sound-bytes to consider, and he had put these shoes out the night before because he felt they said ‘royalty.’ They should not forget who he is, after all. And royalty no longer need fear the guillotine.
Black then. Yes. A velvet suit coat with rhinestone buttons at the cuffs, a white shirt with a mandarin collar and pleated front, black pants. Sublime, yet funereally tactful.
His oldest sister had called before he’d come in to dress. She’d offered a long sequence of reassuring coos and chirps into the phone in her characteristically insipid and avian way. Again, she told him how much the family believed in him, that they were behind him one hundred percent. “Thank you . . . thank you . . . that means so much.”
He wondered if his sister had actually called out of her own good will or if his mother was standing nearby, if she had perhaps even dialed for her, sticking her long metallic-toned nails into the silly rotary of one of his sister’s Princess phones. He and his sister had had breakfast together the morning before, he taking nothing but grapefruit juice with a sprinkle of Splenda, she nothing but hot water with lemon. She spoke endlessly, tweeting like a songbird, unnatural in her enthusiasm and artificial in her affections. Under the table, he observed how her ankle bones protruded so elegantly and felt a distressing stab of envy. He thought of this now as he searched for a suitable pair of socks.
As he was applying his eyeliner, a maid came into his quarters again, carrying a Mickey Mouse phone with the receiver lying on the tray by the phone’s feet. “Excuse me, Mr. Jackson. Your lawyer is on the line. He’s eager to know when you will be at the court house.”
He turned on his vanity stool to look at the clock on the wide mantle ledge. It was 7:25.
“Tell him I’m indisposed at the moment. I will be there when I arrive.”
“Yes, Mr. Jackson. Thank you.” She curtsied awkwardly and stepped backward several paces before turning to go out.
The eyeliner went on too heavily, leaving small globs in his false lashes, and he was forced to take it all off and begin again, with a foundational swab of pancake. Getting ready was a painstaking process, but he would not be seen any less than perfect under these circumstances.
As he finished, inspecting for fractures in the surface, for imperfections, he felt the draw of the special room. Its strong aura was pulling him, like so many little fingers, toward its oak paneled door. He smoothed his jacket and reluctantly left the vanity mirror. The door was not locked, which upset him at first. But he remembered having lain on the floor prior to bedtime the night before and felt sudden relief. As he turned on the light inside the door, an entire world of childrens’ images, photograph upon photograph, each framed and perched on a tiny wall shelf, reached out to embrace him. He felt an enormous amount of positive energy, and he then became aware of the need to touch each one, but knew that he would not be able to do this in the amount of time he had before departing. There were well over a thousand to acknowledge, and he could not, he felt, leave out a single one. They would remember his thoughtless favoritism and retaliate, as they had so potently done during his last surgery. And he could not afford this today. He smiled at them instead, directing his beneficent gaze slowly around the room’s expanse, like the sun traveling across the sky, encouraging the flowers. He bowed then, pushed aside the little white stool he used in an adjacent room when he wanted to spend time with a special one alone. He closed the door.
As he made his way downstairs towards the ballroom, he could hear the SUV engine idling outside. There was, he felt, still sufficient time left. He owed it to the servants. Also, he considered it fairly imperative to carry out the ritual performance today.
“Bring them in from outside…outside in the truck. They shouldn’t have to miss it.” He motioned towards the front windows, through which the SUV’s tail pipe could be seen expelling defensive plumes of exhaust against the cold. Someone went out the grand front door to retrieve the chauffer and body guards.
Standing a respectful distance away from the king was a young man, no more than thirty, dressed in a white jumpsuit with Mylar stripes shimmering down the sides. “What will it be today, Mr. Jackson?”
Mr. Jackson clasped his hands, considering. “Today, Jeffery, I think it should be Bad.” He smiled, feeling his lipstick crack slightly. He cast his eyes downward. Jeffery nodded and disappeared into a wall booth.
After the modest crowd had assembled, the music began. With the first finger poke of the air, he began an animated display of backwards toeing, hip gyrations, and a uniform collection of angry glances at the floor. He gave particular emphasis to the threatening portions of the song and added some additional growls and rumbles after ‘your butt is mine.’ He was, it was clear, preparing. As he finished, a modest round of applause echoed into the room. He smiled at them and bowed, so much more like a court jester than a king. “Thank you. Thank you,” he murmured with abashed humility.
The crowd of servants then parted like the Red Sea in order to let him pass, along with his body guards. And, at 8:15, he finally headed towards the SUV, requesting a parasol before leaving. In the midst of a small, family-conducted motorcade, he made his way to the Courthouse. Admiring his dapper feet in the foot wells of the SUV, he was assured by the inspiring, affirmative scintillations of his shoes.
Permalink here:
http://www.hobartpulp.com/fiction/showmanship.html
Friday, June 26, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Author Mark R. Brand Answers the American Soma Quiz!
*This blog meme by Mark was originally answered on Saturday 6/20/09.
Mark Brand is author of many excellent works of fiction, including Red Ivy Afternoon (Silverthought Press, 2006), which won the Bronze Medal in 2007 for the Independent Publisher Book Award in Fantasy/Sci-Fi.
The following was taken directly from Mark's blog, Vinnie the Vole:
http://vinniethevole.blogspot.com/2009/06/american-soma.html
Mark Brand (MB): A dystopian literature-related internet quiz? How could I not?
(Note: Savannah Scholl Guz and I were on a panel together last month at the Pilcrow Lit Fest and I'm chomping at the bit to read this book.)
Savannah Schroll Guz (SSG): In American Soma, the title story imagines the mass drugging of the nation through popular foods, like pizza, coffee, and beer to assure the results of a presidential election. If you were in power and wanted to maintain it, what methods would you use?
