Tag Archives: Issue 4

18 February, 2020

How to Write a Novel in 6 Steps

1. Don’t write what you know. Start with what you don’t know, what you don’t understand. Pay attention to what compels you, what bothers and truly fascinates you.

2. Start to write about specific people. They live in a specific place at a specific time. You don’t think about those initial questions any more. You are semi-blind as you go forward. The world of the book takes you over. You write scenes and dialogue and descriptions. You learn how people talk, what diction they use, the cadence of their voices. When you watch something, you notice what they would notice. You surrender to it. You lead a double life, a triple life. Years go by. Words accumulate.

3. You read what you are writing, and you start to connect things. You notice repetitions that surprise you, mysterious recursions and variations on words, ideas, objects. The density excites you; what these connections mean unnerves you. You waver—this isn’t the novel you thought you were writing. You wanted to write a different book. What’s worse is that you know you are not even succeeding at writing this book that you don’t want to write. You ignore yourself. You keep going. How? You go back to the specific time, place, people, language. The more specific it is, the more fearless you are in engaging its odd eccentricity, the more purchase it has on what we understand and recognize as true in our own very different lives. The writer has to trust that we are all strange in our own way, but we remain recognizable humans. The closer you look at something, the more complicated it becomes. You settle for just getting the complication down, framing it, being brave about it. But now it is becoming more difficult. You must remember everything you have written, and you have less and less freedom.

4. The specificity you are attempting extends to the structure and to the sentences. (For example, you notice that for photographs the convention is that we use the present tense; this is called the ongoing present. What does it mean that we write about photos, movies, and stories in the “ongoing present”? Do these things enable us to escape was-ness? Can they really enact an is-ness that is ongoing? Should you invent a new tense? Does the language we apply to memory work? Can you really write about not remembering? Can the language describe it or are there just terms for the indescribable that we agree on? And, hey, what’s with all these qualifiers? Why does she qualify her life? At this point you may find yourself curled in a little heap on the floor. Even the words “an” and “the” seem strange to you.) Somehow, despite your doubts, despite your belief that you are inadequate to the task, you keep going.

5. You become a structural engineer; you make sure that whatever you have put into motion has some logic, some internal order to it. You are cold, ruthless, pedantic even. Particularly if you have deviated at all from invisible mainstream realism, you have to make sure there is legibility, a consistency in your deviations. If you expect the reader to work it out, there has to be an “it” there.

6. Finally, the last phase: you resist. You resist explaining it all away. You resist making the structure too neat or schematic. You resist cleverness and easiness and sentimentality, but mostly you resist the temptation to take out the difficult parts, the weird things that make you feel really uncomfortable and fill you with dread. Those are the best parts! Your novel is troubled and deeply flawed, but it is what it is and don’t mess it up. Stop.

18 February, 2020

Dana Spiotta

Dana Spiotta is the author of four novels: Innocents and Others, (2016), which won the St. Francis College Literary Prize and was shortlisted for The Los Angeles Times Book Prize; Stone Arabia (2011), which was a National Book Critics Circle Award Finalist in fiction; Eat the Document (2006), which was a National Book Award Finalist in fiction and a recipient of the Rosenthal Foundation Award from the American Academy of Arts and Letters; and Lightning Field (2001). Spiotta was a Guggenheim Fellow, a New York Foundation for the Arts Fellow, and she won the 2008-9 Rome Prize from the American Academy in Rome. In 2017, the American Academy of Arts and Letters awarded her the John Updike Prize in Literature. Spiotta teaches at Syracuse University. 

Spiotta teaches fiction in our low-residency MFA in Creative Writing Program.

23 May, 2016

Jessi Han

23 May, 2016

Negotiations

CAST OF CHARACTERS

DECLAN 33, musician

OLIVIA, 33, designer

SETTING

Declan’s city apartment

The stage represents a

kitchen/dinning room of a city

apartment. The kitchen is upstage

left, a dining room to the right.

ii.

Scene 1

TIME: 8:00 am.

At rise: OLIVIA, in an oversize

shirt obviously DECLAN’s, is in

the kitchen unloading the

dishwasher and generally clearing

up wine glasses and dishes still

on the table from the night

before. DECLAN enters in sweats

and watches her confusedly for a

moment without her noticing him.

DECLAN

What are you doing out here?

OLIVIA

(A little surprised but

casually.)

Cleaning up. Don’t like to leave things in disarray.

DECLAN

So, you’re leaving?

OLIVIA

I have to at some point. Does this go on the high shelf? Or

under.

DECLAN

Under.

OLIVIA

Good, I’m not that tall anyway.

DECLAN

We just had sex.

OLIVIA

And this?

DECLAN

The side. Are you going to tell me what’s happening?

OLIVIA

We had sex.

DECLAN

Why?

OLIVIA

We wanted to?

DECLAN

I’ve known you for more than fifteen years, and we’ve never

had sex.

OLIVIA

Why is that, do you suppose?

DECLAN

Probably, because it leads to awkward discussions like this

one.

OLIVIA

Quite right. Let’s not have an awkward discussion. Where’s

the coffee? I have to have coffee to get started.

DECLAN points to the cupboard with

the coffee, watching her.

OLIVIA

(She takes down the coffee

and filters)

I thought it was excellent sex, by the way.

DECLAN

I live to serve.

OLIVIA

Don’t do that.

DECLAN

Do what?

OLIVIA

You know.

DECLAN

Does this make us friends with benefits now?

OLIVIA

Would that be so terrible?

NiCK

I don’t know yet. Sex changes things . . .

OLIVIA

Do we have to stick pins in it and fix it to the wall?

DECLAN

I might have to, yes. I like things clear. Written

instructions, contract law.

OLIVIA

That takes most of the fun out of it, don’t you think?

DECLAN

You’ve just been unfaithful to a man you’re planning to

marry. I think I’m entitled to an explanation.

OLIVIA

I haven’t.

DECLAN

I have it on good authority he means to ask you.

OLIVIA

I broke it off with Breme three weeks ago.

DECLAN

What? And you’re just getting around to telling me?

OLIVIA

I wasn’t aware I was expected to report the details of my

personal life to you.

