If you threw me out of a window, I would fall like a rock. I would not float gracefully down like a feather, my gossamer dress swirling around me as I fell safely into the arms of the hero below. In fact, I have never even owned a gossamer dress, and no hero would catch me. I’m not a fair maiden, I don’t have hair the color of ripened grain, I can’t embroider and I don’t sing like a song bird while I play the harp.
In fact, I’m short, stocky and my hair is approximately the color of mud. I don’t embroider, but I can darn socks. And when I sing it’s more of a deep, raspy sound that works very well for old folk songs, but I do not have what one would call “dulcet tones”. There’s not usually a happily ever after for people like me.
And do you know why that is? Because I am what we in the realm of fantasy call a normal person. The only time someone like me gets mentioned is in those big scenes where a king is making a royal announcement which is followed by “and the peasants rejoiced”.
I am the epitome of pedestrian. It’s not a bad life really. I don’t have riches, or beauty, or a house of my own, or a fairy godmother or, you know, true love or something. But I do have a constant supply of potatoes. Those can be hard to come by.
So, I’m sure that you’re wondering what this story is all about since we’ve already established that I am a thoroughly un-special individual. Really, it’s a funny story.
I have known from the time that I was quite young that I lived in a world that you who are reading this would call fictional. It’s a land filled with princesses and dragons, dashing knights and wizards, goblins, witches, enchanted princess, oracles, that sort of thing. I remember I found out I was, for all intents and purposes, fictional one day at one of those royal announcements when I was seven years old.
I was standing in the crowd with my father watching the fair princess Marigold bat her eyelashes at a striking young prince. He had apparently just rescued her from a dragon and they were about to be wed. At some point when there was a lull in all the rejoicing I turned to my father and asked why the prince had slain the dragon. I had just heard at the last royal announcement that dragons were noble, wise creatures who were good protectors.
My father looked into my plain seven year old eyes and said “because it makes a better story.”
“What do you mean papa?” I asked.
“Well, if the princess had just been visiting the dragon for tea time and the prince came to give her a ride home on his horse, it wouldn’t have been very entertaining. The history of our land is never consistent. It wouldn’t be much fun. It’s all about a good story.”
“Do you mean they lied about what happened papa?” I asked, gesturing to the prince and princess.
“Oh no, they didn’t lie. I’m sure that they were telling the truth.”
“Then who’s telling the story?” I asked, thoroughly confused.
“Oh,” said my father looking up at the sky, “them.”
I looked up at the sky too. I didn’t see a them anyplace up there.
“The clouds?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” he responded. “The writers.”
“What’s a writer?” I asked.
“They’re the ones who decide what’s going on here in our kingdom. They decide everything that’s going to happen. They created everything here. Even you”
“You mean God?” I asked.
“No. They aren’t even close to God. They work for him though.”
At that point there was another bout of rejoicing and I didn’t have a chance to ask my father anymore about it.
I didn’t fully comprehend what he was talking about with the writers until a couple of weeks later. I had a friend named Thomas; most of us called him Topps. Topps was a few year older than me, but was always exceptionally kind. Suddenly Topps started acting funny. He started displaying magical abilities, he stopped hanging around the swarthy children like me, and the grown ups all started talking about how he was going to live some great destiny. Topps started acting like he was under someone else’s control. After a while I understood, it wasn’t Topps’ fault, it was the writers.
Topps later ended up saving a kingdom in some far off land and married a princess. He now goes by Sir Thomas and is on his way to the crown. No one calls him Topps.
Topps was your basic UHWHP, unknown hero with hidden potential. There are lots of those around here. As well as your UWHWHG’s, unwilling heroes with hearts of gold, PID’s, princesses in disguise, and your EEH’s, evilly enchanted heroes. Believe me, they aren’t as uncommon as you would think. Believe me, I should know.
I happen to work for a secret organization known as The Quill Guard. The Quill Guard is an elite group of us fictional normal people who keep all of the characters people write in line. There are many sections of the guard. I work in the magical kingdom sector. We are the ones who prevent villains from winning, heroes from backing out of their quests and princesses from getting fat and pimply. We are unseen, unheard and unnoticed. We are the background fillers, the rejoicing peasants, the people at market. We get in, do our job, and get out. And most importantly we keep the fact that we are fictional a secret. People don’t want to know and people shouldn’t know. Because as soon as you realize that you aren’t real, reality ceases to matter and you can do anything. More than one story has been hijacked by a character realizing he’s a figment of the imagination. It’s a very real situation.
I got pulled into the guard quite literally and quite on accident. I was 18. I had been fetching some milk from market when I was pulled into a black carriage. They had seen me walking and believed that I was an evil empress in disguise who had just discovered the presence of her writer. She had run away to find accomplices who would help her stage a coup.
It took some convincing before they realized I wasn’t an evil empress; that in fact I wasn’t anyone at all. But, I did have a good head on my shoulders. So, they decided to keep me on and instead of being a no one, I became a member of The Quill Guard.
As I said, the guard works in secret. It fills plot holes, helps heroes and stops renegade characters all without being noticed by the main characters of the story or the audience who is reading and especially without being noticed by the writer.
You see, when a writer creates a world or a kingdom they create all of the people who live in it. They don’t pay attention to the peripheral characters, they are just filler. One day a famous writer by the name of Geoffrey Chaucer noticed all of these filler people walking around, living their lives. He thought this was a mite strange, so he decided to ask one of the extras what was going on. He chose a miller. Chaucer met the miller, the miller met Chaucer. The miller couldn’t very well go back to being a regular nobody now that he’d met a writer, so he and Chaucer came up with the Quill Guard. It would be a place for those ordinary folks like the miller to go and an organization that would help young writers develop their craft. Again, all in secret.