MB: Two words: Video games. For the past four or five years, video games have outsold the box-office in annual sales. Everyone is playing video games, or near enough to everyone that you could reach a huge chunk of the population by exploiting things like content and product placement.
True story; when Obama was running for election, I started seeing people in XBOX 360 Live games using "Barack" and "Obama" as their usernames. Video game commentary and political importance isn't here yet because we still think of it as a form of entertainment for children and juvenile men, but the reality is it's bigger than almost any other entertainment form and it's very cheap in comparison. Cheap=democratic, but cheap also virtually guarantees a widespread saturation of data. If someone could mold that...
SSG: In American Soma, there is a story called “The Fountain,” in which the dirty water of a dive bar toilet can make people younger. Considering injections of botulism toxins and painful chemical peels are now the accepted way to rejuvenate your appearance, would you reach into a scummy toilet in order to maintain your youth or regain it? And what's your unlikely fountain of youth?
MB: I have to say I probably would. And speaking as someone who once went on a grueling low-calorie diet and lost 84 pounds, I'm willing to turn my back on a variety of things I categorically love in order to try to shoot for an ideal that I'm not even sure I feel a genuine need to achieve. Why? In an information world, attractiveness is even more important than capital. My idea of the fountain of youth? Stay the hell away from genetically-engineered food. If you are eating anything with hydrogenated corn oil or corn syrup in it (see also: everything) you are fucking up your body. The Amish eat dairy like it's going out of style, butter, cheese, milk, none of it pasteurized and none of it "reduced fat" and they remain some of the healthiest people you will ever see. The reason: they are outdoors every day and move around more than we do, and virtually none of their food chain is processed. Imagine a world in which you could happily have all the butter/ice-cream/mashed potatoes/pasta/bread/etc, you could eat, and it would not make you obese. This exists in places where they don't put chemicals and unnatural additives in our food. Don't believe me? Go to Arcola, Il and have lunch at an Amish person's house. I've never seen so many carbs and fats on the same plate. It was too much food even for me, who has been known to pack away an entire pizza in a sitting. But every bit of it was organic and none of it from improperly-raised or treated livestock or genetically-engineered grains.If you think you know some healthy, attractive people. go visit an Amish community. They positively glow with youth, and they have great skin, vibrant hair, strong upright posture, correct body-mass index, etc. And they eat steak and potatoes for BREAKFAST.
SSG: American Soma’s story “Postmodern Colonialism” is a not-so futuristic story that charts conquests achieved through capitalism (and sometimes, war). In host nations, protective compounds are created, in which American white collar employees are stationed and eventually cannot leave. Do you think this still lies in America ’s future? Or are we already there?
MB: It might, but I honestly hope it doesn't. Not because I really have a concept of what this sort of thing really means to the citizens of third world countries. I think it would be presumptuous of me to even prentend that I understand their point of view. I hope this never happens because the America I love is full of good people, and the system that does/might exist where Americans are unwelcome in other countries makes me feel a little heartsick. Entitled we might act, and enfranchised we certainly are, but under it all I know we're not such douchebags as all that. I like to fantasize that nearly any one person from any country who "hates" Americans could come to Chicago, spend a month here seeing what we're really like, and at least partially change their mind. It might be just a fantasy, but that's the America I live in, and the one that I try to protect and nurture.
SSG: American Soma is largely about a variety of personal or communal dystopias and imperfect worlds. By contrast, what three things comprise your idea of a utopia?
MB: 1) The abolishment of institutional punishment. I don't think governments should exist to incarcerate or execute people. I think people should be bound by the moral code of their individual communities and made to atone for transgressions in a palpable way. Locking someone up for fifteen years solves nothing. Serious breaches of the law should be punished by things like compulsory labor in charitable causes, compulsory participation in medical trials so we can improve our overall medical technology, compulsory relocation to rural areas or group living environments for community supervision. That sort of thing should exist for the small percentage of crimes that are not directly related to socioeconomic status. Which leads me to my next bullet point...
2) Socialism 2.0. Not communism, socialism. If the last year and a half have taught us anything useful about socioeconomics, it's that our version of capitalism does little or nothing to maintain the meritocracy and democracy that we cling to as its ideals. So we need to ask ourselves: why the death-grip on capitalism? Let it go, America. Much of what we do is already very socialistic in nature, let's toss out the rest of the stupid process and start fresh with a political structure consistent with the last century of human sociopolitical evolution. As we are now, we're still struggling with many of the same problems people in 1909 suffered from. I find that lack of progress telling.
3) Creativity encouraged, derivative entrepreneurialism scorned. There is a reason buzzards have no friends. They survive on eating the remains of other, more noble creatures. I think we as human beings need to start calling buzzards buzzards and focus on a world in which creativity reigns. Ultimately, those who create are the most valuable members of any society anyway. A culture is only as good as its best idea, and right now the people in this country who have ideas are like little mice under the sun waiting for the corporate birds of prey to swoop out of the sky and grab them. We cage people in the bars of expectation, partially because of capitalism, partially because of outmoded cultural taboos that have no real teeth anymore. In a digital world, where virtual experiences are quickly catching up with "real" experiences, why can we not have a world in which the concept of taboo melts away and gives rise to the creativity that the human race needs, and deserves? The concept of NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard) may be useful here. Peace can be realized as a sort of comfort barrier to protect Group of People A from Group of People B via means of the digital world. After all, when I log onto Facebook only the people I like are there. Imagine a world where you could move to a community of people guaranteed to accept you for whatever it was you wanted to achieve in the world. In a more virtual world, you might even live in a "community" comprised of only people you get along with. Tired of listening to religious people? Unfriend them for a while until you change your mind or get bored. Abortion not your thing? In a more virtual world, you could demand that people who advocate abortion rights never, or nearly never, cross your path. You can tune out news of them the way you'd tune out a distasteful radio station or that one weirdo friend from college who you don't care to ever speak to again.
