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Margaret Atwood Travels Further Than Ever – Blessed Be!

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I have noted some folk looking at this post from a couple of years ago. I had put it up because of the success of the television series, A Handmaid’s Tale.

Now, Ms. Atwood has produced a new novel, The Testaments, [which, by the way, has a brilliant front and back cover] with an international launch from London, England. I can humbly state that my part in her literary life remains the same.

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It was not my intent to piss off Margaret Atwood.

The opposite, in fact. I wanted her to know she was an inspiration.

She was giving a reading at the University of New Brunswick in my student days. I attended, but there was quite the gathering and she was whisked away at the end. However, I overheard there was a ‘gathering’ in her honour. Invitation only, of course. Academia and literati.

I crashed the party (that was the term used by the professor who clapped his sturdy hand upon my shoulder but – happily – did not thrust me into the night).

But Ms. Atwood was kept deep in many a learned conversation and I had no opportunity to converse. I did, however, overhear where she would be spending next afternoon – the historic University Observatory.

Next day I knocked upon the Observatory door.

It was not a cheerful Margaret Atwood who answered, and answered with alacrity.

She asked my name.

She asked my business.

And she asked how the hell I knew where she was. She had stolen the day to do some writing. Some ‘real’ writing, in this window-of-opportunity grudgingly offered on the book tour.

At least I was there to praise Atwood and not to bury her with some essay question.

Nor had I a manuscript to hand to her.

I might not have garnered a smile, but her curt thank you was reward enough.

For me, at least.

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Rules For Writing Fiction

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1: Write regularly. Daily might be extreme, but try to be extreme.
2: When in doubt / take it out.
3: At the end of your writing day, do not complete the action/description/dialogue – but know what it is. Start with this known at your next writing time. 90% of the time you will slide right back into the work.
4: Follow your characters.
5: Follow your characters.
6: Follow your characters.

[image] https://www.marketingdonut.co.uk/sites/default/files/writing-research-brief383109052.jpg

Gimme That Old Time Religion & Eschew Born Again Christians

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So it has come to this.

A mindless voice with mindless tune singing softly in the dark.

My friend, I promise you,  on such a night even the sages are locked babbling in their rooms.

You think me mad?

“Well, my boyze.” (I talk in my best W.C. Fields voice).

“Well, my boyze. I had a hen who could lay a Golden Calf. And this weird guy – Moses was his name – yass. This Mo-zaz threw these stone tablets – threw, I say – these stone tablets on my hen, and killed her.

Feathers everywhere.

And I asked him – I said to him – hey, Mo-zaz, why did you flatten my hen and make the feathers fly?

And he said to me – can you believe this – he said to me:

‘W. C., I was damn hungry.’

And I knew –  my little chickadee, my little bottom-soft dumpling –   I knew from that moment, that the man was not sincere.”

[mage]  https://pics.me.me/Facebook-Give-me-that-old-time-religion-5d295f.png

The Moon On High Has Visited Us

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The moon, with a lightness even footprints can not tarnish, is once again full of power.

It is racing against the clouds, tearing through them and leaving gaping holes.

It is causing plants to tremble and animals to howl.

It turns some men into gibbering idiots, and others into spokesmen for the universe.

It crosses the sky with grand indifference, dazzling lovers and fools with the same intensity, and perhaps the same results.

In turn, by century and continent, it has been revered and feared, called goddess and bitch.

The moon makes each dancer a wave of liquid motion, and traces each poet’s line with gold.

You and I, Einstein and Shakespeare, Buddha and Jesus, have all looked up and left the reflection of our eyes on its brilliant surface.

Moonbeams dancing on the sea – remember me, remember me.

 

[Image] http://web.pa.msu.edu/people/frenchj/moon/moon14day-1985-600c.jpg

Kafka Travels In His Dreams

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Franz Kafka recorded many dreams in his diaries. Thus, I gave him many dreams in my novel, Kafka In The Castle. The novel ‘fills in’ all the days where there are no entries in his actual diaries.

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04 April 1917

Dreamed I was to take a train journey.

I tried to find my travel papers, but all the drawers were jammed shut. The cupboard doors refused to open. My wallet was stuffed with money – colourful bills worth thousands of marks – yet no passport, no police clearance.

I could find no proof of who I was, and no permission to cross borders. I feared I was going to be late, so I put on an overcoat, grabbed a small bag off the bed, and hurried from the room.

The door led directly to the station platform, and I was quickly caught in lines of people. A man in uniform  harshly requested to see our tickets, but when I explained I had been unable to find any of my documents, he pointed to my case.

Inside were passports and papers from every country in Europe. I handed him one, but over my name was a photo of hog. Another had a picture of a donkey. A third showed sheep. Rodents, insects, and finally an ape, all appearing over my name and signature.

“You are Doktor Kafka?” he demanded.