However, there are accidents. And an accident is what took me from being an anonymous member of the guard to being a girl named Rose.
I had been working a case in a kingdom called Venedil. The story was full of plot holes and two dimensional characters and a whole other myriad of problems. The writer was young and inexperienced and a lot of things needed fixing. It was your basic plot. A UHWHP was on a quest to save a princess who had been captured by a clever dragon. I had been working my tail end off trying to make sure that side kicks showed up, magical objects were given and advice was administered.
I had been doing rather well, but I was starting to get noticed. The two dimensional hero of the tale started to notice that I showed up every time something important happened or, especially, right before trouble started.
Our dashing hero, Conrad had been a stable boy at the palace when one night he saw the beautiful Princess Cicely trying to run away from the palace. Using his good looks and his considerable charm he was able to discover that Cicely had been running away because her father was going to marry her off to the miserable Lord Marcel. Within moments they swore their eternal, undying love for each other. But, before Conrad could help her escape the members of the royal guard took her back to the palace.
On the day of the wedding, instead of taking his bride-to-be to the alter, he offered her to the evil dragon Magnus who could only be defeated through the use of a magical lantern that could only be found in the far off mountains of Crecia by the pure of heart.
I had gotten him a charming side kick by the name of Darian, found him a wise mentor who was marked for the grave named Cadmus and provided him with a magical sword. Everything had been going swimmingly. Lord Marcel had found out that Conrad was planning to overthrow the evil dragon Magnus; Cadmus had given Conrad crucial pieces of information which included a map to the lost lantern. It was time for Cadmus to kick the bucket. I was subtly leading Lord Marcel and his villainous group of miscreants to Conrad’s hideout when Conrad saw me and recognized me from previous incidences.
I was in trouble. Conrad grabbed me and put me up against a wall, his sword blade to my throat.
“Who are you?” Conrad cried.
I was speechless. Not only because I had been caught, but because he asked my name. I had never needed a name before. I had never really been in a story before, and there I was, being confronted by a main character. I was in the spot light. I was in trouble.
“Who are you?” he again demanded.
I looked around in desperation. I had to say something. I saw a girl out on the street selling flowers.
“Rose,” I cried. “My name is Rose.”
“You aren’t one of Lord Marcel’s people, why are you helping them. Why don’t you want me to save the Princess?”
I was flabbergasted. Put on the spot like that, I just blurted.
“I’m just trying to help along the story.”
“What does that mean?” Conrad asked.
“It means that I was just supposed to help everyone get from point A to point B. I was just supposed to help the story along, but I’m a part of it now.”
Something very strange happens when the writer becomes aware of you. Suddenly everything you say becomes significant and all of your features become more attractive. I was still short, but less stocky. My hair became the color of chestnuts and my complexion became olive instead of swarthy. I still wasn’t a gossamer gown wearing feather weight, but I was much easier on the eyes. It was a terrifying experience.
Conrad jumped back when he noticed the change.
“What just happened?” he asked.
I sighed and shook my head. I was very frustrated.
“I’m part of the story. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“I’m very confused,” Conrad said..
“Well, I’m going to have to explain it to you now,” I said. “Come on. We need to get out of here before Lord Marcel comes. He’s bringing a villainous group of miscreants this way.”
“What?”
“Come on, move it,” I said, pulling him with me. Now that I was part of the story I knew that I was constantly in danger of being noticed. I did not want to be noticed by Lord Marcel.
I was now in a very awkward position.
Because I wasn’t supposed to be in the story I had to explain to the author and the characters who I was and why I was there because, frankly, there was nothing else for me to do.
“Look,” I told Conrad, Darian and Cadmus, “you are fictional characters being written in a story by what is called a writer. The writer is who decided to make you all the way you are. That’s also why your princess has been kidnapped by a dragon by the way, because of the writer. We are all characters living in a fictional universe created by the thoughts of someone else. The writer of your story was struggling so I came in to help the story run more smoothly. The story was supposed to play out in a classic manner. Boy meets girl, boy saves girl, boy marries girl. I may have been exposed to the plot, but that’s what this story is going to do, alright. No deviating from the plan alright?”
The characters stared at me with open mouths.
“Alright,” I said. “What we need to do now is go questing to find that magical lantern.”
They continued to stare at me. Then I was fortunate enough to be helped by having the support of the author.
“Yes,” cried Cadmus, “we must complete our quest.”
I think Cadmus was just surprised at his own dialogue, but, being the wizened figure of the story did his best not to show it.
We had to face many trials together. They story became new and original. The clichés it had started to fall victim to were moving aside as the characters came to terms with their position in life. Darian settled within himself that he was the comic relief of the story and not the hero while we traveled through the White Fields of Camaran. Cadmus who did not die, had to admit that he didn’t know as mush as he thought he did when we crossed the bridge of Sacamar. He started to develop a sense of humor. Most characters in his position don’t live that long. And Conrad started to realize that he didn’t know very much about the princess to whom he had sworn his undying love.
And I, for the first time was part of a story. I had a name and character. I wasn’t a peasant rejoicing, I was an important figure. I discovered I could juggle in a very bizarre incident with griffin eggs. I sang folk songs and told jokes I’d never heard before. I was Rose. For a little while I felt real. And soon, greatly against my will I started to become the love interest of the story. And worse than that, I was interested in love.