DECLAN

Expected, no. But usually you share every nuance of your

life. You . . . doted on him.

OLIVIA

I didn’t. I never dote.

DECLAN

You do, you did. You were ecstatically happy.

OLIVIA

I wasn’t. He showed me the ring, by the way.

DECLAN

(Gasping)

Good god, you’ve turned him down? And now, I’m Rebound Guy.

OLIVIA

Don’t do that.

DECLAN

You keep saying “don’t do that” but I don’t know what “that”

you’re talking about.

OLIVIA

Don’t start regretting the sex. By the way, he told me you

picked the ring. What were you thinking?

DECLAN

He gave me three to choose from, and it was the least

offensive.

OLIVIA

You know I don’t like diamonds.

DECLAN

I mentioned that, but he was convinced that if he didn’t get

a diamond, you‘d think that he wasn’t serious about marrying

you. And I had to agree that might be so.

OLIVIA

Imagine his surprise when I pointed out he obviously didn’t

know me if he bought a diamond. He blamed you for picking it

out.

DECLAN

Chump. Well, it seems he’d lose either way.

OLIVIA

He’s rich, and he expects me to take what I’m given and be

quiet about it. Like a little lap dog.

DECLAN

He loves you. And until last night, I believed you loved him.

OLIVIA

He knew I wanted a sapphire.

DECLAN

So you going to punish him for picking out a mind-blowingly

expensive, albeit traditional, piece of jewelry?

OLIVIA

Well, if he can’t get that right . . . Never mind, men can’t

understand this sort of thing.

DECLAN

You have lost your mind!

OLIVIA

Actually, I’ve found it.

DECLAN

This is hysterical. You are being hyster . ..

OLIVIA

Men say women are hysterical when they find it difficult to

manage them.

DECLAN

I admit to that. I don’t know how to deal with you

sometimes. You run whenever someone gets close though.

OLIVIA

I wouldn’t talk if I were you. Just to be clear, I broke up

with him before he asked. I didn’t expect him to pick a ring

without consulting me.

DECLAN

So that’s the issue, he hadn’t consulted you? I need to sit

down.

OLIVIA

Maybe you should marry him then.

DECLAN

You are being irrational.

OLIVIA

I’m not.

DECLAN

It’s just a ring. An expensive one at that.

OLIVIA

It is never just a ring, Dec.

DECLAN

But you said you broke up with him before he showed you the

ring.

OLIVIA

I did.

DECLAN

Why?

OLIVIA

I felt inertia.

DECLAN

Inertia? What do you . . .

OLIVIA

Yes. Like everyday from there on out would be exactly the

same as every day had been for the past two years. Stable.

Steady. Uneventful.

DECLAN

You told him that?

OLIVIA

Something along those lines.

DECLAN

But you were happy. I saw you laughing and feeling great.

You went on endlessly about him like he . . . he was a super

hero. You never stopped chattering about him.

OLIVIA

Maybe, I was trying to convince myself.

DECLAN

You can’t be serious. I know you, this is just a detour . . .

OLIVIA

(Getting angry)

Look, it’s my decision. Or is it just hotter screwing an

almost-married woman than a single one?

DECLAN

Hey, I don’t deserve that.

OLIVIA

Don’t you?

DECLAN

You’ll be back together before the end of the month, and

he’ll ask me what happened. You’ll expect me not to tell him

I slept with you, and I’m a very bad liar.

OLIVIA

(Begins tossing pans,

erratically into the

cupboards.)

That might have been possible before I saw the ring, but

after it, the decision was clear.

DECLAN

(Watching her, gets up.)

Let me do this, you’ll hurt yourself. And me.

OLIVIA

I’m not helpless, you know.

DECLAN

Believe me, I am aware of that.

OLIVIA

I mean about the dishes.

DECLAN

Ha. Domestically, you leave a lot to be desired.

OLIVIA

Do you want to make a list of all my shortcomings, so I can

consult it whenever you’re not around to remind me?

DECLAN

I’m simply pointing out the limits of your domestic virtues.

OLIVIA

Oh, here it comes.

DECLAN

What comes?

OLIVIA

The lecture about how I’m always so “challenging.”

DECLAN

Well, you don’t make it easy for men to date you or care

about you. Most of them are completely baffled by your moods,

your idiosyncracies. What woman doesn’t like diamonds, for

example? It’s weird.

OLIVIA

Oh, bite me. And I’d like to point out that what you just

said–lecture!

(She slams a pan onto the

counter.)

DECLAN

Could you at least stop tossing the dishes around? I’m

entitled to one request before the firing squad, I hope.

OLIVIA

So why did you have sex with me, since I am so moody and

idiosyncratic?

DECLAN

I said you had those things, not that you were those things.

OLIVIA

I make it hard on men who date and care for me. Like you?

DECLAN

Well, no. I just always feel like I have to coach your

boyfriends into understanding you.

OLIVIA

Perhaps you should mind your own business.

DECLAN

I’ve only ever wanted to be helpful.

OLIVIA

So you could get somebody to take me off your hands.

DECLAN

What? No.

OLIVIA

You want me off your conscience, admit it.

DECLAN

Why would you say that? Have I ever treated you like a

burden or millstone?

OLIVIA

You are right now.

DECLAN

Exactly what is it you’re mad about? That I’m shocked that

you gave Breme the heave-ho or that we had sex?

OLIVIA

(Laughs.)

The heave-ho! What a funny expression!

DECLAN

You’re not answering the question.

OLIVIA

I’m just pointing out that you are more upset with my breakup

than I am.

DECLAN

Not really.

OLIVIA

Seems so.

DECLAN

I don’t care that you broke up, but you seem unnerved, coming

out here doing something you’d never normally do at this time

of day.

OLIVIA

So I’m a slacker, to boot?

DECLAN

I don’t know what’s going on with you. You usually tell me

everything. You’ve finished with a man you were crazy about

a month ago. And adding casual sex to our relationship could

change everything.

OLIVIA

Like what?

DECLAN

Well, I don’t know. That’s why I want to clarify things.

OLIVIA

It wasn’t casual, as I remember it. The sex.

