The short story I submitted is an excerpt of a larger work. I began it in college and added to it one afternoon when we returned to College Station two years ago. I found in the environment that the story itself came back to me, and at that time I wrote the portion that I submitted to a magazine yesterday.

The protagonist of the story is Nell, whose hair is the color of dead grass, whose eyes liken a dry summer's sky. The story takes place in waning summer. The change in the weather has provoked rain, and Nell works in the garden to prepare the dry soil.

Nell is the oldest of several children. She bears most of the responsibilities of her mother, Catherine, who is bedridden after repeated miscarriages. Not covered in the short story are the family relationships, which suggest Catherine suffers more from depression than physical ailment. She is irascible to Nell, who has a Cinderella resemblance.

When Nell becomes broken-down with chronic abdomen pain her mother and younger sister believe it to be caused by her menstrual cycle. I mean to imply that Nell is destined to carry on her mother's burdens if she remains in this environment. She cannot withstand the demands made on her system by physical labor and by potential fertility. I also recalled the later years of my adolescence which were marked and glaring by this periodic pain I was neither physically nor spiritually equipped to handle.

In parallel to fragility of the female system and the outer world's presumptuous demands upon it I reveal the sole male character of the novel, Stephen Tate, a Southern gentleman temporarily abdicated from his dilapidated plantation home in favor of the prairie's anonymity.

We soon learn that Nell is suffering not from menstrual weakness, but the bite of a vampire, and the vampire is Stephen Tate. Stephen's story is not at all explored in the excerpt, but he is one of three siblings visited with an apparent curse, which the proud family attempts to hide. It is a curse born from the sins of the fathers. The family's wealth, now nonexistent, and subsequent pride was built on the labor of slaves. Now destitute, it appears the family line will die since the three children, Quentin, Stephen and Charlotte, have turned out to be vampires. Quentin, the oldest, is the most feral and engages in repeated brutality even the grandest family name cannot hope to hide. Charlotte has long cherished the notion of becoming a belle, and travels in high circles, trying on great pain to conceal her true nature. Stephen is the weakest, least-fed of the three. The blazing Texas sun drains him to a weakness nearly equal to Nell's own.

Stephen finds in Nell a kindred spirit and Nell for the first time, well, feels special. She is special. She empathizes with Stephen's nature on an elemental level, suffering from weakness and exposure to the sun, while retaining her human nature. Stephen in turn dispels a portion of his pain onto her and is able to go into the light.

I did not get any further than this in the novel, and the short story covers only Nell's initial victimization and her decision to pursue Stephen, though it may mean her death, in favor of being broken-down in her mother's footsteps.

I know it is true only a little bit of what a writer means can be seen in the finished work. Therefore it is necessary to pack a powerful message. I fear "The Vampire" may miss the meaning entirely, and that I may not hope to capture even a portion of the delicate story so difficult to describe, that I feel is worth telling. I believe we all know when we have a story worth telling, that others would appreciate, if only we could tell it well. That is where the burden lies. The stories in me are no different than those in anyone else. I think the deepest of stories told clumsily is worth far more than the shallowest story told eloquently. That doesn't have much to do with "The Vampire;" it's just a thought of mine.

Labels: story notes

The Princess now saw no hope of turning her father's heart, so she resolved to run away. That night she gathered up three presents from her betrothed—a gold ring, a tiny golden spinning wheel, and a little golden hook—and put the dresses of the sun, the moon, and the stars into a walnut shell; then she blackened her face and hands with soot, put on her coat of a thousand furs, and ran away. All night she walked until she came to a great forest where she would be safe, and because she was tired, she climbed into the hollow of a tree and fell asleep.

Labels: Josette

I'm sorry about the large image previous. That was too important to size down.

I took a last look at my stories, and I'm ready to send them. I will not be preparing a third, because "The Captive," my ultimate choice, just isn't suitable. I have to be honest with myself in that I am revising the situation, and the novel, to a vision different from before, and different from this story, and as it is, it just isn't what I want to write. I have two stories ready, and I certainly don't want to forget the whole thing because I don't have three, as I originally promised myself.