It started simply at first. Conrad and I would bicker, I usually won. I would darn his socks after they started to ware on our long journey, a friendly gesture. Then we would have deep discussions about what it was to be a character and coming to terms with it. I tried to offer as much comfort as I could. Had I not been so young when I made the discovery, I would have been very put out. I saw members of The Quill Guard moving in the shadows, but I could do nothing to help them and they could do nothing to help me. I was stuck as Rose, and I loved it.
I didn’t realize how much that meant to me until we had actually retrieved the lantern and were on our way to save the princess from the evil dragon Magnus. It suddenly occurred to me that they story was drawing to a close and I was going to loose Conrad and even more frightening, loose myself. I no longer wanted to be anonymous, a member of the guard. I wanted to stay Rose. She’s spunky and comfortable with herself.
I knew that I had developed feelings for Conrad, and I thought he had developed them for me, but I just didn’t see how he was going to save the princess and still end up with me. I thought about staging a coup, making the story my very own. After all, if I thought about it, I could do anything, but I knew that wasn’t fair to the characters that had been created for this story. I was just along for the ride. The last night before the climax of the tale I spent as much time being Rose as possible. I told my best jokes, darned everyone’s socks, juggled eggs (this time they were chicken eggs) and sang the very best songs I knew.
The next day dawned far too early. I woke up prepared to leave behind my life as Rose.
We climbed towards the dragon’s lair as secretly as we possibly could. The only way to defeat the dragon was to capture some of its fire in the lantern and aim its light directly at the dragon’s heart. Don’t ask me how it works, I didn’t get it either.
Magnus was sleeping when we entered the cave. His hoard was strewn about and in a prominent position was a golden cage wherein say Princess Cicely who was singing in dulcet tones a mournful ballad. Of course she was. As soon as she saw us she stopped singing.
Conrad made a move towards her, his sword in one hand, lantern in the other.
And then the dragon woke up.
Magnus gave a mighty swish of his tale and we were all flattened. Conrad made a fast recovery. He was on his feet again and running for the dragon. Magnus shot a burst of flame at him, but Conrad was able to catch it in his lantern. Before he could direct its light however he was met with another flick of Magnus’s tail and rendered unconscious.
I ran over to his side.
“Conrad, get up,” I pleaded. “You need to finish the story.” He remained unconscious. I was terribly confused. I could not understand why the story was turning out this way. It shouldn’t be like that. That’s not the way this story was supposed to go.
And then I realized: this story hadn’t gone the way it was supposed to go since I got there. Everything had changed. I picked up the lantern.
“Darian,” I called. I tossed the lantern to him. “Here’s your chance to be the hero,” I said.
Without missing a beat Darian aimed the lantern at Magnus’s heart. A beam of light shot out and seemed to penetrate his thick skin. Within seconds Magnus was defeated.
Darian looked in shock at what he had just done. I smiled at him.
“I was wrong. It looks like you weren’t the comic relief. You were the hero all along.”
Conrad groaned from his position on the floor. “Rose?” he called.
“I’m here,” I said, taking his hand.
Conrad looked around and saw the deceased dragon.
“Who did that?” he asked.
“Darian did,” I said.
Conrad gave a week smile. “I thought you said I was the hero.”
I shrugged. “I guess I was wrong.”
“Does that mean I don’t have to marry Princess Cicely?”
“Not if you don’t want to. You can do whatever you want.”
“Great,” he said, squeezing my hand. “That sounds great.”
“But, what about princess Cicely?” Darian asked.
I looked over at princess Cicely who was still standing in her cage. She was staring at Darian.
“You’re the real hero, remember. I think that one is up to you.”
Darian smiled and rushed over to the caged princess.
“How about it?” he asked her.
Princess Cicely’s face brightened.
“To you I would pledge my undying love.”
Darian let her out of the cage and they embraced.
“Well, now, what do I do?” asked Cadmus who should have died long ago.
“Anything you want.”
“Oh,” said Cadmus.
Because this is that sort of story, in spite of m y interference everyone lived “happily ever after.”
Darian married the princess and is on his way to becoming king.
Cadmus left the kingdom of Venedil and became a teacher.
Conrad and I got married. I still darn his socks and Conrad is fortunately very fond of potatoes.
And I am still Rose. Not a Gossamer clad maiden, just Rose. I’m a normal person with normal talents and features, but it’s amazing how grateful I am to be ordinary, to be anyone at all. Ordinary people do great things in the real world every day. We may not be princesses but, really, no one is un-special.
The writer of our little tale actually did improve and is currently a best selling novelist. She works very closely with The Quill Guard. We all really did live Happily Ever After.
And the Peasants rejoiced.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
A Brief History of Music
I had a breif history of music that I had posted on the publis blog just because I thought it would be fun, but I just gotto write the script for the music club's presentation at Freezer's theater. Slightly revised. Here is is.
Narrator: FIRST: there was rhythm.
From the beginning of time (meaning somewhere between the creation and the whole apple incident) there has been a beat.
(Cave man comes out. Strikes up a beat.)
The pulsation echoed through valleys and bounced off of mountainsides; frightening dinosaurs and small birds.
Narrator: It wasn’t long after the invention of beat that melody came along. Melody was
used to great effect by the Greeks. The oldest transcribed piece of music in existence is the Seikilos Epitaph. Found near turkey, it was an epitaph written on the headstone of some dead Greek guy.
(Person in Greek dress. Seikliose Epitaph plays.)
Narrator: Melody didn’t change much. For many years melody was dominated by the
Christian churches. Monks were especially fond of it.