DECLAN

(Pauses)

Admittedly, it wasn’t.

OLIVIA

(To the skillet)

So, it’s established it wasn’t casual.

DECLAN

I just said it wasn’t.

(Takes the skillet from her.)

OLIVIA

And? I assume you’ve had sex before.

DECLAN

Not with you I haven’t.

OLIVIA

Was it different than you expected?

DECLAN

What? I didn’t expect. I never expect . . .

OLIVIA

Well, don’t be a bastard. Am I so unattractive that in

fifteen years you’ve never imagined us in the sack?

DECLAN

Of course, you are, but . . .

OLIVIA

We’ve kissed before.

DECLAN

Yes. I remember we kissed.

OLIVIA

But you’ve never made a pass until last night.

DECLAN

You were the one that made the pass last night.

OLIVIA

Me?

DECLAN

Yes, you. You kissed me.

OLIVIA

Okay, let’s just say, for the sake of argument only, that I

kissed you. All the more curious that you never made a pass.

DECLAN

I didn’t imagine I was, you know, even in the running.

Besides, that is a loaded question.

OLIVIA

Is it? How so? Was it because of our friend, Daniel, that you

never . . . ?

DECLAN

What does Daniel have to do with this? Is that what this is

about? You want Daniel back?

(Tosses the skillet.)

OLIVIA

Oh, please, I want to know why you and I never had sex

before? Was it because once in 15 years Daniel and I dated,

and you’ve been unnecessarily loyal?

DECLAN

That’s ridiculous.

OLIVIA

We’ve known each other long enough. It wouldn’t have been

surprising if we’d had sex. People certainly expected us to.

DECLAN

Who expected us to?

OLIVIA

Daniel, for one.

DECLAN

See, we’re back to Daniel.

OLIVIA

Okay, Margaret. Margaret actually refuses to believe we

haven’t had sex.

DECLAN

My sister, Margaret?

OLIVIA

The very same.

DECLAN

Well, she’s just being nosy.

OLIVIA

Alas! The question remains.

DECLAN

Alas?

OLIVIA

Alas.

DECLAN

Have you been drinking?

OLIVIA

That’s it! In the time it took you to shower, I’ve been out

here downing Jello shots.

DECLAN

You had a considerable amount of brandy last night.

OLIVIA

Then I’d be hung over, not drunk.

DECLAN

Is that why we had sex? Because of all the brandy?

OLIVIA

I’d like to point out that we’ve had brandy before.

DECLAN

I know but we drank the whole bottle.

OLIVIA

It was only half full.

DECLAN

Three quarters.

OLIVIA

Fine. Three quarters, but the question still remains.

DECLAN

And what is your answer to that question?

OLIVIA

Chicken shit.

DECLAN

Who?

OLIVIA

Both of us.

DECLAN

Well . . . Well, what do you mean by chicken shit?

OLIVIA

You and me have been too afraid of what might happen if we

had sex.

DECLAN

Why should we be frightened by that?

OLIVIA

You spent the last ten minutes trying to clarify. For the

sake of world peace, was it?

DECLAN

I assure you, I . . . am . . . I’m not afraid of having sex

with you. I just did, didn’t I?

OLIVIA

(Laughing)

Oh, my god, you so are.

DECLAN

I just treat friends differently than lovers.

OLIVIA

Of course, you do. That’s why you’re still with the married

cellist.

DECLAN

Alright. I’m a little nervous, but only because it’s a

slippery slope to have sex with friends.

OLIVIA

Whereas sex with strangers is a cake-walk.

DECLAN

Why are you out here clanging pots and pans?

OLIVIA

I admit, it scares me shitless.

DECLAN

What am I, an ogre?

OLIVIA

Oh, for heaven sake.

DECLAN

Just asking.

OLIVIA

For clarity?

DECLAN

Yes, yes, for clarity.

OLIVIA

Yes, you are an ogre.

DECLAN

What? . . .

OLIVIA

You had to ask!

DECLAN

What exactly are we talking about here?

OLIVIA

Sex. We wanted to, we had the opportunity, and now we have

to pick it apart bit by little bit before it causes

complications.

DECLAN

What sort of complications?

OLIVIA

You tell me Mr. Needs-clarity.

DECLAN

I need to know whether we are opening up eh . . . eh

OLIVIA

Can of worms?

DECLAN

Pandora’s box.

OLIVIA

At least, that’s a better metaphor. Not by much though.

DECLAN

You said you wanted to.

OLIVIA

I did. Did you?

DECLAN

Yes, we wanted to and we did.

OLIVIA

Right.

DECLAN

So from time to time, we might have sex with one another. Is

that it? Since you and Breme are no longer an item.

OLIVIA

How often is time to time?

DECLAN

I don’t know, it could be once . . . a . . . a, once a month

perhaps?

OLIVIA

Or more? Maybe even regularly.

DECLAN

(Hesitantly.)

That could be a possibility.

OLIVIA

Or, now, just think about this.

DECLAN

Yes?

OLIVIA

We might have sex after going to a movie or dinner or a night

out.

DECLAN

Might we?

OLIVIA

Yes.

DECLAN

You don’t think that’s a gray area?

OLIVIA

It could be, but we often do all of those things a few times

a month anyway.

DECLAN

That’s true, we do, but would we be required to?

OLIVIA

After just one night, you’re worried the sex will be

obligatory?

DECLAN

We’re clarifying things. Hypothetically.

OLIVIA

No. Never required. Hypothetically.

DECLAN

But what? Expected?

OLIVIA

No, not expected? Maybe . . .

DECLAN

Anticipated?

OLIVIA

Hoped for?

DECLAN

Well, is that even possible? I mean when I go out with

someone, unless it’s you, that is, I anticipate a favorable

ending.

OLIVIA

And I provide an unfavorable ending?

DECLAN

No, of course not.

OLIVIA

But you’ve found anticipation works out for you?

DECLAN

More often than not.

OLIVIA

I’m sticking with hoped for.

DECLAN

Okay, I can live with that.

OLIVIA

The other area of concern is the personal.

DECLAN

What do you mean area of concern?

OLIVIA

Well, like you said before, I tend to tell you every nuance

of my life.