Waking up this morning was interesting. I have had troubled sleep for months now. I wake up with gritted teeth and a sore jaw, and during the night I end up flopping on my stomach, or some convoluted position that puts me out of joint. Everything snaps back together when I rise, which is quite a jolt. Normally these physical symptoms are accompanied by feelings of intense dread or regret not immediately attributable, which usually dissipates into a clouded melancholy that lingers through the day. Welcome to adulthood.

On Sunday I bought a PSP from Best Buy along with a little bit of gear: a 4 gB Memory Stick Duo and media management software. Coral, as I am calling her, is loaded with MP3's and bookmarks. Aside from playing games and watching movies, this will be a very convenient MP3 player since I am reactivating my Treo 650 one of these days. An all-in-one device has been advantageous, but I am already feeling the benefit of separating my organizer and entertainment equipment. PSP's are meant to be hand-held gaming devices, but I don't have any games, and it hasn't occurred to me to buy any.

I am really looking forward to getting back to ordinary time after I submit these stories. I have been focusing myself on them and have been unable to write on Cinderella or any of my other serials, or my re-write The Awakening.

Also at the moment I am re-designing my site. I read about a third of my design book over the weekend and discovered several problems with my design, other than the scheme, that have always bothered me. I'm looking forward to fixing things. I have been uncomfortable with the look of my web presence(s) for a while now and have some good ideas about how to consolidate my writing and photos. I am taking away my other web projects, since I have already far too many open projects. Everything I do will ideally come through this site and be well-organized enough that it will belong.

Due to our leader’s ambition we traveled too far. We must be long past the Northwest Passage, past Quebec, past all known civilization in a world of snow and ice whose power lie not in resource, but in intimidation.

Stark fear overwhelmed me as I beheld the black rocks streaked with white for the first time. Our ship skimmed slowly and relentlessly toward a perilously rocky shore. I wanted to beg a halt to the proceedings, but I was a mere particle in the complicated network of our society.

The barren taiga gradually emerging in the mist promised no sustaining nourishment, nor relief from the pervading cold. We were to be sacrificed to our leader’s ambition.

I kept my mutinous thoughts to myself as I watched men preparing to anchor the ship.

The seas had been rough, and I had spent as much of the journey as I could within the hull, writing away by dim candlelight. The sailors did not think much of me, but that I was a waste of bunk and provision. I couldn't do my fair share. I wasn't interested in forging my way through the unknown-- not like my father.

A seeker of wealth and fame, he left my mother and sister in the English countryside and journeyed with me in tow through the Canadian wilderness. I kept his pace, looked after his things, hunted game along the way and even fashioned a crude map of our undertaking, though cartography was secondary to my principal love: the glorification of the natural in prose.

I left a girl, Georgiana, behind as well. Our families had known and loved one another for generations, occupying adjoining farms. It was only a matter of course that my childhood playfellow would become my sweetheart. Georgiana was the fairest maiden I had seen and I was convinced I loved her as well as I could love anyone.

I was fit for a smallish boy, more than adequate in forging trails and survival in harsh conditions. I was the only person on the ship not to succumb to illness-- except seasickness-- and due to this I spent much of my time in the hull for prevention.

It was not till we sighted the black rocks that I took an interest in surfacing. It was here on the deck that I first glimpsed our captain, whose impression on me was already marked.

His changeable temperament was legendary, his ambition and avarice seemingly eclipsing all else. My fellows found this exciting, rather than deplorable. With such a leader, they might advance far beyond their own capabilities. They did not mind the risk or what personal cost they might pay. Like my father, they wanted to return to their families with fame and fortune in tow, or not at all.

I am no discoverer, but a poet of nature, a lover of beauty, and to be subjected to intent so averse with my ideals was excruciating.

Labels: The Raven

I had a truly wonderful weekend, perfectly balanced between craft, sleeping (24+ hrs...) and going out. Today Nathan and I went to the Dallas Museum of Art. We spent most of our time looking at the featured exhibit of Indian art. Then we sought out our favorites. For me, the European antiques, for him the Asian calligraphy. We did not find too much of the latter, unfortunately. I got a great portrait of both of us peering into a 1600's Netherlands mirror. I was particularly struck with looking at my reflection in very old mirrors. That is something I have always loved. Going around I realized Dutch art might be the next big thing for me. It's clean and simple with a very old presence I find stirring.