(Monks come out and start chanting)
Narrator: Then, one day, some genius said: What if we were to sing two different notes
at the same time?
Narrator: And Harmony was born. The church now had the market cornered in both
melody and harmony. But, lasciviousness was starting to creep in.
(A group of non monks enter)
A battle between the holy motets and the worldly madrigals was taking place.
(Monks and laymen go back and forth singing their songs)
You can guess which one started to win.
(A monk starts singing a madrigal.)
Narrator: About 1400 AD the Renaissance occurred. You know, the age of
Enlightenment. The most significant change during the renaissance was probably harmony. Up to that point the idea of consonance was in fourth and fifths.
In the Renaissance thirds became what was considered consonant.
Narrator: In about 1600 the baroque era come into music. This brought about the birth
of oratorios, cantatas, and toccatas. One of the most famous being Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor.
(Toccata plays)
Narrator: The baroque also brought about the birth of opera.
(group cringes, one member may faint)
Narrator: (giving them a nasty look) Purcells’ Dido and Aeneas.
In this scene, Dido has given up all hope because her lover Aeneas has left her. So, like any self respecting diva, she decides to commit suicide. As she stabs herself, she sings about her grief.
(Dido takes a really, really, really long time to die.)
She takes a long time to die.
Did I say a long time? I meant a really long time.
A really, really long time to die.
Die!
Narrator: After Baroque there was the classical era, starting in roughly 1730. The
Classical period, besides operas, was known for modulation, complex harmony and symphonies. This is Mozart’s famous “Queen of the Night Aria” from The Magic Flute.
You may recognize this little tune from the classical period by Mozart.
(Twinkle, Twinkle little star)
Narrator: Or this one, by Beethoven.
(Play Beethoven)
Narrator: After the Classical period came the Romantic era where all of the songs were
about unrequited love and death, played as prettily as possible.
Narrator: What you just heard was a classic French art song from the Romantic period, followed by a clip from the symphony fantastique in which a man is sentenced to death after killing his lover. That bump, bump was the sound of his head rolling away after it was chopped off. Thank you Berlios. We ended with The Right of Spring by Stravinsky. The modern era consists of music from the 1900’s until now. You know what that's like. This has been a brief history of music. Thank you.
Narrator: FIRST: there was rhythm.
From the beginning of time (meaning somewhere between the creation and the whole apple incident) there has been a beat.
(Cave man comes out. Strikes up a beat.)
The pulsation echoed through valleys and bounced off of mountainsides; frightening dinosaurs and small birds.
Narrator: It wasn’t long after the invention of beat that melody came along. Melody was
used to great effect by the Greeks. The oldest transcribed piece of music in existence is the Seikilos Epitaph. Found near turkey, it was an epitaph written on the headstone of some dead Greek guy.
(Person in Greek dress. Seikliose Epitaph plays.)
Narrator: Melody didn’t change much. For many years melody was dominated by the
Christian churches. Monks were especially fond of it.
(Monks come out and start chanting)
Narrator: Then, one day, some genius said: What if we were to sing two different notes
at the same time?
Narrator: And Harmony was born. The church now had the market cornered in both
melody and harmony. But, lasciviousness was starting to creep in.
(A group of non monks enter)
A battle between the holy motets and the worldly madrigals was taking place.
(Monks and laymen go back and forth singing their songs)
You can guess which one started to win.
(A monk starts singing a madrigal.)
Narrator: About 1400 AD the Renaissance occurred. You know, the age of
Enlightenment. The most significant change during the renaissance was probably harmony. Up to that point the idea of consonance was in fourth and fifths.
In the Renaissance thirds became what was considered consonant.
Narrator: In about 1600 the baroque era come into music. This brought about the birth
of oratorios, cantatas, and toccatas. One of the most famous being Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor.
(Toccata plays)
Narrator: The baroque also brought about the birth of opera.
(group cringes, one member may faint)
Narrator: (giving them a nasty look) Purcells’ Dido and Aeneas.
In this scene, Dido has given up all hope because her lover Aeneas has left her. So, like any self respecting diva, she decides to commit suicide. As she stabs herself, she sings about her grief.
(Dido takes a really, really, really long time to die.)
She takes a long time to die.
Did I say a long time? I meant a really long time.
A really, really long time to die.
Die!
Narrator: After Baroque there was the classical era, starting in roughly 1730. The
Classical period, besides operas, was known for modulation, complex harmony and symphonies. This is Mozart’s famous “Queen of the Night Aria” from The Magic Flute.
You may recognize this little tune from the classical period by Mozart.
(Twinkle, Twinkle little star)
Narrator: Or this one, by Beethoven.
(Play Beethoven)
Narrator: After the Classical period came the Romantic era where all of the songs were
about unrequited love and death, played as prettily as possible.
Narrator: What you just heard was a classic French art song from the Romantic period, followed by a clip from the symphony fantastique in which a man is sentenced to death after killing his lover. That bump, bump was the sound of his head rolling away after it was chopped off. Thank you Berlios. We ended with The Right of Spring by Stravinsky. The modern era consists of music from the 1900’s until now. You know what that's like. This has been a brief history of music. Thank you.
De Bourgh's
So, this one time I was wathing Pride and Prejudice with my roommate Cara. I think it was the new one that we were watching at the time, not the fantastic BBC version. Suddenly I looked at the girl playing Anne De Bourgh and said something along the lines of "I don't think she's really sickly. I'll bet she owns a night club." And De Bourgh's was born. At first I was thinking it would be a story about her running a night club, but now I'm thinking it could be sort of like a Canteburry tales. A cross roads for fictional characters to meet and interact, with bits and peices of Annes running a night club in between. Anywhoodle, here is the introduction to it I just finished writing. One of the regulars at the club will be the King of Siam who faked his own death. It's all very exciting.