DECLAN

You do.

OLIVIA

And I think you’d agree, you share much of your life as well

with me.

DECLAN

Not everything though.

OLIVIA

I’ll chalk that up to you’re being a man. May we still share

our . . . What shall I call it? Dating details.

DECLAN

Ah.

OLIVIA

Will that be a problem?

DECLAN

Why should it be?

OLIVIA

So if I told you I’m going out with someone tonight, do I

still get to call you tomorrow and give details?

DECLAN

I see what you mean. Well, I don’t know.

OLIVIA

Would you feel jealous?

DECLAN

Jealous? No!

OLIVIA

Okay.

DECLAN

Not jealous but perhaps a little, just a tad, guarded.

OLIVIA

In other words, no, we should not share those things anymore.

DECLAN

Probably not.

OLIVIA

Okay.

DECLAN

Wouldn’t you feel a little jealous if I shared. . .?

OLIVIA

Depends on who it is.

DECLAN

What do you mean?

OLIVIA

Well, if you talking about the cellist, it’s actually pretty

entertaining.

DECLAN

And if you get back with Breme? Should I be entertained?

OLIVIA

What a ridiculous name. Why didn’t I see that before? Why

didn’t you see it?

DECLAN

I thought you were happy.

OLIVIA

It sounds like a household product, for goodness sake.

DECLAN

Back to the question at hand.

OLIVIA

Which is?

DECLAN

Sharing dating details.

OLIVIA

I thought we agreed not to.

DECLAN

I think we could still share, but we should have a code word

if one of us feels . . .

OLIVIA

Guarded?

DECLAN

Yes.

OLIVIA

Like what?

DECLAN

Like . . . featherbed.

OLIVIA

What?

DECLAN

Or something else.

OLIVIA

(Laughing)

Featherbed? Is there some reason that word springs to mind?

DECLAN

Maybe.

OLIVIA

Is it from the cellist?

DECLAN

No, it’s from a John Denver song.

OLIVIA

John Denver? Who is John Denver?

DECLAN

He’s a singer from the seventies. My dad listens to him.

Grandma’s Featherbed is the song. It just came to mind.

Really, it doesn’t matter, we can use anything.

OLIVIA

Grandma? Sex with me brings Grandma to mind?

DECLAN

A code word to derail the discussion about our exes.

18.

OLIVIA

(Pauses to look him over)

Featherbed is okay. It’s just weird enough to serve.

DECLAN

Good.

OLIVIA

So. Anything else?

DECLAN

What if we, or one of us, starts to feel, I don’t know, a

greater degree of affection, shall we say, than the other,

what then?

OLIVIA

Ah, well, then we have to renegotiate.

DECLAN

Renegotiate? Are we negotiating?

OLIVIA

If one of us wants to see the other more frequently than two

or three times a month, say.

DECLAN

That’s another awkward conversation.

OLIVIA

What do you suggest?

DECLAN

I think we have to agree to stop if one of us wants more than

benefits.

OLIVIA

Ah, so, no conversation, just becoming unavailable.

DECLAN

Not necessarily. We should have the right to call the end of

the game though.

OLIVIA

So it’s a game?

DECLAN

I’m better with sports metaphors.

OLIVIA

But what if one of us thinks the other is getting more

“affectionate,” and it’s not that at all?

DECLAN

What do you mean?

OLIVIA

It’s not the end of the game, just the end of an inning, say.

DECLAN

Ah, an inning.

OLIVIA

It might be just another turn at bat that’s mutually

beneficial.

DECLAN

I see.

OLIVIA

One of us could be thinking the game is over, and it’s really

a . . . a . . . change of innings.

DECLAN

It’s the seventh inning stretch!

OLIVIA

Exactly. There’s still 2 innings left to play.

DECLAN

Yes. Maybe there’s a change of pitchers. Or, the bases are

loaded, and a full count, two outs, but the guy on third is

poised to steal home.

OLIVIA

Yeah, I have no idea what you are talking about now.

DECLAN

You know baseball.

OLIVIA

Yes, but I have never applied it to my love life.

DECLAN

Well, I mean, it could also be a pop fly that could go fair

or foul.

OLIVIA

I got nothing.

DECLAN

Never mind. Still, it’s one thing to lose benefits but

another to loose a fifteen year friendship.

OLIVIA

True. That wouldn’t be good.

DECLAN

No. Definitely not.

OLIVIA

Maybe we should just forget benefits altogether.

DECLAN

Meaning, no sex again. Go back to being friends only.

OLIVIA

Yes.

DECLAN

Yes. (Pause) That would keep the boundaries clear. We

wouldn’t need a code word.

OLIVIA

Or the awkward conversations.

DECLAN

Right. Or . . .

OLIVIA

Or?

DECLAN

We set one day aside every few months to reevaluate. No

pressure, just give a scouting report on how we see the . . .

game progressing.

OLIVIA

Once a month.

DECLAN

That often?

OLIVIA

Yep.

DECLAN

Once a month?

OLIVIA

Today’s the 12th, so we reassess next month on the twelfth.

DECLAN

Sure, but February only has 28 days, so it wouldn’t

technically be a month.

OLIVIA

Actually, technically, it would be the month of February.

DECLAN

Yes, but it’s four weeks and . . . well . . .

OLIVIA

We can skip February altogether. It’s a risky month with

Valentine’s day, and a couple is lucky to make it through

that month at all.

DECLAN

Deal.

OLIVIA

Deal.

They shake hands.

DECLAN

(awkwardly)

Alright. Yes.

OLIVIA

Great.

DECLAN

Seems we ought to have something more than a handshake.

OLIVIA

Well, we could, shall we say, return to the field.

DECLAN

That would definitely be in order.

(He moves in closer to her.)

They kiss.

OLIVIA

(Drawing back.)

You said, I run away whenever someone gets close.

DECLAN

That was probably a little harsh. I didn’t mean . . .

OLIVIA

I’m not saying you’re wrong, mind you. Heaven knows, I’ve had

a slew of love affairs. Before Breme, there was Allen and

before that Jeffery, and Michael . . .

DECLAN

Featherbed, featherbed.