In "No Exit" Sartre demonstrated to us that Hell is "other people." If we want to ever reach Utopia, we need to realize that Heaven is also other people. Some other people.
Mark Brand is author of many excellent works of fiction, including Red Ivy Afternoon (Silverthought Press, 2006), which won the Bronze Medal in 2007 for the Independent Publisher Book Award in Fantasy/Sci-Fi.
The following was taken directly from Mark's blog, Vinnie the Vole:
http://vinniethevole.blogspot.com/2009/06/american-soma.html
Mark Brand (MB): A dystopian literature-related internet quiz? How could I not?
(Note: Savannah Scholl Guz and I were on a panel together last month at the Pilcrow Lit Fest and I'm chomping at the bit to read this book.)
Savannah Schroll Guz (SSG): In American Soma, the title story imagines the mass drugging of the nation through popular foods, like pizza, coffee, and beer to assure the results of a presidential election. If you were in power and wanted to maintain it, what methods would you use?
MB: Two words: Video games. For the past four or five years, video games have outsold the box-office in annual sales. Everyone is playing video games, or near enough to everyone that you could reach a huge chunk of the population by exploiting things like content and product placement.
True story; when Obama was running for election, I started seeing people in XBOX 360 Live games using "Barack" and "Obama" as their usernames. Video game commentary and political importance isn't here yet because we still think of it as a form of entertainment for children and juvenile men, but the reality is it's bigger than almost any other entertainment form and it's very cheap in comparison. Cheap=democratic, but cheap also virtually guarantees a widespread saturation of data. If someone could mold that...
SSG: In American Soma, there is a story called “The Fountain,” in which the dirty water of a dive bar toilet can make people younger. Considering injections of botulism toxins and painful chemical peels are now the accepted way to rejuvenate your appearance, would you reach into a scummy toilet in order to maintain your youth or regain it? And what's your unlikely fountain of youth?
MB: I have to say I probably would. And speaking as someone who once went on a grueling low-calorie diet and lost 84 pounds, I'm willing to turn my back on a variety of things I categorically love in order to try to shoot for an ideal that I'm not even sure I feel a genuine need to achieve. Why? In an information world, attractiveness is even more important than capital. My idea of the fountain of youth? Stay the hell away from genetically-engineered food. If you are eating anything with hydrogenated corn oil or corn syrup in it (see also: everything) you are fucking up your body. The Amish eat dairy like it's going out of style, butter, cheese, milk, none of it pasteurized and none of it "reduced fat" and they remain some of the healthiest people you will ever see. The reason: they are outdoors every day and move around more than we do, and virtually none of their food chain is processed. Imagine a world in which you could happily have all the butter/ice-cream/mashed potatoes/pasta/bread/etc, you could eat, and it would not make you obese. This exists in places where they don't put chemicals and unnatural additives in our food. Don't believe me? Go to Arcola, Il and have lunch at an Amish person's house. I've never seen so many carbs and fats on the same plate. It was too much food even for me, who has been known to pack away an entire pizza in a sitting. But every bit of it was organic and none of it from improperly-raised or treated livestock or genetically-engineered grains.If you think you know some healthy, attractive people. go visit an Amish community. They positively glow with youth, and they have great skin, vibrant hair, strong upright posture, correct body-mass index, etc. And they eat steak and potatoes for BREAKFAST.
SSG: American Soma’s story “Postmodern Colonialism” is a not-so futuristic story that charts conquests achieved through capitalism (and sometimes, war). In host nations, protective compounds are created, in which American white collar employees are stationed and eventually cannot leave. Do you think this still lies in America ’s future? Or are we already there?
MB: It might, but I honestly hope it doesn't. Not because I really have a concept of what this sort of thing really means to the citizens of third world countries. I think it would be presumptuous of me to even prentend that I understand their point of view. I hope this never happens because the America I love is full of good people, and the system that does/might exist where Americans are unwelcome in other countries makes me feel a little heartsick. Entitled we might act, and enfranchised we certainly are, but under it all I know we're not such douchebags as all that. I like to fantasize that nearly any one person from any country who "hates" Americans could come to Chicago, spend a month here seeing what we're really like, and at least partially change their mind. It might be just a fantasy, but that's the America I live in, and the one that I try to protect and nurture.
SSG: American Soma is largely about a variety of personal or communal dystopias and imperfect worlds. By contrast, what three things comprise your idea of a utopia?
MB: 1) The abolishment of institutional punishment. I don't think governments should exist to incarcerate or execute people. I think people should be bound by the moral code of their individual communities and made to atone for transgressions in a palpable way. Locking someone up for fifteen years solves nothing. Serious breaches of the law should be punished by things like compulsory labor in charitable causes, compulsory participation in medical trials so we can improve our overall medical technology, compulsory relocation to rural areas or group living environments for community supervision. That sort of thing should exist for the small percentage of crimes that are not directly related to socioeconomic status. Which leads me to my next bullet point...
2) Socialism 2.0. Not communism, socialism. If the last year and a half have taught us anything useful about socioeconomics, it's that our version of capitalism does little or nothing to maintain the meritocracy and democracy that we cling to as its ideals. So we need to ask ourselves: why the death-grip on capitalism? Let it go, America. Much of what we do is already very socialistic in nature, let's toss out the rest of the stupid process and start fresh with a political structure consistent with the last century of human sociopolitical evolution. As we are now, we're still struggling with many of the same problems people in 1909 suffered from. I find that lack of progress telling.