De Bourgh’s
De Bourgh’s originally belonged to Anne’s father. Being rich, his estates naturally passed to her, even though she was a daughter in a time when estates were generally entailed away from the female line. Most of her fortune was not yet available to her, because her mother, Lady Catherine, was still quite alive and kicking, much like the pretentious mule that she was.
However, unbeknownst to Lady Catherine, her husband had other fortunes which he was obliged to tell her nothing about whatsoever. Lord and Lady De Bourgh were united in an arranged marriage at a very young age. And even though she was quite beautiful, it was not long before Lord De Bourgh realized that Lady Catherine was far too pompous and arrogant to be brought into his confidences. Although Lady Catherine was no respecter of etiquette in regards to herself, any lack of propriety seen on the part of any other party was not stood for.
This asset to which Lady Catherine was unaware was the place where Lord De Bourgh would get away after a long day of stressful business and an even more stressful wife. It was his, so to speak, night club: De Bourgh’s. Living as respected English gentleman by day and renowned partier and club owner by night was a satisfying, though lonesome way to spend his existence.
And then Anne was born. When she was still very young, he realized that Anne was naturally different than her mother. She had a sense of humor that kept her heart light and a Machiavellian streak which taught her to avoid showing that humorous streak to her mother. When Anne was seven Lord De Bourgh started taking Anne to his night club. He hired a trust worthy governess, Mrs. Jenkinson who would keep an eye on little Anne without letting the mother know.
Staying home all day with an aggravating mother and staying up all night with a night club full of people started to ware on the young girl after a while. She began to develop a somewhat sickly constitution. Her mother called her delicate. Anne was really just exhausted, but she used her mother’s impression of her to get out of things, such as piano lessons.
“I’m sorry mother,” she would say, lying on her bed hand over her forehead, “I just don’t think that I’m up to it.” Her pale face and the bags under her eyes convinced her mother that she was the most delicate of flowers and her health would not allow her to exert herself in that way. So, Lady Catherine would leave her alone. And that night at the club Anne would spin down a piano stool and bust out some rag time. And Mrs. Jenkinson was known to don a feather boa and do the Charleston.
Now, you may be thinking that the Lady Catherine and Anne De Bourgh lived in the regency era, rag time wasn’t invented yet. What you may not know about De Bourgh’s is that it is a night club where many of the most prominent characters in the world of film and fiction spend their time. That being the case, ragtime is always in vogue and everyone loves the Charleston.
When Lord De Bourgh died, Anne took over the club and turned it into one of the most successful ventures of fictional Regency England. And everyone you could imagine, especially those characters within public domain, loved to get down at De Bourgh’s.
De Bourgh’s
De Bourgh’s originally belonged to Anne’s father. Being rich, his estates naturally passed to her, even though she was a daughter in a time when estates were generally entailed away from the female line. Most of her fortune was not yet available to her, because her mother, Lady Catherine, was still quite alive and kicking, much like the pretentious mule that she was.
However, unbeknownst to Lady Catherine, her husband had other fortunes which he was obliged to tell her nothing about whatsoever. Lord and Lady De Bourgh were united in an arranged marriage at a very young age. And even though she was quite beautiful, it was not long before Lord De Bourgh realized that Lady Catherine was far too pompous and arrogant to be brought into his confidences. Although Lady Catherine was no respecter of etiquette in regards to herself, any lack of propriety seen on the part of any other party was not stood for.
This asset to which Lady Catherine was unaware was the place where Lord De Bourgh would get away after a long day of stressful business and an even more stressful wife. It was his, so to speak, night club: De Bourgh’s. Living as respected English gentleman by day and renowned partier and club owner by night was a satisfying, though lonesome way to spend his existence.
And then Anne was born. When she was still very young, he realized that Anne was naturally different than her mother. She had a sense of humor that kept her heart light and a Machiavellian streak which taught her to avoid showing that humorous streak to her mother. When Anne was seven Lord De Bourgh started taking Anne to his night club. He hired a trust worthy governess, Mrs. Jenkinson who would keep an eye on little Anne without letting the mother know.
Staying home all day with an aggravating mother and staying up all night with a night club full of people started to ware on the young girl after a while. She began to develop a somewhat sickly constitution. Her mother called her delicate. Anne was really just exhausted, but she used her mother’s impression of her to get out of things, such as piano lessons.
“I’m sorry mother,” she would say, lying on her bed hand over her forehead, “I just don’t think that I’m up to it.” Her pale face and the bags under her eyes convinced her mother that she was the most delicate of flowers and her health would not allow her to exert herself in that way. So, Lady Catherine would leave her alone. And that night at the club Anne would spin down a piano stool and bust out some rag time. And Mrs. Jenkinson was known to don a feather boa and do the Charleston.
Now, you may be thinking that the Lady Catherine and Anne De Bourgh lived in the regency era, rag time wasn’t invented yet. What you may not know about De Bourgh’s is that it is a night club where many of the most prominent characters in the world of film and fiction spend their time. That being the case, ragtime is always in vogue and everyone loves the Charleston.
When Lord De Bourgh died, Anne took over the club and turned it into one of the most successful ventures of fictional Regency England. And everyone you could imagine, especially those characters within public domain, loved to get down at De Bourgh’s.