“Yes,” I answered. I was terrified – what face did I have now?

“You are the veterinarian,” he said, finally satisfied. “Down to the end of the train.” He pointed the way, and I hurried along.

I walked and walked, but the train just became longer. Box cars and cattle cars were filled with the most terrible animal clamour, and reeking of filth. And I wondered, as I searched in vain for the end of this endless train, where would my destination finally be?

[Image] https://farm1.staticflickr.com/145/424520905_d05592a972_z.jpg

November Starts “Kafka In The Castle” – How Bad Can It Get?

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[Franz & Felice]

In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.

My first entry was for 26 November 1916. Close enough for me.

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26 November 1916

What I desire, and what I expect, are horrible opposites. But my desires still exist, which makes me a fool.

The reading in Munich two weeks ago was a disaster. But we learn from disaster. My work was called “repulsive” – which, of course, it is. Am I to learn from that?

And then the meeting with  Felice. The fight in the pastry shop. Am I also to learn from that?

I’ll continue to write letters. I’ll continue to hunt for our apartment. I’ll continue to have my hopes. For a while longer – hope.

But still, my eyes wince at every mirror.

The Dead

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“Oh, the dead don’t talk,

“And the dead don’t play.

“And if you sing to them,

“They won’t look away.

“I’ve been with the dead,

“And they’ve been with me.

“Oh, I’ve cried for the dead,

“But they just grin at me.”

 

[image]  http://www..fanagans.ie/download/1/Coffins 2017 Resized/Solid High Gloss Italian Mahogany .JPG

International Day of Words To Be Celebrated Today 23 November 2019

via International Day of Words To Be Celebrated 23 November 2019

International Day of Words To Be Celebrated 23 November 2019

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Since this fine Organization has appointed me Ambassador of the Word for being a finalist in their International Flash Fiction Contest, I will happily promote their good deeds.

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On November 23rd, the International Day of Words will be celebrating one more year as a Link of Humanity, celebrating the date on which the Museum of Words was inaugurated, and recognized by numerous countries and Institutions.

The César Egido Serrano Foundation encourages all writers to create and promote the initiatives that you consider most appropriate. For example: Gather people who feel the need of dialogue as the only tool against violence, and thus contribute to the coexistence between religions and cultures.

You can also upload a photo or video or comment on Facebook, or make a meeting with friends. In this way, we can demonstrate that a better world can be achieved through the use of words and dialogue. That day more than ever, the word must be the bond of humankind.

 

All those proposals received will be shared with all of you through our social media, emails and websites, you can send them to info@fundacioncesaregidoserrano.com

 

You can find more information about the International Day of Words here:

http://www.dayofwords.com/en/manifesto

[image] https://www.publicdomainpictures.net/pictures/220000/velka/words-have-power.jpg

Pondering Winter Beside The Christmas Display

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For a mid-November day, the storm was all rain and no snow. In addition, it was very cold, so I took shelter in a Mall. I settled into a bench near the ‘Santa Claus / North Pole / Toy Workshop’ display, because that is where the benches had been moved. I have the guess, they were moved so they could be filled by kids and parents when Saint Nick made his appearance.
 
Two other fellows were already there. After the younger man (whilst looking at his phone) made a brief comment about the weather, the other man, older, grizzled and full-bearded, spoke.
This conversation is edited, not verbatim.
 
“Makes me wonder how young folk today get by.”
I look confused – which I am.
“That’s the only jobs there are for them.” He points to the fast food court.
I indicate agreement.
“Hard to get jobs.”
“Yes, it is.”
“We’re stuck here until eight.”
I again look at him quizzically.
“Me and him. The shelter closes eight in the morning, opens again eight at night.”
“Three more hours.”
“I like the little animals.”
“Pardon?”
“Along the entrance.” He points to the Santa display. “They’ve got little animals in the snow.”
“They’re real looking.”
“Yes.” He laughs. “From the old days. I lived in the woods.”
“You did?”
“Cabin with eight brothers and sisters. Had a wood stove.”
“I had a wood stove a number of years.”
“Got real hot.”
“Yes.”
“I used Alders once.”
“In the stove?”
“Yeh – bad idea. They burn like hell. Hot as hell.”
“They can be.”
“I thought the cabin would catch fire.”
“Can be dangerous,” I agreed
“That’s where i started smoking.”
“Where?”
“In the cabin. Been smoking since I was ten.”
“That’s young.”
“My pappy was a bootlegger.”
“Yes?”
“Lots of men came by to get beer.”
“I suppose.”
“They’d smoke and toss their butts. I collected them.”
“To smoke?”
“Thought I was a big man with the other kids. Smoking in front of them.”
“That’s what being young is.”
“Cigarettes got tentacles. I still can’t get rid of them.”
[image] https: /brighttreecare.files.wordpress.com/2010/04/alders-after-storm.jpg

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