3) Creativity encouraged, derivative entrepreneurialism scorned. There is a reason buzzards have no friends. They survive on eating the remains of other, more noble creatures. I think we as human beings need to start calling buzzards buzzards and focus on a world in which creativity reigns. Ultimately, those who create are the most valuable members of any society anyway. A culture is only as good as its best idea, and right now the people in this country who have ideas are like little mice under the sun waiting for the corporate birds of prey to swoop out of the sky and grab them. We cage people in the bars of expectation, partially because of capitalism, partially because of outmoded cultural taboos that have no real teeth anymore. In a digital world, where virtual experiences are quickly catching up with "real" experiences, why can we not have a world in which the concept of taboo melts away and gives rise to the creativity that the human race needs, and deserves? The concept of NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard) may be useful here. Peace can be realized as a sort of comfort barrier to protect Group of People A from Group of People B via means of the digital world. After all, when I log onto Facebook only the people I like are there. Imagine a world where you could move to a community of people guaranteed to accept you for whatever it was you wanted to achieve in the world. In a more virtual world, you might even live in a "community" comprised of only people you get along with. Tired of listening to religious people? Unfriend them for a while until you change your mind or get bored. Abortion not your thing? In a more virtual world, you could demand that people who advocate abortion rights never, or nearly never, cross your path. You can tune out news of them the way you'd tune out a distasteful radio station or that one weirdo friend from college who you don't care to ever speak to again.
In "No Exit" Sartre demonstrated to us that Hell is "other people." If we want to ever reach Utopia, we need to realize that Heaven is also other people. Some other people.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Amy Guth Answers the American Soma blog meme!
The dynamic and beautiful Amy Guth, author of Three Fallen Women (2006) and So New's Managing Editor, has answered a few interview questions that are part of my American Soma blog meme.
Here 'tis! Amy originally posted it on her blog, which can be seen here: http://bigmouthindeedstrikesagain.blogspot.com/2009/06/ask-me-uh-ho-ho-ask-me.html
Savannah Schroll Guz, author of American Soma and all-around wonderful human being (full disclosure: I worked closely with her on the book at So New), has one delightfully geekademic blog meme happening, What Would You Do?:
SSG: In American Soma, the title story imagines the mass drugging of the nation through popular foods, like pizza, coffee, and beer to assure the results of a presidential election. If you were in power and wanted to maintain it, what methods would you use?
AG: Uh, well, I believe that we reap what we sow, so I wouldn't do any such thing. Howevah, if I had, say, an evil alter-ego, I imagine she would do something which involved the manipulation of chain stores, crap-pop music and reality television. Just a guess.
SSG: In American Soma, there is a story called “The Fountain,” in which the dirty water of a dive bar toilet can make people younger. Considering injections of botulism toxins and painful chemical peels are now the accepted way to rejuvenate your appearance, would you reach into a scummy toilet in order to maintain your youth or regain it? And what's your unlikely fountain of youth?
AG: Maybe I'd dunk one boob at a time into that creepy toilet to bring back the rack I had a decade ago. Ha! No, actually, I swear by time swimming in the ocean, drinking a lot of water, writing it all out instead of holding it all in, and cooking from scratch. If that stuff can't keep me hanging on, I don't know what will.
SSG: American Soma’s story “Postmodern Colonialism” is a not-so futuristic story that charts conquests achieved through capitalism (and sometimes, war). In host nations, protective compounds are created, in which American white collar employees are stationed and eventually cannot leave. Do you think this still lies in America ’s future? Or are we already there?
AG: I'm in; I've spent a lot of time in and around Los Alamos, NM. The history of their postal system alone is a little unnerving.
SSG: American Soma is largely about a variety of personal or communal dystopias and imperfect worlds. By contrast, what three things comprise your idea of a utopia?
AG: Technology, wine and olives. I could figure it out from there.
Tag, you're all it.
Here 'tis! Amy originally posted it on her blog, which can be seen here: http://bigmouthindeedstrikesagain.blogspot.com/2009/06/ask-me-uh-ho-ho-ask-me.html
Savannah Schroll Guz, author of American Soma and all-around wonderful human being (full disclosure: I worked closely with her on the book at So New), has one delightfully geekademic blog meme happening, What Would You Do?:
SSG: In American Soma, the title story imagines the mass drugging of the nation through popular foods, like pizza, coffee, and beer to assure the results of a presidential election. If you were in power and wanted to maintain it, what methods would you use?
AG: Uh, well, I believe that we reap what we sow, so I wouldn't do any such thing. Howevah, if I had, say, an evil alter-ego, I imagine she would do something which involved the manipulation of chain stores, crap-pop music and reality television. Just a guess.
SSG: In American Soma, there is a story called “The Fountain,” in which the dirty water of a dive bar toilet can make people younger. Considering injections of botulism toxins and painful chemical peels are now the accepted way to rejuvenate your appearance, would you reach into a scummy toilet in order to maintain your youth or regain it? And what's your unlikely fountain of youth?
AG: Maybe I'd dunk one boob at a time into that creepy toilet to bring back the rack I had a decade ago. Ha! No, actually, I swear by time swimming in the ocean, drinking a lot of water, writing it all out instead of holding it all in, and cooking from scratch. If that stuff can't keep me hanging on, I don't know what will.
SSG: American Soma’s story “Postmodern Colonialism” is a not-so futuristic story that charts conquests achieved through capitalism (and sometimes, war). In host nations, protective compounds are created, in which American white collar employees are stationed and eventually cannot leave. Do you think this still lies in America ’s future? Or are we already there?
AG: I'm in; I've spent a lot of time in and around Los Alamos, NM. The history of their postal system alone is a little unnerving.