Welcome to the family
My family has always been really close. I don’t just mean my immediate family, brothers and sisters, but my cousins. At least on my mom’s side we were. I guess it’s because of my grandparents who were probably two of the best people I have ever had the honor of knowing. We all lived in nearby states, so we were together as often as possible.
While sitting with my aunts and my cousins I adopted a theory that I have now held for a long time. I love to talk, but when you are in a room with about a dozen women who are all taking part in the same conversation, more that once was I obliged to just listen. It goes against my nature, but the women with more experience were faster than me. So as I sat and observed I began to realize that every conversation always hit the same three topics: marriage, death, and babies. It was without fail. Younger crowds will often add a fourth subject, which is dreams, but that one varies.
I was recently sitting in a restaurant with some of my cousins and my sister and my brother’s fiancé. My sister is moving to Texas and it was a sort of good bye dinner. It was also a good chance to introduce my brother’s fiancé to the ways of the family. We had to wait for a table, and before we were really seated we had already reached those three topics. I mentioned this to my cousin and she said “no, it’s just women.”
That made me stop and think for a minute. There’s no question that men and women think differently. From the dawn of time, all the way back into the Garden of Eden. Adam was thinking “Nice tree, but don’t eat the apples.” And Eve said, “I think I want to have kids.” And that my friends, is why the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree to this very day.
For instance, Pride and Prejudice. Now, I’m not saying all women feel this way, or all men feel that way about it. Just in my experience, this is what I’ve seen. A woman will watch or read Pride and Prejudice and see a powerful love story full of social adventure and endless nuances. A man will scoff at the huge side burns and wonder what the big deal about Pemberly is. Women will say Elizabeth is the prettiest, men will choose Jane.
I like having conversations with men. There seems to be less pressure in some ways. First of all, when you are with a guy, you don’t have to talk about guys. You don’t have to talk about marriage, feminine needs, fashion or diets. Not that I don’t enjoy talking about any of those things, but it’s nice to have a break for a while.
That’s why it’s good to find a good balance of friends. When I talk to my girlfriends we also talk about books, movies, music, musicals, television shows, mythology and even stray into more philosophical topics, like the influence of female archetypes throughout history.
People seem to want to make this big war between men and women. What they’re doing isn’t liberation for either side. It’s falling victim to the same fallacy civilizations have been falling prey to for years: fighting what you don’t understand.
Men and women are different. They speak differently, have different interests, they are even better at different things. Women talk about marriage death and babies. And men, well, I know they talk about sports. I know there are other things to, but I’m no expert.
I guess my point goes back to my grandparents. My grandpa was an extraordinary man, and my grandmother was an amazing woman. They worked together and loved each other. They had five children, twenty three grandchildren, and are on their way to their tenth great grandchild. We all know each other, laugh with each other. The cousins all get along, the boys and the girls. The family knows everything, there are no secrets. We aren’t exactly to the point of My Big Fat Greek Wedding, but we aren’t far from it. And it’s wonderful.
And all of us know it’s because of our extraordinary heritage. There was such a love and respect created in their marriage that’s influenced all of us for the better and for the rest of our lives. We all have our differences, but I think that if we could try to understand each other, to respect and to love each other and of course work together, we’d find what we’ve really been fighting for and talking about is peace. Our differences make us stronger if we can learn to see past them.
Welcome to the family.
While sitting with my aunts and my cousins I adopted a theory that I have now held for a long time. I love to talk, but when you are in a room with about a dozen women who are all taking part in the same conversation, more that once was I obliged to just listen. It goes against my nature, but the women with more experience were faster than me. So as I sat and observed I began to realize that every conversation always hit the same three topics: marriage, death, and babies. It was without fail. Younger crowds will often add a fourth subject, which is dreams, but that one varies.
I was recently sitting in a restaurant with some of my cousins and my sister and my brother’s fiancé. My sister is moving to Texas and it was a sort of good bye dinner. It was also a good chance to introduce my brother’s fiancé to the ways of the family. We had to wait for a table, and before we were really seated we had already reached those three topics. I mentioned this to my cousin and she said “no, it’s just women.”
That made me stop and think for a minute. There’s no question that men and women think differently. From the dawn of time, all the way back into the Garden of Eden. Adam was thinking “Nice tree, but don’t eat the apples.” And Eve said, “I think I want to have kids.” And that my friends, is why the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree to this very day.
For instance, Pride and Prejudice. Now, I’m not saying all women feel this way, or all men feel that way about it. Just in my experience, this is what I’ve seen. A woman will watch or read Pride and Prejudice and see a powerful love story full of social adventure and endless nuances. A man will scoff at the huge side burns and wonder what the big deal about Pemberly is. Women will say Elizabeth is the prettiest, men will choose Jane.
I like having conversations with men. There seems to be less pressure in some ways. First of all, when you are with a guy, you don’t have to talk about guys. You don’t have to talk about marriage, feminine needs, fashion or diets. Not that I don’t enjoy talking about any of those things, but it’s nice to have a break for a while.
That’s why it’s good to find a good balance of friends. When I talk to my girlfriends we also talk about books, movies, music, musicals, television shows, mythology and even stray into more philosophical topics, like the influence of female archetypes throughout history.
People seem to want to make this big war between men and women. What they’re doing isn’t liberation for either side. It’s falling victim to the same fallacy civilizations have been falling prey to for years: fighting what you don’t understand.