OLIVIA

Sorry. But it’s just as possible that I’m . . .

DECLAN

(Wanting to kiss her again)

Let’s just forget . . .

OLIVIA

(Ignoring him.)

Not running away from anyone. I might be simply coming back

to same person again and again.

DECLAN

The same person? Like Daniel?

OLIVIA

(Laughs.)

The person who picks me up when I’ve broken down, who feeds

me dinner.

(Gestures to the table.)

Buys me brandy. Explains me to my boyfriends . . .

DECLAN

That’s . . . even a possibility?

OLIVIA

(She kisses him.)

Hypothetically speaking.

DECLAN

I admit . . . I . . . much prefer that explanation.

OLIVIA

Do you?

DECLAN

Yes.

OLIVIA

Well, then . . .

(She moves in closer to him)

They kiss and exit toward the

bedroom, tossing clothes as they

go.

End of play.

23 May, 2016

Grace Epstein

Grace Epstein is an Associate Professor of English at the University of Cincinnati where she teaches and serves as Assistant Head of the Department. She has published scholarly and creative work in a variety of journals including Genders and The Great Lakes Review. Four of her plays have been staged and produced.

23 May, 2016

Man’s Best Friend

SYNOPSIS

When Jane goes to visit her elderly parents, she discovers that her father has acquired a

dog. An invisible dog. Her concern for his mental stability soon gives way to anger at

her mother for allowing him this delusion. But the root of her father’s need for canine

companionship is more complicated than simple dementia, and Jane comes to realize the

sad but necessary truth about coping with loss.

ESTIMATED RUNNING TIME

20 minutes

CAST REQUIREMENTS

2 female actors, 1 male actor

SET

The suggestion of a living room – the only essential piece of furniture is a sofa, but this

could be suggested by a line of chairs, cubes, etc.

MAN’S BEST FRIEND

Characters

JANE about 45 years old

CELIA about 70 years old

HAL about 70 years old

Afternoon, the living room of an elderly married couple.

Lights up on CELIA, who is knitting.

A knock on the door, and JANE opens it,

poking her head in.

JANE

Anybody home?

JANE enters carrying a brown bag full of

books, and an overnight case. CELIA starts

to get up.

JANE (continued)

No, no. Don’t get up.

CELIA

Don’t be silly. I’m not a cripple.

JANE

Sit down. I haven’t forgotten my way around.

CELIA

It’s been so long since you last visited, I thought maybe

you might have.

JANE

And I’m sure you’d be happy to have me still living here?

CELIA

I only meant that I wish we could see you a bit more often.

JANE sets down the bag and case, and gives

CELIA a hug.

JANE

I do, too. You know I do. It’s just hard for me to come

up here that often.

CELIA

It’s only two hours.

JANE

It’s not just the drive, Mom.

CELIA

Sometimes, I think that you don’t like coming to visit.

JANE

Mom, you know it’s not like that. Anyway, I’m here now,

and you and Dad have me until Sunday.

(beat)

Where is Dad? I bought him this bag of books at the

library sale. They let you fill up a whole bag for three

dollars. And there was one table that looked like they

sorted it just for him. All his favorites. I snagged him

five or six Zane Grays. He’s probably read most of them

before, but I figured he wouldn’t remember.

CELIA

(abruptly)

Your father’s mind is fine. You have no right to—

JANE

I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant that—

Mom, Dad never remembers anything he reads. Or movies, or

TV. It all just goes in and right back out again. He’s

always been like that. Why would you think—?

CELIA

I’m sorry. You’re right.

(beat)

He hasn’t been reading much lately.

JANE

Dad not reading?

(a moment)

He’s not going blind, is he?

CELIA

No, no. He can still see a bug on the fencepost. He just

doesn’t have so much time for reading now.

JANE

What do you mean? Why?

CELIA

It’s since… since he got…

JANE

What? Come on.

CELIA

Since he got the… dog.

JANE

You guys got a dog?

CELIA

Yes. Well, your father did.

JANE

Mom, that’s great! You know they say having a pet helps

you live longer. It keeps you happier and healthier.

CELIA

Well, it keeps your father from reading. And from doing a

lot of his chores and other things around here. He’s

out… walking it now.

JANE

See, exercise. Healthy. You should be out walking, too.

CELIA

It’s really his dog. He spends a lot of time, um… taking

care of it.

JANE

Mom, are you jealous? You’ve become a dog-widow. What

kind is it?

CELIA

Well… you’ll see when he gets back.

JANE

I love those funny little pug dogs. But they’re a bit too

precious for Dad. And you’re not supposed to get purebred

dogs anymore. So many perfectly good mutts in shelters

need homes. Where’d he get it?

CELIA

I really don’t know. He just… had it when I came home.

JANE

He didn’t even ask you?

CELIA

I didn’t think it would be a problem. Look, it seems to

help him, so…

JANE

You don’t like the dog, do you? Mom, I can tell. It’s

not fair to you if you don’t like it. You need to tell

him. But do it before he gets too attached, or the dog

starts to feel at home. How long has he had it?

HAL’s voice is heard calling from offstage.

HAL

Is that Janie’s car in the driveway? Janie?

HAL enters.

JANE

Hi Dad.

JANE and HAL hug. He looks her over.

HAL

You get prettier every time I see you.

JANE

Yeah, right, Dad. You look good, though. And you’re

moving great compared to last time I saw you.

HAL

I feel great.

HAL does a quick little jig.

CELIA

Hal, stop acting like a child. You’ll hurt yourself.

HAL

Your mother envies my perennial youth.

JANE

It must be the dog walking. Where is this new family

member?

CELIA

Yes. I told her about your new dog.

JANE

Where is he? Or she?

HAL

She. She’s playing out in the front yard.

JANE goes quickly to the door.

JANE

Dad, there’s no fence. You can’t leave her there. What if

she runs into the street? She could get hit—

HAL

She’s not gonna run into the street, honey.

JANE has swung open the door, looking out.

JANE

There’s no dog out here. She’s gone. Dad!

She crosses back to HAL.

JANE (continued)

What were you thinking, letting her run loose?

HAL steps out the door, and whistles.