SSG: American Soma is largely about a variety of personal or communal dystopias and imperfect worlds. By contrast, what three things comprise your idea of a utopia?
AG: Technology, wine and olives. I could figure it out from there.
Tag, you're all it.
"A Little Death" featured in Bombay Gin
"A Little Death" from Savannah's novel The Davidian Odyssey appears in the Summer 2009 issue of Naropa University's literary journal Bombay Gin, founded by Allen Ginsberg and Beat poet and writer Anne Waldman in 1974. Thanks to Matt Wise for the opportunity to be included with so many excellent writers and poets!Other featured authors and poets include:
K. Silem Mohammad, Philip Jenks and Simone Muench, David Buuck, Savannah Schroll Guz, Joseph Cooper, Emily Carr, Theodore Worozbyt, dawn lonsinger, Eric Bogosian, Rachael Peckham, Sherman Alexie, Aase Berg translated by Johannes Göransson, Jane Bernstein, Marc Nasdor, Carol Mirakove, Brian Lennon, Adela Miencilova, Akilah Oliver, Alex Shakar, Steffi Drewes, Jefferson Navicky, Sasha Steensen, Steven Salmoni, Nguyen Quyen translated by Bruce Weigl and Nguyen Phoung, Anne Waldman (from Naropa Audio Archives)
From "A Little Death":
"[David] reached over and touched the body, pushing his fingers in where he believed the heart would be. He saw, as never before, the details of his interior world: not on any visceral level. What he saw was beyond the viscous lubricant that seemed to exist between organs, beyond his now stagnant blood, beyond his inactive and suffocating cells (for some were still working, like tiny factories, not aware of their imminent death). What he saw was also well beyond the subatomic level, beyond his darkening, decelerating energy strings. David saw the knowledge that continually flew just beyond the boundaries of contemporary science, the knowledge that would always move beyond mankind's awareness because mankind simply asked the wrong questions.
Flesh was fact in only one plane of reality. And still, this plane determined the consequences of so many others. David sat down beside his body and waited, commencing a bleak and isolated inaction that would continue for many decades."
Friday, June 12, 2009
Pittsburgh Authors Read Tonight 8 p.m.! Collins, Lillis, Guz at Kiva Han
Okay, so it’s hard to compete with the Penguins’ Stanley Cup game tonight. Really, really hard. (Even we writers will be surreptitiously checking the score between readings.)
However, please come join us--even if just for a few minutes on your way to a TV set and a tall beer--at Kiva Han ( 420 S. Craig Street in Oakland ) for 8 p.m. readings by Kris Collins, Karen Lillis, and Savannah Schroll Guz. The event marks the official launch of Savannah's collection of short fiction, American Soma.
Tonight, Savannah will regale listeners of how The Fountain of Youth was found in the cramped and dirty bathroom of a dive bar called Larry’s. Certainly this is something every youth-conscious, Botox-shy listener will want to know.
So, come join Kristofer Collins (author of Liturgy of Streets), Karen Lillis (author of The Second Elizabeth) and me, Savannah Guz at Kiva Han and get your daily dose of local lit.
Hope to see you there!
(And Go Pens!)
However, please come join us--even if just for a few minutes on your way to a TV set and a tall beer--at Kiva Han ( 420 S. Craig Street in Oakland ) for 8 p.m. readings by Kris Collins, Karen Lillis, and Savannah Schroll Guz. The event marks the official launch of Savannah's collection of short fiction, American Soma.
Tonight, Savannah will regale listeners of how The Fountain of Youth was found in the cramped and dirty bathroom of a dive bar called Larry’s. Certainly this is something every youth-conscious, Botox-shy listener will want to know.
So, come join Kristofer Collins (author of Liturgy of Streets), Karen Lillis (author of The Second Elizabeth) and me, Savannah Guz at Kiva Han and get your daily dose of local lit.
Hope to see you there!
(And Go Pens!)
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
American Soma at Cyclops in Baltimore
Charm City’s excellent literary magazine, JMWW, held a launch party for its Third Anthology on Saturday, 6 June. Jen Michalski, editor of JMWW, organized the event at Cyclops Books, a sharp-looking store with pimento-red walls and expansive performance space that stands along steadily reviving North Avenue (neighborhood: “Station North”).
Cyclops Owner Andy Rubin features books by local and national authors, including anthologies by Barrel House and Smartish Pace. There’s also ample place for music, and Andy anticipates the performances by Grammy and Tony Award-winning nominees in addition to an eclectic collection of local bands and soloists.
On Saturday, JMWW kicked off its launch party with readings by seven JMWW contributors, including TNB-er Jessica Anya Blau, William Duell, Pete Pazmino, Justin Sirois, Joseph Young, Erik Goodman, and Savannah Schroll Guz (*cough* moi!).
Baltimore Author and Blogger Joseph Young, who writes and manages the fantastic and incisive Baltimore Interview and whose fiction often appears at SmokeLong Quarterly, opened with three short flash pieces.
Fellow TNB’er Jessica Anya Blau read “Number 7,” a vividly perceptive portrait of a teenage girl’s checkered sexual past and the shift in the power-fulcrum once she reaches adulthood. The story was recently named one of the storySouth Million Writers Award Notable Stories of 2008.
Erik Goodman read from “Futures.” The excerpt is part of a larger novel-in-stories, titled Tracks, and is based on Goodman’s observation of people traveling by train between Baltimore and Chicago.
Pete Pazmino, whose story “Fifty American” was a 2008 finalist in the Black Warrior Review Fiction Contest, read the hilarious first-person narrative about women seeking love in “Chowbang” from the Fall 2008 issue.