Men and women are different. They speak differently, have different interests, they are even better at different things. Women talk about marriage death and babies. And men, well, I know they talk about sports. I know there are other things to, but I’m no expert.
I guess my point goes back to my grandparents. My grandpa was an extraordinary man, and my grandmother was an amazing woman. They worked together and loved each other. They had five children, twenty three grandchildren, and are on their way to their tenth great grandchild. We all know each other, laugh with each other. The cousins all get along, the boys and the girls. The family knows everything, there are no secrets. We aren’t exactly to the point of My Big Fat Greek Wedding, but we aren’t far from it. And it’s wonderful.
And all of us know it’s because of our extraordinary heritage. There was such a love and respect created in their marriage that’s influenced all of us for the better and for the rest of our lives. We all have our differences, but I think that if we could try to understand each other, to respect and to love each other and of course work together, we’d find what we’ve really been fighting for and talking about is peace. Our differences make us stronger if we can learn to see past them.
Welcome to the family.
Silly Sonnett
To create a masterpiece, spreading joy
Taking objects and make them change its form
Pretending to be artful or just coy
Chocolate helps those who are lost and forlorn
What joy can a cookie bring to the sad?
How can we lift a hungry, tortured soul?
Replace with goodness all that once was bad
The way to this is a stomach that’s full.
To create and to give a piece of love
Is something that we oft just cannot do
But if one would give hope like from above.
I would say do it with a yummy stew.
For when once gives a meal or a dessert
We help ease pain and serve to conquer hurt.
Taking objects and make them change its form
Pretending to be artful or just coy
Chocolate helps those who are lost and forlorn
What joy can a cookie bring to the sad?
How can we lift a hungry, tortured soul?
Replace with goodness all that once was bad
The way to this is a stomach that’s full.
To create and to give a piece of love
Is something that we oft just cannot do
But if one would give hope like from above.
I would say do it with a yummy stew.
For when once gives a meal or a dessert
We help ease pain and serve to conquer hurt.
A love poem
You want a love poem?
Well, here it is.
I love music, but I’m cheating on it
In a torrent love affair with the written word.
I’m cheating on writing, ever straying towards history.
My passions wander in all directions.
I have a love story of the most exciting kind.
An involved love triangle, being pulled on all sides.
What love do I follow? Where does my heart lead?
Can you see it? The turmoil? The angst?
That’s what every good love story needs.
A decision to be made. Someone gets left behind.
And what do we call this epic drama
that comes from my wild dealings in love?
This, my friend is what we call:
Choosing your master’s degree.
Well, here it is.
I love music, but I’m cheating on it
In a torrent love affair with the written word.
I’m cheating on writing, ever straying towards history.
My passions wander in all directions.
I have a love story of the most exciting kind.
An involved love triangle, being pulled on all sides.
What love do I follow? Where does my heart lead?
Can you see it? The turmoil? The angst?
That’s what every good love story needs.
A decision to be made. Someone gets left behind.
And what do we call this epic drama
that comes from my wild dealings in love?
This, my friend is what we call:
Choosing your master’s degree.
Annabella, a not so Cinderella Story
I had this dream once that inspired a story about what would happen if Cinderella went to a ball and didn't fall in love with the prince. Instead of it being Conderella, I decided to make it a girl named Annabella who had a wizard for a godfather, rather than a fairy godmother. This is the scene where she realizes that the prince is in love with her, but she is just not feeling it.
The major domo smiled at me as I walked through the doors. “May I announce you Madam?” he asked kindly.
“What? Oh, uh. Annabella.” I said a little dazed. I looked around the ballroom and it was beautiful. Candles and flowers were everywhere, a light fragrance floated through the air, mingling with the gentle sound of the music. It was the most beautiful place I had ever been in.
The Major Domo pounded his staff on the floor, “Annabella,” he announced in a loud clear voice.
Have you ever had the eyes of a thousand people trained directly on you? The moment my name was announced and all the guests turned the look, the room stopped. It is a very intimidating feeling knowing an entire kingdom is watching you. A murmur ran through the crowd as I descended the staircase. I felt completely vulnerable and very self-conscious. Why was everyone staring at me? Did I look funny, or did the crowd just do this to everyone that walked into the room? Finally I reached the bottom of the stairs and the major domo again pounded his staff. The trance of the room was broken and everyone went back to their business. I still kept getting strange looks and felt the whispers of people around the room as I walked by.
Suddenly I was forcibly spun around. Prudence was before me, her eyes ablaze with anger, her teeth clenched in fury. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.
I smiled at her pleasantly. “I’m attending the ball,” I said as sweetly as I could and feeling very satisfied with myself.
She looked as if she was about to slap me. She moved to towards me then abruptly her face turned white.
“Excuse me madam,” I heard someone say. I turned to find myself face to face with the prince. “May I have this dance?” he asked me.
I must say that I was startled when I first looked into those clear blue eyes. I curtsied in the appropriate way of acceptance. As he lead me onto the dance floor I looked behind me to see Prudence still standing in shock.
Here, I am afraid, is where the similarity to the story of Cinderella almost entirely disappears. For although the minute the prince laid eyes on me, he fell in love, I did not. He was very sweet, and an excellent dancer. The first dance finished we kept dancing. In fact, we didn’t stop dancing for another half a dozen songs. And only then because I said I was thirsty. He seemed to be missing something behind those incredibly clear blue eyes.
“Wait here,” he told me eagerly. “I will get you something to drink.” Maybe it should have occurred to me that he would have people to do that for him. Why was he paying me so much attention, and why wouldn’t he stop staring at me? I didn’t have time to think about it though.