We made two stops at the museum cafe for refreshments and coffee. I really liked that it was in the middle of the museum, so that you could retreat for a while when you wanted. Then after the museum we went to Barnes and Noble. The books at the museum gave me the idea to look for travel guides, so I read the entirety of Japan Ai in the cafe while Nathan read some more serious Japan travel guides. I am forming a priority list.

1. Shopping for Victorian Maiden and Innocent World
2. Gackt concert
3. ...

Yesterday I sewed literally all day long. I am embroidering a long skirt for Josette with water lilies. The pattern really captures her simple Korean beauty, and I am hoping to finish it by the end of next week. I am reading a manga "9 Faces of Love" that rejuvenates my love for the impossibly lanky Korean style that of course Josette embodies completely. I love the clothing.

By next weekend I am pretty sure I will have my Victorian Maiden dress in hand. I am so ready to transition into my Victorian Maiden style. So far this has been a totally effortless transaction, and the dress (used) is much cheaper than anything from Victorian Trading Co., including overseas shipping. I don't know if any of the shoes or accessories I have will work with this, but I want to see the colors in person before I try to match anything.

I have felt negative about my writing lately. Not that I think that my writing is bad, but that I don't want to write right now. I feel impatient to experience and to read other work. All week I want to hold the feelings I have right now very close to me. These feelings of love, affirmation, excitement and longing.

"My dear girl," she said, "one happy Christmas Eve I dressed and decorated myself, expecting my lover, very soon to be my husband, would come that night to visit me. I sat down to wait. Once more I see that moment--I see the snow twilight stealing through the window over which the curtain was not dropped, for I designed to watch him ride up the white walk; I see and feel the soft firelight warming me, playing on my silk dress, and fitfully showing me my own young figure in a glass. I see the moon of a calm winter night, float full, clear, and cold, over the inky mass of shrubbery, and the silvered turf of my grounds. I wait, with some impatience in my pulse, but no doubt in my breast. The flames had died in the fire, but it was a bright mass yet; the moon was mounting high, but she was still visible from the lattice; the clock neared ten; he rarely tarried later than this, but once or twice he had been delayed so long.

"Would he for once fail me? No--not even for once; and now he was coming--and coming fast-to atone for lost time. 'Frank! you furious rider,' I said inwardly, listening gladly, yet anxiously, to his approaching gallop, 'you shall be rebuked for this: I will tell you it is _my_ neck you are putting in peril; for whatever is yours is, in a dearer and tenderer sense, mine.' There he was: I saw him; but I think tears were in my eyes, my sight was so confused. I saw the horse; I heard it stamp--I saw at least a mass; I heard a clamour. Was it a horse? or what heavy, dragging thing was it, crossing, strangely dark, the lawn. How could I name that thing in the moonlight before me? or how could I utter the feeling which rose in my soul?

"I could only run out. A great animal--truly, Frank's black horse-- stood trembling, panting, snorting before the door; a man held it, Frank, as I thought.

"'What is the matter?' I demanded. Thomas, my own servant, answered by saying sharply, 'Go into the house, madam.' And then calling to another servant, who came hurrying from the kitchen as if summoned by some instinct, 'Ruth, take missis into the house directly.' But I was kneeling down in the snow, beside something that lay there--something that I had seen dragged along the ground--something that sighed, that groaned on my breast, as I lifted and drew it to ms. He was not dead; he was not quite unconscious. I had him carried in; I refused to be ordered about and thrust from him. I was quite collected enough, not only to be my own mistress but the mistress of others. They had begun by trying to treat me like a child, as they always do with people struck by God's hand; but I gave place to none except the surgeon; and when he had done what he could, I took my dying Frank to myself. He had strength to fold me in his arms; he had power to speak my name; he heard me as I prayed over him very softly; he felt me as I tenderly and fondly comforted him.

"'Maria,' he said, 'I am dying in Paradise.' He spent his last breath in faithful words for me. When the dawn of Christmas morning broke, my Frank was with God.

Labels: Villette