HAL

(offstage)

Daisy! Here, girl. C’mere, girl.

(brief pause)

Atta girl. Good dog.

(calling in to JANE)

She’s right here, Jane. Good God, you’re as bad as your

mother, thinking I can’t even take care of a dog.

HAL enters, and stands inside the door. A

few moments pass, as he looks at the two

women, and JANE looks at him.

HAL (continued)

Well? I think you owe me a small apology. Don’t you?

JANE looks to CELIA for some guidance, but

CELIA just continues knitting.

JANE

Dad, I don’t understand. Where’s—

HAL

She doesn’t understand.

HAL kneels down and hugs the imaginary dog.

HAL (continued)

(to his imaginary dog)

You understand me, eh, girl? No generation gap between us.

JANE

Mom, what’s going on?

CELIA

What do you mean?

JANE

I mean this “dog” thing.

HAL

Janie, she is not a “thing”.

(to the dog)

She didn’t mean it. You’re the best dog in the world,

aren’t you girl.

JANE

Dad, stop this. It’s ridiculous.

CELIA

It’s okay, Jane.

HAL

Just because a dog isn’t purebred, that doesn’t make it any

less loving, or loyal.

(to the dog)

Does it, Daisy. You’re such a good doggie.

JANE takes CELIA aside.

JANE

What is going on?

CELIA

He… has a dog. I told you that.

HAL sits on the sofa.

JANE

How long has he been like this?

HAL reacts as the dog jumps onto the sofa.

HAL

Daisy. No, Daisy. Get down.

CELIA

(to HAL)

Maybe you should take the dog out back, Hal. Here. Take

her ball and throw it for her.

CELIA picks up the imaginary dog’s imaginary

ball, and hands it to HAL.

HAL

We just got back from our walk. Let me talk with Janie,

for god’s sake. Come sit down and talk, Janie.

CELIA

Hal, take Daisy outside.

(brief pause)

Jane’s allergic to dogs.

HAL

You always loved dogs.

JANE

It… sorta just developed in me. A few years ago.

CELIA

That’s why she won’t go near the dog, dear. Now take it

outside, before your daughter…breaks out in a rash, or

something.

HAL gets up, bounces the imaginary ball, and

leads the dog out.

HAL

Come on, girl. Ball? Ball? That’s a good girl. Let’s

play ball.

JANE looks to make sure HAL is gone, then

goes to CELIA.

CELIA

Now don’t you start with me.

JANE

Start what? Mom, he’s sick. He needs help.

CELIA

Your father is not sick. He’s…

JANE

He’s what? What do you call a man with an imaginary dog?

Eccentric? Interesting?

CELIA

You don’t understand. Daisy… comforts him.

JANE

“Daisy” is not there. There is no Daisy. Does he see

other things that aren’t there?

CELIA

Of course not. Except for the dog toys, and leash, and dog

food. Just those “dog” things, you know.

(beat)

He needed a dog. That’s all.

JANE

That’s not all. He’s delusional. You need to have him

looked at. For Christ’s sake, Mom, it might be

something…physical. A tumor or something. Even if it’s

not, if it’s some mental problem, either way, he’s sick,

Mom. He needs to see a doctor.

CELIA

Your father is not sick. You said it yourself, he looks

great. And his dog is why. What’s the harm, if it makes

him feel better.

JANE

I’m not going to argue with you, Mom. He’s sick and I’m

taking him to the doctor.

CELIA

He’s not sick.

JANE

He is.

CELIA

He isn’t sick!

(very long beat)

I am.

JANE

(a silence)

Mom?

CELIA

It’s why I asked you to come down. I couldn’t tell you

over the phone.

JANE steps away, and she looks out a window.

JANE

What is going on here? Dad’s in the yard with an invisible

dog, and you’re… What?

CELIA

It’s come back. The cancer. In my pancreas this time.

It’s—

JANE

Mom, did you…? I mean, what are they doing about it?

CELIA

There’s nothing they can do. Oh, I’m getting some

treatments to slow the growth, but it’s really just a

matter of time.

JANE

Are you just going to County? There’s other places.

Better places.

CELIA

Jane, I’m dying. I’m passed denying that. I’m beyond

fighting it.

JANE steps away, and again looks outside.

JANE

Does he know?

CELIA

Yes, honey. Of course he knows.

JANE

Well, Jesus, mom. What the hell is he doing?

CELIA

Jane, there’s no call for that kind of language.

HAL enters, behind his imaginary dog.

HAL

(to the dog)

Hey! Hey! Settle down, now. You’re inside, Daisy. Go

easy. That’s a good girl.

JANE approaches HAL.

JANE

How could you?

HAL

Could I what?

JANE

How dare you treat her like this?

HAL looks to the dog.

HAL

Janie, she has to behave in the house.

JANE slaps HAL.

CELIA

Jane!

JANE

She needs you.

HAL grabs hold of JANE’s wrist.

HAL

Just what has gotten into you, young lady?

JANE

Let go of me.

HAL

Not before I know why my own child has hit me.

CELIA

Both of you. Please, stop!

JANE

I know what’s going on. Mom told me.

CELIA

Hal, let go of her. Jane, stop struggling. There’s no

reason—

JANE

How can you act like this when Mom’s dying?

CELIA

Just drop it! Please!

HAL releases JANE in response to her

question. The room is uncomfortably quiet

and still. Then HAL goes to CELIA.

HAL

I’m gonna take Daisy down to the park. Let her chase the

pigeons. She likes to chase the pigeons.

CELIA

I know she does. You go ahead, dear.

HAL

(to the dog)

Come on, Daisy. Let’s get your leash on.

HAL starts to exit, passing JANE without a

look or word. He stops at the door and

turns back to CELIA.

HAL (continued)

Maybe while I’m gone, you can remind our daughter about

respect for her parents in their own house.

(to the dog)

Come on, girl.

HAL exits.

JANE

You can’t encourage him like that, Mom. He needs to be

helping you. You need him… helping you.

CELIA

I need him to be happy.

JANE

I know how hard it must be for you, but you can’t just let

Dad…fall apart, too. How long’s he been acting like this?