Texas-based Author William R. Duell read from “Maw Maw,” whose title character bore eyes that are washed light blue with craziness (an excellent description!).
Justin Sirois, founder of Baltimore’s experimental writing and publishing collective Narrow House, read from his collection of novel “out-takes” called MLKNG SCKLS, recently released by Publishing Genius. Fascinating is that his latest novel, only recently finished, is written in collaboration with Iraqi refugee Haneen Alshujairy and deals with displaced Iraqis living in Fallujah in April of ‘04
I read from my just-released So New book American Soma, which carries the story “The Doctor Dreams” and (for levity’s sake) “A Salesman Reborn”.
The evening wound down at Joe Squared, which offers the best thin crust pizza this pizza eater has ever had. The beer was pretty excellent, too, although I still have no idea what pitcher I got my beer from. I highly recommend the Barbeque Chicken Pizza. And if you’re into pig and pineapples–together at last!–the Hawaiian Pizza is pretty excellent, too.
In the meantime, please check out the spring 2009 issue of JMWW, which features Nathan Leslie, fellow Pittsburgh writer Karen Lillis, Rick Levin, Garett Socol, a review of Shane Jones’ Light Boxes by Molly Gaudry and fiction and poetry by many others.
See a complete photo gallery of the JMWW launch readers here: www.flickr.com/savannahschrollguz. Thanks goes to my hubby, Michael, for taking the pictures.
Cyclops Owner Andy Rubin features books by local and national authors, including anthologies by Barrel House and Smartish Pace. There’s also ample place for music, and Andy anticipates the performances by Grammy and Tony Award-winning nominees in addition to an eclectic collection of local bands and soloists.
On Saturday, JMWW kicked off its launch party with readings by seven JMWW contributors, including TNB-er Jessica Anya Blau, William Duell, Pete Pazmino, Justin Sirois, Joseph Young, Erik Goodman, and Savannah Schroll Guz (*cough* moi!).
Baltimore Author and Blogger Joseph Young, who writes and manages the fantastic and incisive Baltimore Interview and whose fiction often appears at SmokeLong Quarterly, opened with three short flash pieces.
Fellow TNB’er Jessica Anya Blau read “Number 7,” a vividly perceptive portrait of a teenage girl’s checkered sexual past and the shift in the power-fulcrum once she reaches adulthood. The story was recently named one of the storySouth Million Writers Award Notable Stories of 2008.
Erik Goodman read from “Futures.” The excerpt is part of a larger novel-in-stories, titled Tracks, and is based on Goodman’s observation of people traveling by train between Baltimore and Chicago.
Pete Pazmino, whose story “Fifty American” was a 2008 finalist in the Black Warrior Review Fiction Contest, read the hilarious first-person narrative about women seeking love in “Chowbang” from the Fall 2008 issue.
Texas-based Author William R. Duell read from “Maw Maw,” whose title character bore eyes that are washed light blue with craziness (an excellent description!).
Justin Sirois, founder of Baltimore’s experimental writing and publishing collective Narrow House, read from his collection of novel “out-takes” called MLKNG SCKLS, recently released by Publishing Genius. Fascinating is that his latest novel, only recently finished, is written in collaboration with Iraqi refugee Haneen Alshujairy and deals with displaced Iraqis living in Fallujah in April of ‘04
I read from my just-released So New book American Soma, which carries the story “The Doctor Dreams” and (for levity’s sake) “A Salesman Reborn”.
The evening wound down at Joe Squared, which offers the best thin crust pizza this pizza eater has ever had. The beer was pretty excellent, too, although I still have no idea what pitcher I got my beer from. I highly recommend the Barbeque Chicken Pizza. And if you’re into pig and pineapples–together at last!–the Hawaiian Pizza is pretty excellent, too.
In the meantime, please check out the spring 2009 issue of JMWW, which features Nathan Leslie, fellow Pittsburgh writer Karen Lillis, Rick Levin, Garett Socol, a review of Shane Jones’ Light Boxes by Molly Gaudry and fiction and poetry by many others.
See a complete photo gallery of the JMWW launch readers here: www.flickr.com/savannahschrollguz. Thanks goes to my hubby, Michael, for taking the pictures.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Review: Monkey Bicycle 6 Delivers
Unlike Monkey Bicycle’s previous issues (No. 4 presented thematically-connected short stories by 40 contributors and No. 5 was devoted exclusively to humor, both dark and light), No. 6 is an arresting crazy quilt of subjects and voices, many of them masterful.
In Jing Li’s “Forever,” calligraphy is the means by which the poet penetrates memory and creates metaphor. And while the images in “Forever” are powerful without any consideration of possible retrospective influences, they still seem to echo the poignancy of works like “The River-Merchant’s Wife,” which was Ezra Pound’s translation of a poem by Li Po (*cough* Pardon me, the English professor part of my persona is leaking out my right side…Okay, there. See, duct tape helps everything). Jing Li’s last lines, which depict the sublimation of shadows into transient flock of starlings is itself a calligraphic arabesque that points to the poem’s theme: the relentless and elliptical movement of infinity.
Other stand-outs include Drew Jackson’s gorgeous “After Spaulding,” which is so rich with imagery and wit, it warrants multiple readings. With a nod to Fitzgerald’s Gatsby in the story’s introductory paragraphs, Jackson actually creates a world more vivid and enchanting than Fitzgerald’s. Jackson’s characterizations are captivating: there’s the elusive star-genius Spaulding–who creates genetically-marketable hybrids like a angora-haired pythons (whose hirsute skins can be worn with impunity by the fur coat lover)—servants who simultaneously confirm and defy expectation, and the gloriously-rendered remote jungle setting in which Spaulding now lives and where the story’s principal action takes place.
