Friday, October 19, 2012

Keeping Up with the Times

I just read a new short story that featured a woman on the run and in danger. Old story, right? The problem is, this one was. It was set in the present but her problem was made worse by the fact she couldn't find a pay phone to call for help.
     There are no pay phones.
     I see these time anomalies all the time in print, and in film as well. We grow up in one time and write in another. I remember reading a science fiction novel when I was in my early twenties about cities in space. These cities had been ripped from the Earth, whole, covered with a bubble and sent off into the universe. It took entire cities because the vacuum tubes had to be so huge it took an entire city underground to hold them and the machines they powered.
     Then, along came the silicon chip. Micro-electronic engineering. The story was still good, but it didn't survive the change.
     I wrote a screenplay once that ended in a confrontation between the Soviet Union's space station and the United States' space station. Goodbye Soviet Union, goodbye a year of work. Oops.
     So, we have to pay attention - something I'm spotty at doing. We have to be aware of the Present as we write. I still see private investigators in black-and-white in my mind. Big fat black telephones you could bludgeon someone with, not one that's the size of my thumb and weighs a half-ounce.

When I was younger black fingernails meant you'd hit yourself with a hammer. Now, they're the height of fashion. Men in cities grew facial hair once a year for Pioneer Days, then shaved it off after the event was over. No women had tattoos, unless they were in the circus. Some men had tattoos, but they were ex-sailors and worked pumping gas at the filling station. They usually had a cigarette behind their ear, a pack rolled up in their shirt sleeve and a crooked smile. They had a girlfriend named Blondie.
     Gas was pumped for you by ex-sailors and banks gave away toasters.  
     Now, a good story needs a tattoo somewhere. Maybe not a dragon but at least some little peek that's part of the story. I try to be aware of these changes, but digital natives will notice things I've overlooked because these things are a normal part of their lives. Hubcaps that keep spinning after the car has stopped; people who seem to be talking out loud to themselves while alone.
     We had those people around when I was younger, but they usually had one pant-leg rolled up, a rope for a belt and a grocery cart holding all their belongings. Now, a crowd scene with no one on their phone, their Blue Tooth, no one texting a message on some portable device, is not real. Airports were filled not too long ago with people either looking off into space, reading the newspaper or talking to strangers in the next chair. Now they're lost in their ear-buds, their Kindles and Nooks, their computers. Not just a few but almost all of them are in their own little worlds.


     These are not little things when working on a novel. Even in non-fiction, as the book I'm working on now, we have to get the times right. I've been sweating bullets trying to research a 20 year time-span in New Orleans, from the late 70s until around 2000.  So many changes big and small, and one mistake will take the reader out of the story like the opening of a parachute ruins a good free fall.
     I was born into a post WW Two world of dirt road Southerners, fields still being plowed with mules and Separate While Unequal Rights for the races. Towns that closed on noon Wednesdays, and from noon Saturday until Monday morning. No ATMs, no weekend banking. All stores closed on Sundays. Separate entrances to movie theaters, to doctors' offices - on one door WHITE, on the other, COLORED.
     You cannot, absolutely cannot tell a story of those days without including that, and the racial slurs that flowed like water, and have that story be believable. If I wrote a story about a brave black man who arrived in my little Southern town in those days and became a hero of white people no one could, or at least should, believe it.
     When I write a story about ‘Now,' it has to reflect ‘Now.'
     Here's hoping I get it right.

Monday, October 15, 2012

Gods and Other Faeries



Two things happened when I was fourteen years old. I finished reading the Bible cover to cover for the fourth time, and I walked away from church with no interest in returning. As a story teller, I've never been able to make the bible stories blend with the religious meanings attached to them.
     Anyone who can read the shenanigans of Old Testament characters and ascribe a deeper, higher story to them simply confuses me. Anyone who can take the hundreds of conflicting parables and make a cohesive god out of them is too complicated for me to understand. I have the same problem with religion that I have with superstition - there are too many rules.

     For this Halloween blog entry, I'm going to do something I've not done before, and probably won't do again. Amid the yammering of politicians and preachers and media celebrities, a conservative candidate and a taliban spokesman saying the exact same thing (I find it impossible to separate my faith from my politics) and not see the correlation, I'm posting a song I wrote called Talkin' Middle East Blues.
     Happy Halloween.
     Mike





In the beginning, God made day and night
Then Abraham got tired of the Canaanites
So he decided to go off and start his very own clan

Well, he finagled some sheep and a couple of cows
(you can read the bible if you want to know how)
But then he saw the flaw in his little plan

See, he and Sarah did it night and day
They did it in the desert and they did it in the hay
They did it and they did it until they almost wore it out

But Sarah said, "Sorry"
And Abe said "Thanks,
I can't be sure who's shooting blanks
So I'm gonna have to leave it up to you to work this out"

So Sarah gave Abraham a jug of wine
Then she gave him Hagar, the concubine
and nine months later, there was little Ishmael

So it was Sarah who was barren as a dry creek bed
But she couldn't get those pictures out of her head
and it would be an understatement to say she did not take it well

She was in her 70s and she thought she'd had it
But she and Abraham kept going at it
And along came Isaac, her own little bundle of joy

So she said, "Abe, I'm gonna need more room for the baby
A place for the bassinet so do you think maybe
You could get rid of Hagar and that dirty little ugly bastard boy?"

Well, Hagar begged and Abraham whined
But Sarah stood firm and she toed the line
And before you know it, Hagar was on her own

Well, Abraham didn't have to do it,
but he thought it over and he figured, "Screw it,
It's the easiest way I know to keep a happy home"

So with the clothes on her back and a baby at her breast
No food to eat, no place to rest
Hagar began to starve in abject deprivation

But God looked down, and God took pity
And Ishmael lived, and he built a city
And soon he was the leader of a brand new Arab nation

Now we all know that sooner or later
The Middle East will be a nuclear crater
And we're all gonna die trying to fulfill some biblical matter

That was written on papyrus with camel dung
By some dim bulb on the bottom rung
Of the entire human evolutionary ladder

About a naked couple that was left to grapple
with Life and Death and Snakes and Apples
And a God that would let some guy kill 10,000 people with the jawbone of an ass

So, don't you think it's time that we got rid
Of hating somebody 'cause your daddy did
and finally put our history in the past

But, there's only one real question I have for you......
Don't we need better reasons for the things we do?