Friday, February 26, 2010

Fiction Friday: Fables

A fable is a brief story which features animals, plants, inanimate objects or forces of nature, giving them human characteristics, generally including the power of speech, and ending in a moral or maxim. We all know this, right? We grew up on Aesop and Uncle Remus, after all. But can you write one? Last Week's Winner: Steven G Love Story For a moment, one could almost feel pity that it ended in such sorrow. They had been married for just a short time, when he realized it would be over for her soon. He couldn’t save her this time. No more formal dinners, elegant parties, or expensive champagne. Their wealth was gone. Almost like sweet Juliet, she swallowed poison to end her agony, and he wept madly when real death silenced her. Without a flinch, he bravely took his own life immediately. But, no one cried for this Romeo. For his lady was named Eva, and he, Adolph. This Week's Challenge: Write a fable in 100 words or less to illustrate: 1) What's going on with Healthcare Reform 2) The recent behavior of the big investment banks 3) Tiger Woods' story 4) Any other story you'd like to tell.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Web Wednesday: Old Joke #30

I received this one from my cousin-by-marriage, Phillip, who was also the pastor who tied the knot between Old Dog and me. Bubba and Billy are driving down the road, drinking beer, when they spot a roadblock in the distance. "Oh, shit, we're gonna get busted!" says Billy. "Don't worry," says Bubba. "I got a plan. We'll just pull over, finish drinkin' these beers and toss the bottles in the brush." They down the beer, peel off the the labels and stick them on their foreheads, then throw the empties out the window and drive on down the road. As they approach the roadblock, Billy says, "Oh, shit. They're still gonna smell it on our breath!" But Bubba says, "Just let me do the talking." When they reach the roadblock, the police officer takes one whiff and says, "You boys been drinking?" "No, sir," says Bubba, pointing at the labels. "Me and Billy are on the patch."

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Web Wednesday: Scholar Ladies

The original of this song purported to be about feminine empowerment.

This one really is!

Monday, February 15, 2010

Old Joke #29: Sven and Ole

For those of you who've never lived in or near Minnesota, Ole and Lena jokes are ubiquitous up there.

This is the first one I've ever seen featuring Sven....


Ole and Sven are sitting in a boat, fishing and drinking beer, when Sven says, "I think I'm gonna divorce my wife. She ain't spoke to me in over two months."

Ole spits into the water, takes a drink of beer and shakes his head.

"Ya, you better think about that awhile, then," he says. "Women like that are hard to find."

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Fiction Friday: The M.I.C.E. Quotient

Developed by sci-fi writer Orson Scott Card, the M.I.C.E. quotient says that every work of fiction has four cornerstones:

Milieu - a society or environment. Milieu stories often begin with the arrival of a stranger (who will see the environment with different eyes than long-time residents)or the departure of the protagonist from his home (to compare the new environment/society against the familiar).

Idea - the premise of the story. Mysteries and thrillers are idea stories.

Character - stories about how the main character changes in a way that allows him to become happier (or less happy, if life is okay at the start). Any piece of literary fiction is typically a character story.

Event - where one world order gives way to another. Historical novels are generally event-driven.

In most works, one of these will dominate.

Examples:

Milieu: The Lord of the Rings trilogy, Avatar -- most sci-fi and fantasy, actually.

Idea: The Da Vinci Code, anything by Mary Higgins Clark, or Robin Cook -- any book where you can sum up the plot, "What if...?" Like: What if someone started trafficking in the body parts needed for transplants? (Blindsight (Cook))

Character: Silence of the Lambs(Hannibal Lector), The Catcher in the Rye (Holden Caulfield)

Event: Schindler's List, Titanic

The really great books, though, are strong in multiple areas: Gone with the Wind (milieu, character and event), The Handmaid's Tale, (milieu and idea), A Clockwork Orange, (milieu, idea and character).

Last Week's Winner:
Jeanie, at Living Consciously: ...my most vivid childhood memory is of the bootlegger coming to our house every Thursday night bringing Jim Beam and Gilbeys Gin. He was very fat, drove a black 1953 Chevrolet and I was scared to death of him.