Honestly, you can’t help but admire Jackson’s clever and masterful description of Spaulding’s island, largely comprised of dense, alien foliage: “And while I knew the theory of spontaneous generation had been discredited centuries ago, it seemed that in Spaulding’s fertile wood, you could toss away the heel of a Reuben sandwich and return the next day to find a motherless calf in the middle of a cabbage patch, licking itself clean of the 1,000 Island dressing afterbirth.”
Jackson’s tidbits of obscurely fascinating trivia, artfully and purposefully sprinkled throughout the story, reveals the author’s erudition. And he treats words like beads made of precious and semi-precious stones: He strings them together in sentences to create a reading experience that literally sparkles. Overall, having read this, I wonder what it’s like to live inside Drew Jackson’s mind. I imagine it’s a pretty fascinating place, a genuine cabinet of curiosities.
Funny, down-to-earth, and absorbing are also Martha Clarkson’s “Gum Gutter,” which records a chance encounter that leads up to an elliptical and hopeful ending in the life of a woman in transition, and Michael Czyzniejewski’s “Valentine”, which relates a man’s consuming curiosity about his wife’s gynecologist, who performs her pelvic exam every February 14th.
Matt Bell’s “The Girls of Channel 2112,” about Siamese-twin, live-feed internet porn stars—one eager and willing, the other cerebral and emotionally detached—becomes an unconventional, if painful love story, involving one twin’s high school crush. Sarah Salway’s excerpt “Death Dreams” is a surreal, evocatively Jungian litany of troubling nocturnal imaginings.
Monkey Bicycle 6 is a fantastic collection of varied voices, all sewn together into one cogent whole. Buy it! You’ll enjoy every morsel.
In Jing Li’s “Forever,” calligraphy is the means by which the poet penetrates memory and creates metaphor. And while the images in “Forever” are powerful without any consideration of possible retrospective influences, they still seem to echo the poignancy of works like “The River-Merchant’s Wife,” which was Ezra Pound’s translation of a poem by Li Po (*cough* Pardon me, the English professor part of my persona is leaking out my right side…Okay, there. See, duct tape helps everything). Jing Li’s last lines, which depict the sublimation of shadows into transient flock of starlings is itself a calligraphic arabesque that points to the poem’s theme: the relentless and elliptical movement of infinity.
Other stand-outs include Drew Jackson’s gorgeous “After Spaulding,” which is so rich with imagery and wit, it warrants multiple readings. With a nod to Fitzgerald’s Gatsby in the story’s introductory paragraphs, Jackson actually creates a world more vivid and enchanting than Fitzgerald’s. Jackson’s characterizations are captivating: there’s the elusive star-genius Spaulding–who creates genetically-marketable hybrids like a angora-haired pythons (whose hirsute skins can be worn with impunity by the fur coat lover)—servants who simultaneously confirm and defy expectation, and the gloriously-rendered remote jungle setting in which Spaulding now lives and where the story’s principal action takes place.
Honestly, you can’t help but admire Jackson’s clever and masterful description of Spaulding’s island, largely comprised of dense, alien foliage: “And while I knew the theory of spontaneous generation had been discredited centuries ago, it seemed that in Spaulding’s fertile wood, you could toss away the heel of a Reuben sandwich and return the next day to find a motherless calf in the middle of a cabbage patch, licking itself clean of the 1,000 Island dressing afterbirth.”
Jackson’s tidbits of obscurely fascinating trivia, artfully and purposefully sprinkled throughout the story, reveals the author’s erudition. And he treats words like beads made of precious and semi-precious stones: He strings them together in sentences to create a reading experience that literally sparkles. Overall, having read this, I wonder what it’s like to live inside Drew Jackson’s mind. I imagine it’s a pretty fascinating place, a genuine cabinet of curiosities.
Funny, down-to-earth, and absorbing are also Martha Clarkson’s “Gum Gutter,” which records a chance encounter that leads up to an elliptical and hopeful ending in the life of a woman in transition, and Michael Czyzniejewski’s “Valentine”, which relates a man’s consuming curiosity about his wife’s gynecologist, who performs her pelvic exam every February 14th.
Matt Bell’s “The Girls of Channel 2112,” about Siamese-twin, live-feed internet porn stars—one eager and willing, the other cerebral and emotionally detached—becomes an unconventional, if painful love story, involving one twin’s high school crush. Sarah Salway’s excerpt “Death Dreams” is a surreal, evocatively Jungian litany of troubling nocturnal imaginings.
Monkey Bicycle 6 is a fantastic collection of varied voices, all sewn together into one cogent whole. Buy it! You’ll enjoy every morsel.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Savannah at Baltimore's Cyclops Books Saturday
I'll be appearing with the JMWW literary magazine gang on Saturday, June 6th at 5 p.m. at Cyclops Bookstore. Today's edition of the Baltimore Sun indicates the event as a weekend notable. Check it out here:
http://weblogs.baltimoresun.com/entertainment/books/blog/2009/06/book_it_33.html
"Saturday evening, Cyclops Bookstore, formerly The Baltimore Chop, is throwing a party for jmww's third print anthology launch, featuring readings from the second and third anthologies. Editor Jen Michalski will be joined by Jessica Anya Blau, William Duell, Pete Pazmino, Justin Sirois, Joseph Young, Savannah Schroll Guz and Erik Goodman; with copies of the third anthology on sale for $7.