CELIA

I’ve told you already. You’re father is not crazy. He’s

completely aware of what’s going on, in this house, in the

world. It’s not like you think it is. He isn’t “acting”

like anything.

JANE

Mom!

CELIA

He just has a dog. He’s got Daisy a few days after we

learned about my…

(beat)

Oh, Jane. Was I worried? Of course I was, at first. But

when I stopped worrying about it, I began to see that your

father was happier with the dog.

(beat)

When the doctor told us… well, your father…started

crying. I think he was more upset than I was. Your father

hadn’t been like that since your grandmother died. For two

or three days, he was… He just sat around the house. He

didn’t seem to know what to do.

(CELIA continues)

It got to the point where I was angry at him, for shutting

down on me. That he should feel sorrier for himself than

for me. After all, I’m the one who’s dying.

JANE

Oh, Mom, don’t…

CELIA

So I made him go out. I made him leave the house and take

a walk. I had to scream at him, but he finally left.

(pause)

And when he came home, he had Daisy.

(beat)

I thought why is this happening now? Why, when I’m so

sick? And I told the doctor.

JANE

So you did ask him about Dad? What did he say?

CELIA

He told me not to worry about it. He told me if it helped

Hal, that I should let him have his dog. Let him rely on

her. Especially when we have to deal with my situation.

JANE

I bet it’s not that uncommon. Right? I mean…

CELIA

That dog helped your father come back to life. And that’s

all I need from him right now. That he not die with me.

JANE

(long pause)

Did the doctor say…? How long do they think?

CELIA

It’s different for everyone. Three months, or if I’m

lucky…

(sad laugh)

Lucky. Well, then maybe even a year.

JANE hugs CELIA.

JANE

Oh, Mom. I don’t want you to die.

CELIA

Neither does your father. And certainly I don’t want it

either. But it’s going to happen. And it doesn’t make it

any better to let it get the best of you.

JANE

(pause)

Do you think the dog will still… I mean, do you think

Dad will still have the dog… you know, after you’re gone.

CELIA

I doubt it. But if he does, I think that’s just fine. And

he’ll still have you, and you’ll have him.

CELIA goes to a shelf and gets a photo

album. She sits on the sofa.

CELIA (continued)

Come sit down. I want to look at some of our pictures.

JANE

Yeah. That would be nice.

JANE sits next to CELIA.

CELIA

Look at you, with your bicycle. That was when your father

took off the training wheels.

JANE

That was such a cool bike. I hated when I got too big for

it. There’s you and Dad in Hawaii. You look so young.

CELIA

We were young.

HAL enters with the dog.

CELIA (continued)

Back already?

HAL

There wasn’t a single pigeon at the park today. Old Daise

must’ve scared ‘em all off last week.

(to the dog)

Is that what you did, you silly dog?

CELIA

Jane and I are looking at the family album. Come sit down.

HAL looks at JANE. JANE goes to him.

JANE

I’m sorry, Dad. I was… I’m tired, and it was a long

drive. I’m really sorry.

HAL

(making it a joke)

Sorry? For what?

(beat)

Ah, Janie, you don’t ever have to be sorry for anything to

me.

HAL hugs her.

CELIA

Come sit down, you two. Look at these ones. When we took

that camping trip to Yosemite.

They sit on the sofa, flanking CELIA.

HAL

I miss a good camping trip. Dark starry skies, roaring

campfire.

JANE

Toasted marshmallows.

CELIA

I don’t miss the mosquitos.

The dog apparently jumps onto the sofa.

HAL

(to the dog)

Daisy, no! Down! You know you’re not allowed on the sofa.

JANE looks at her father, and then at the

invisible dog. She gestures to the dog, and

pats the sofa next to herself.

JANE

(to the dog)

Here, girl. Come on. Up!

HAL

Janie…

JANE strokes the dog, next to her on the

sofa.

JANE

Dad, she’s one of the family. She can sit with us, can’t

she?

CELIA smiles at JANE.

HAL

I suppose it couldn’t hurt anything. She’s a good dog,

isn’t she?

JANE

She really is.

Lights down.

END PLAY

23 May, 2016

Rod McFadden

Rod McFadden began writing plays in 2009.    Since then, his plays have been well-received by audiences of theatres in San Francisco and throughout the country.   He has received awards in national playwriting competitions for his plays, Love Birds, Getting the Message, Counting on Love (which was also a Heideman award finalist).  His work was chosen for the People’s Choice award at the 2012 inspiraTO Festival in Toronto.  One Monkey More or Less appears in the Smith and Kraus’ anthology, Best 10-Minute Plays of 2015.    Rod serves on the Board of Directors for the Playwrights Center of SF.

23 May, 2016

Sandhill Cranes and Wine

                                                                                

Three Sandhill cranes landed, framed by the fading grey oak of the pasture fence. The cranes moved slowly across the paddock out beyond the grape arbor, and loomed tall over dying weeds and hay grasses. The birds with lovely feathers stayed and grazed for what seemed a long time, though their gaze remained cautious toward the house. I let Stella, our shepherd, out the front door for her morning rounds. She circled the house, yet the cranes kept calm, drawn to the sweet low lying alfalfa. I wondered, perhaps Stella cannot see the birds or perhaps, their soft, ghostly grey blended with her black and white view of the world.

I keep a small row of assorted fruit trees along the drive. The Macintosh apple trees normally bear fruit though the deer claim most. Two peach trees have been productive over the years but both lost large limbs from the weight of the spring snow. With the exception of a few plump peaches, the trees, though leafed out, were barren.

I planted two new hybrid apple trees by the pasture fence a year ago in the spring to replace a perfectly formed mulberry tree lost to disease. The mulberry had been our favorite, the juicy black berry fruit especially enjoyed by our three grandsons. We never quite got around to making mulberry jam because berries somehow disappeared right off the tree. The mystery of vanished fruit was solved with little detective work as purple stains dotted the white tee shirts worn by Zeke, the middle boy, and Walker , the youngest. The oldest, Grady, naturally told on his younger brothers, though I suspect that he also participated in a free for all berry fight. Mulberry juice disdains the effort of modern washing machines.