Next Week's Prompt:
Create a piece of flash fiction (click here for the flash fiction contest rules) that is weighted toward one of the MICE principles. Let's see, without your telling me, if I can figure out which one.

Web Wednesday: Billy Connolly

This was Rachel (of Rachel's Ramblings) second comic recommendation. If you've ever had a colonoscopy (This blog is called The Raisin Chronicles for a reason.), this will bring back memories of something that wasn't nearly this funny when it happened to you.

Note: If you're easily offended, you may wish to give this a miss.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Old Joke #28

A group of 40 year old buddies discuss where they should
meet for dinner for their annual get-together.

Finally it is agreed upon that they should meet at the
Chalet restaurant because the waitresses there have low cut
blouses and nice boobs.

10 years later, at 50 years of age, the group meets again
and once again they discuss where they should meet. Finally
it is agreed upon that they should meet at the Chalet
because the food there is very good and the wine selection
is good also.

10 years later at 60 years of age, the group meets again and
once again discuss where they should meet. Finally it is
agreed upon that they should meet at the Chalet because they
can eat there in peace and quiet and the restaurant is smoke
free.

10 years later, at 70 years of age, the group meets and
again discuss where they should meet. Finally it is agreed
upon that they should meet at the Chalet because it's wheel
chair accessible and they even have an elevator.

10 years later, at 80 years of age, the group meets again
and discuss where they should meet. Finally it is agreed
upon that they should meet at the Chalet because that would
be a great idea since they have never been there before.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Fiction Friday: Story in NYC

I grew up in the lower middle class, in a neighborhood populated by Appalachians who streamed north from Kentucky, West Virginia and Tennessee during World War II in search of work. They found it in the Dayton factories churning out airplane engines for the war effort.

It was a pretty neighborhood when I was a small child, full of graceful old houses with small front lawns and huge trees growing in the narrow strips between the sidewalks and the curbs. In a few places, mounting blocks resembling tiny stone sofas still resided in those tree lawns, a relict of the days when people traveled by horse or carriage, instead of by car. My sister, Rita, and I used to kneel on one of those sofas, lining up our mudpies for sale along the back.

In the early 1960's an influx of Dutch Elm disease and maple blight all but eliminated the trees, leaving the houses lumpy and exposed, like the bald head of an old woman with her wig removed.

Still, it was a good place to grow up, where youthful entrepreneurs sold Kool-Aid for 2 cents a glass between games of kickball and Hollywood tag. I can remember struggling to get a hula hoop to twirl around my scrawny hips as the warm March afternoon cooled into a chilly March evening until, finally, the street lights came on and it was time to get into the house -- or else.

Since then, fifty years of urban blight and multi-generational welfare has stripped the remaining beauty from my old neighborhood. It's now a ghetto to another group of migrants, and I pity them for the chain-link-fence-and-plywood-over-the-windows ugliness their children are forced to grow up with.

Told you all that to tell you this: The downside of growing up in the lower middle class (or anywhere below that economically) is that you don't experience a lot of things, growing up, that wealthier children do. For example, I was in my late twenties before I ever flew in an airplane. And nearly forty before I first visited New York City.

Now, next month, I'm going to repeat both experiences. I'm heading for NYC in March to attend the Story conference, where Robert McKee will, for four 10-hour days, attempt to impart some of his encyclopedic knowledge of how to build a good story to me and a bunch of other pilgrims.

To tell you the truth, I'm kind of scared, because this is not something I'm used to doing, this jetting off to the big city.

But I'm going.

Last Week's Winners:

Berowne:

My character is a French gentleman who lived three or four hundred years ago.
He is highly intelligent and competent. He gets along well with the other employees, except when they make fun of his rather large nose.
He is shocked to learn that the company has decided to let him go.
He marches into his boss's office and waves his sword about as he shouts:
"What would you have me do? Seek out a powerful protector, cling like a leeching vine to a tree? CRAWL my way up again? No thank you!"
His boss tries to placate him: "Take it easy, Cyrano. Calm down."


Steven G:(Happy Birthday, Old Friend!)

I'm Dicey Washington. A few years back, I got fired by that sonofabitch that's been tryin' to keep me in his employment all my life.