And even if you don't make it Saturday night, you should check out Cyclops. The store is huge, and the owners promise books, shows and a good time for all at the new location on North Avenue. Not to mention, Joe Squared pizza is right across the street!" -- Nancy Johnston
http://weblogs.baltimoresun.com/entertainment/books/blog/2009/06/book_it_33.html
"Saturday evening, Cyclops Bookstore, formerly The Baltimore Chop, is throwing a party for jmww's third print anthology launch, featuring readings from the second and third anthologies. Editor Jen Michalski will be joined by Jessica Anya Blau, William Duell, Pete Pazmino, Justin Sirois, Joseph Young, Savannah Schroll Guz and Erik Goodman; with copies of the third anthology on sale for $7.
And even if you don't make it Saturday night, you should check out Cyclops. The store is huge, and the owners promise books, shows and a good time for all at the new location on North Avenue. Not to mention, Joe Squared pizza is right across the street!" -- Nancy Johnston
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
From The Davidian Odyssey
Editing a new manuscript. A taste is here:
David’s mother called to him from the other side of the Memory River, for he sat now on the hard rocks along the bank. Her hands were on her hips, and she had a look of consternation on her face. “Goddamn it, David Clarence. They’re going to medicate you. I just saw them flicking the air out of the syringes. And that’s just what you don’t want. You’ll be under their thumb forever and ever amen.”
He looked up at his mother slowly, too despondent to be concerned. Instead, he watched what had begun to come up behind her: ten or fifteen horses. They were emerging from a forest so dark its shadows seemed to come out in the form of a thick fog. The horses were grey like mice with black manes and tales. Some of them had faint zebra stripes marking their legs.
“What are those?” David asked pointing to the horses.
“Tarpans, David. Don’t you know that?”
“Tarpans?” he said, his arm still extended.
“Herman Goering’s primordial horses,” she waved dismissively at them, grimacing. “Didn’t you hear me? They’re going to medicate you.”
“I don’t care.” David looked down into the water. He watched a childhood birthday rush past, taking party hats, textured dining room wall paper, and a giant cake and its nine birthday candles with it.
“You will.”
David’s mother called to him from the other side of the Memory River, for he sat now on the hard rocks along the bank. Her hands were on her hips, and she had a look of consternation on her face. “Goddamn it, David Clarence. They’re going to medicate you. I just saw them flicking the air out of the syringes. And that’s just what you don’t want. You’ll be under their thumb forever and ever amen.”
He looked up at his mother slowly, too despondent to be concerned. Instead, he watched what had begun to come up behind her: ten or fifteen horses. They were emerging from a forest so dark its shadows seemed to come out in the form of a thick fog. The horses were grey like mice with black manes and tales. Some of them had faint zebra stripes marking their legs.
“What are those?” David asked pointing to the horses.
“Tarpans, David. Don’t you know that?”
“Tarpans?” he said, his arm still extended.
“Herman Goering’s primordial horses,” she waved dismissively at them, grimacing. “Didn’t you hear me? They’re going to medicate you.”
“I don’t care.” David looked down into the water. He watched a childhood birthday rush past, taking party hats, textured dining room wall paper, and a giant cake and its nine birthday candles with it.
“You will.”
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
What Would You Do?
1) In American Soma, the title story imagines the mass drugging of the nation through popular foods, like pizza, coffee, and beer to assure the results of a presidential election. If you were in power and wanted to maintain it, what methods would you use?
2) In American Soma, there is a story called “The Fountain,” in which the dirty water of a dive bar toilet can make people younger. Considering injections of botulism toxins and painful chemical peels are now the accepted way to rejuvenate your appearance, would you reach into a scummy toilet in order to maintain your youth or regain it? And what's your unlikely fountain of youth?
3) American Soma’s story “Postmodern Colonialism” is a not-so futuristic story that charts conquests achieved through capitalism (and sometimes, war). In host nations, protective compounds are created, in which American white collar employees are stationed and eventually cannot leave. Do you think this still lies in America ’s future? Or are we already there?
4) American Soma is largely about a variety of personal or communal dystopias and imperfect worlds. By contrast, what three things comprise your idea of a utopia?
2) In American Soma, there is a story called “The Fountain,” in which the dirty water of a dive bar toilet can make people younger. Considering injections of botulism toxins and painful chemical peels are now the accepted way to rejuvenate your appearance, would you reach into a scummy toilet in order to maintain your youth or regain it? And what's your unlikely fountain of youth?
3) American Soma’s story “Postmodern Colonialism” is a not-so futuristic story that charts conquests achieved through capitalism (and sometimes, war). In host nations, protective compounds are created, in which American white collar employees are stationed and eventually cannot leave. Do you think this still lies in America ’s future? Or are we already there?
4) American Soma is largely about a variety of personal or communal dystopias and imperfect worlds. By contrast, what three things comprise your idea of a utopia?
Monday, June 1, 2009
He borrowed my hack saw!
Hmmmm....So, in a crockpot, I usually make my own soup broth bases, provided I have a turkey frame or some bony leftover.
What have I here? Excellent question! Well, it's been in my freezer since Michael brought it home from his mother's freezer. These are butchered bones from the cow the neighbor raises for my mother-in-law in payment for the hay she allows them to harvest. In fact, I've got two bags of this frightening, frozen bloodiness. Every time I go to the basement freezer and see this mass of bones, my mind immediately races to Jeffery Daumer's chest freezer. (shudder)
Not one to waste anything, I decided that they would, too, become soup broth. Yes, well, (*cough*) I can't get the bones apart. They're frozen all in a jumble. It's not like I can take one or two out at a time. So I gotta defrost and cook the whole thing.
And thankfully, before I plopped them into the spring water in the crock pot, I realized, with fright, that they are raw! Um yes, Virginia, that blood is still ruby red. I have not crockpot cooked raw bones, and suspect it's not a good idea. So, I set it on an old baking sheet, liberally lubed, and like the witch in Hansel and Gretel, I've stuffed them into the oven. We'll see what happens. Heh. Wish me luck.
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