Then a year came with no fruit. The sweet wood invited pests inside the bark. During the snow of winter, we watched helplessly out the back window while woodpeckers throttled the mulberry, pecking for hidden bugs.

A summer-long drought had followed the strangest spring weather I can remember. Ninety degree days in March caused fruit trees to bud far too early. A seasonable yet heavy late spring snow nipped life from the fruit buds. The weight of the wet accumulation tore limbs and broke orchard keepers’ hearts, along with their pocketbooks

The grapes had started out well, apparently not affected by the spring snow. In June, I fought my annual battle of conscience; whether or not to spray the vines with pesticide. Just once in the dozen year life of my vineyard, have I sprayed the fruit. The grapes flourished that year but I always worried; about the birds, about tainted wine, about my family and friends eating grapes from the vine, though I always warned them to wash first. I chose not to spray, to take my chances, trusting nature to take my side.

In July, I began to notice birds fluttering in the vines. Thankful I hadn’t sprayed, I enjoyed watching sparrows come and go, through the deep green leaves that camouflaged the cedar arbor. On the hottest of summer days, walking the aisle beneath the leaves is much like entering an air conditioned room. But when August arrived, many of the hopeful fingers of fruit were gone. I fretted over the loss and hoped September would leave just enough for a modest vintage.

In mid-August I noticed the two new apple trees being affected by the dry season. Flora have a way of acting out to describe their needs. Leaves curled only slightly, and colors faded in barely noticeable hues, in a plea for water. A small fir tree, planted in the spring, behind a row of healthy blackberry bushes, also wanted a drink. I put the drip hoses out with a nagging guilt, and hoped that I had not waited too long.

After Labor Day, with rain finally in the forecast, I fertilized all the trees. This year’s harvest was lost but in the growing business “next year” always gives hope. The sun came out before hiding in rhythm with a musical beat, and I pounded the fertilizer stakes deep around drip edges. Rolling clouds and a few sprinkles of rain slowed the process only slightly and soon I finished. A muscle twitch portended an ache which I soothed with a drink of cool well water while resting in a soft chair by the woodstove.

I sat back and pondered the grapes growing sweet on the arbor I had built from cedar saplings. In good years, the vines produced enough grapes for two or three dozen bottles of wine, only a bit oversweet, and several cartons of canned jelly, flawless on fresh warm bread with butter, and a surprisingly tasty marinade for both chicken and flank steak.

Outside, the arbor flourished with carefully tended with vines I had trimmed back and formed on a cold March day. The vines had returned healthy and filled with leaves through the summer. Buds appeared on the purple-brown virgin leads, and one day, without notice, small and gentle fingers of fruit, on tiny bright green stems, had sprouted from pinkish flowers.

The midday sun broke through the clouds and beckoned me back to the arbor. Grapes grown sweet waited to be crushed to wine before winter arrived.

The cranes looked on as I set out to the arbor and picked surviving grapes by hand. Carrying a large pot, I thought I might need to buy grapes this year, or maybe try using juice from a local fruit market. But I had never used someone else’s grapes in my wine. I began to pick along the outer side of the arbor, the sun still out and the wind freshening. I used a different method than in other years. I picked each grape individually or in strands of two or three and carefully dropped the fruit in the pot. I found a few bulging bunches. My spirits rose. Working my way around the arbor, I pulled back leaves and beheld more and more of the juicy orbs hidden in dark, shady reaches.

The sky darkened as I turned under the canopy, the first pot almost filled. Raindrops hit the leaf ceiling above me, but underneath, I stayed dry.  My fingers chilled like the grapes in the shade. As I reached, occasionally a grape was broken and I tasted the fruit, thick and sweet. The rain hitting the leaves echoed, and drops continued as the sun returned, lighting the earth. I was transfixed by the sun shining above a light autumn shower.

After a couple hours, the year’s crop lay in the pots. I had picked about ten gallons of promising fruit and returned to the house, cleaned up the fermenting crock, and began pulling each stem away from each grape. I separated the first four pounds, and kneaded the fruit in a large bowl, squeezing with my hands, and smelled the rich sugary juice as the grapes turned magically from fruit into a liquid mixture. I finished the first bowl. The crushed grapes were ready for the crock. But what to do with my hands?  If I picked up the bowl it would slip, break on the ceramic tile floor, the coveted juice would be lost.

Instead, I licked the thick juice, first from my palms; then from the back of each of my sun-browned hands that tingled from the tannins in the fruit, and finished by licking each finger. The taste was exquisite.

Startled from reverie by an intense prehistoric croaking, a herding dog bark, and the whinny of the Haflinger pony out by the barn, I ran to the window curious, but seeing no cause, trotted barefoot out the door, and felt cool green grass in my toes. Three cranes soared high over the grape arbor, circled the barn and the pasture like angels having shed ghostly grey masks, and flew to the west over tall red pine trees, in search of water.

23 May, 2016

Tom Conlan

Tom Conlan lives, writes, and tends his grape vines in the highlands of Northern Michigan. He has captained a Coast Guard Cutter, sailed the world’s lakes and oceans, and now searches for the elusive brook trout in backwater streams where they love to hide. Tom’s work has appeared in print in Vine Leaves Literary Journal, Issue #12, in the print Anthology, Puppy Love, in Tulip Tree Review #1,in  the anthology, “The Water Holds No Scars,” and is forthcoming in QU Literary Review His work  was chosen as a finalist for the Annie Dillard Prize in the Bellingham Review. Tom attended the Iowa Writer’s Workshop, holds a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from Queens University of Charlotte, and a Master of Science from the US Naval Postgraduate School in Monterrey, California.

23 May, 2016

The Drowned Room

In the mariners’ church,

those dredged from the sea

laid out like fresh catch.

 

Identified by candlelight,

dried foam at their mouth,

the sea changed them.

 

Carried to the limits of water,

the waves rescinded their promise,

leaving them white as whalebone.

 

Lastly seeing

the ultramarine world

they occupied completely;

 

their ship impossibly stalled overhead,

skulking like some legendary creature

in the reachless dropdown light.

 

Below, the bones,

wrack and sump

of those never recovered;

 

while the fortunate ones

lay patiently in the drowned room,

waiting to be given back their names.