Y'all know me, or as least you kids know old black grandma's like me with our age and wisdom and all. Let me tell all you kids somethin'. I was on top one time, I had it all. But when it all came down around me, yeah, and it bit me on my arrogant ass, I layed down in complete, lost despair one drunken night and waited for a train to run me over and smash every bit of pain outta my life in an instant. That's when I remembered the stupidest, most silly thing you could imagine. Child, I heard that song in my head from Momma's church so long ago when they all made us sing, " Yes, Jesus loves me...yes, Jesus loves me."

I was the youngest girl in a family of eight kids, and every one of them except me, lived a life of sin and misery. I did too, until I was layin' on those train tracks on my birthday, That was Feburary 13th back in 1984 when I was just sixty two years old. You kids wanna celebrate Black History? Y'all need to understand Jesus first. The man who fired me was....you ready for this? It was Satan himself! He stood over me, laughin' mean on those railroad tracks as that train came closer and louder....and I just squeezed hard that rusty old goldish plated cross around my neck that Mommy had given me when I turned 12. I looked him in his black hole eyes and cried as I started singin', "Yes, Jesus loves me, yes Jesus loves me. Yes Jesus loves me, the Bible tells me so..."

Satan FIRED me then and there, with his fire and brimstone cracklin', but I jumped off them tracks and cried out as loud as I could as the train screamed by, "You can't fire me, You can't fire me, you devil, 'cause I quit! I quit you! From this moment forward, I'm workin' for for your MASTER, YOU BASTARD!!! God forgive, but that's just what I said. I ain't never looked back, And God help me, I'll never ever take it back. Praise Jesus!

So, y'all enjoy Black History Month, but remember, bein' black or white ain't got nothin' to do with it. Nothin' at all.


This Week's Prompt:

My clearest childhood memory is....

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Web Wednesday: 911 Call

You may have seen this already, but if not....



(We'll return to comedy greats next week.)

Monday, February 1, 2010

The Worst Christmas Present Ever

(This is the piece I didn't submit for the Erma Bombeck Writing Competition. I decided to go with a serious piece, on the human interest side of the contest, instead.)

Even one of the Wise Men gave money for Christmas, but my daughter has decreed my gold to be "crass."

My daughter is good at buying gifts. When people open presents from her, their eyes transform into twinkling lights. For my gifts, they're more like the solar batteries on a calculator, computing how quickly they can regift this stinker.

So I was excited, this year, to find a beautiful print of the Conservatory where my daughter is COO. It was the frankincense of gifts, demonstrating my pride in her achievements, my thoughtfulness and my good taste.

There was just one fly in the myrrh: My daughter's spouse isn’t all that crazy about the painter, an ex-, but I figured my daughter could hang the picture in her office, where her spouse wouldn't see it.

When the print arrived, I took it to a professional, who selected mats and a frame that further beautified my gift. I left the shop congratulating myself on a Christmas coup: I had the perfect present, I’d spent only slightly more than I could afford, and it wasn’t even Thanksgiving.

It was then that things began to fall apart.

First, my daughter called to say that financial issues at the Conservatory were causing them to recast the entire budget. She might be asked to take a demotion.

“Will you lose your office?” I asked, alarmed.

“No, I don’t think so," she said.

“Then it’s no big deal.”

“What do you mean, ‘no big deal’?! It’s a pay cut, I’ll lose my title, I'll….”

“I mean,” I said quickly, “it can’t be too bad if get to keep your office.”

Two weeks later, she called again, fuming.

“I ran into my ex, the painter, at a baby shower,” she said. “She snubbed me.”

My frankincense was starting to smell more like donkey dung.

“I’m sure you’re overreacting,” I said. “She probably just felt awkward.”

“The next day I checked Facebook. She unfriended me!”

Facebook is today’s social barometer. It you’re not friends on Facebook, you’re simply not friends.

The next day, I picked up the print. It was exquisite in its new frame. I felt a little better.

Until, two days before we were due to exchange gifts, when my daughter called again, in tears.

“The position they offered me at work is a 17% pay cut,” she wailed. “It sets my career back five years. I just can’t do that.”

“What do you mean you can’t do that?" I said.

“I resigned, Mom.”

And so am I – to giving cash from now on.

If gold was good enough for Melchior, it's good enough for me.

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