“Annabella,” I heard a cold voice say.
Uh-oh, busted! I thought. I put on as carefree of a face as I could as I turned to meet Gwendolyn. “Hello,” I said simply.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. The calm in her voice was most unsettling.
“I’m dancing.” It was all I could think to say. I saw Prudence and Roseland rushing over.
“See mother,” Prudence said out of breath, “she’s here and keeping to prince all to herself. She should be home cleaning the basement. The little vixen.”
“Yes,” said Roseland, “the vixen.”
I could feel the color rising in my cheeks, anger swelling just as fast with just as much heat. Vixen? Just who did they think they were? After all, they were the ones that were throwing themselves at Connor. What right did they have? “The basement is taken care of,” I said as calmly as I could. “And since you never forbade me to go to the ball, I came.”
“Where did you get your dress?” Prudence demanded.
“I’ll bet she stole it!” Roseland piped in.
“Were did you get the dress?” Gwendolyn asked me.
“My Godfather gave it to me,” I said defiantly. “He wanted me to go to the ball.” Suddenly Gwendolyn began to smile. I looked over at Prudence and Roseland. They were smiling too. What the-?
“Annabella.”
Oh no. The prince was back. I put my smile back on and turned to greet him. He wasn’t alone.
“Annabella,” he said, “May I present to you my mother and father. Mother, father, this is Annabella.”
“Your majesties,” I said bowing. Why was the prince introducing me to his parents? Something was up.
“Is this your family?” the prince asked looking behind me.
“Oh, yes,” I said. I couldn’t very well ignore them, and maybe introducing them to royalty would spare me some of their scolding. “May I present my step-mother, Gwendolyn and my step-sister, Prudence. Also, Prudence’s friend, Roseland.” They each bowed in turn.
“Your majesties, Prince Casper,” said Gwendolyn extending her hand. “Thank you so much for inviting us into your home.” She was the epitome of grace.
“Yes,” said Prince Casper ignoring her outstretched hand, “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” And before another word was said, he whisked me away and we were dancing again. He was like a little puppy, eager to please and not understanding when you didn’t want attention. We just kept dancing. Soon, we danced ourselves into the garden. I hadn’t even gotten my drink. “You are so beautiful,” he told me.
I don’t think that I had ever been called beautiful before. Not by anyone besides my father anyway. It was nice to hear. And then we stopped dancing. He took my hand and led me deeper into the garden. A little warning sound went off in my head screaming DANGER, DANGER! GO BACK NOW! But it was too late. I found myself in a beautiful grotto, and still the prince kept staring at me. I looked around at the flowers, trying not to notice.
“It is beautiful here,” I said, trying to banish the discomfort. “The flowers are gorgeous.”
“Do you think so?” said the prince excitedly. It sparked something in him that I had not seen up until that point. That thing that was missing behind his eyes suddenly appeared. “This is my section of the garden,” he said. “I grow these plants myself.” So that was it, this was his passion.
“They are some of the most beautiful I have ever seen,” I said, and I meant it.
Then he gave me a look that struck fear in my heart. The look that couples get when standing in the moonlight. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” That is when it hit me, hard and fast; romantic setting in a garden, dancing all night, meeting the king and queen. Was he in love with me?
“I love you.” He said.
Uh-oh, I thought, I’m in big trouble now!
“I’ve already talked to my parents. We’ll start planning for the wedding immediately.”
WEDDING! What was I supposed to do with that? I had known this man for about an hour. And although he was sweet, I certainly didn’t love him, much less want to marry him. I tried to leave subtly thinking if I could make it out of the grotto I could make a run for it, but disaster struck! As I tried to get away I stumbled and he caught me in his arms. Apparently he took this as an invitation because after he caught me he drew me up and kissed me. BAD, BAD, VERY BAD! I was stunned, to say the least. “I have to go now,” I said, and ran away as fast as I could.
What else was I supposed to do? I could feel Prince Casper behind me.
“Wait,” he called to me.
“No time,” I said, “I have to go.” I dashed through the ballroom, again causing murmurs and whispers to go through the room. I was going pretty fast, but he was gaining on me. Not fast enough! I thought. I kicked off my shoes and kept on running.
“Wait,” The bewildered prince called again, “You forgot your shoes!”
I ran outside and looked around. Why hadn’t Godfather Marlin given me transportation to get home! I could here a crowd of people rushing after me. I darted into the nearby woods and waited for them to pass me by.
The major domo smiled at me as I walked through the doors. “May I announce you Madam?” he asked kindly.
“What? Oh, uh. Annabella.” I said a little dazed. I looked around the ballroom and it was beautiful. Candles and flowers were everywhere, a light fragrance floated through the air, mingling with the gentle sound of the music. It was the most beautiful place I had ever been in.
The Major Domo pounded his staff on the floor, “Annabella,” he announced in a loud clear voice.
Have you ever had the eyes of a thousand people trained directly on you? The moment my name was announced and all the guests turned the look, the room stopped. It is a very intimidating feeling knowing an entire kingdom is watching you. A murmur ran through the crowd as I descended the staircase. I felt completely vulnerable and very self-conscious. Why was everyone staring at me? Did I look funny, or did the crowd just do this to everyone that walked into the room? Finally I reached the bottom of the stairs and the major domo again pounded his staff. The trance of the room was broken and everyone went back to their business. I still kept getting strange looks and felt the whispers of people around the room as I walked by.
Suddenly I was forcibly spun around. Prudence was before me, her eyes ablaze with anger, her teeth clenched in fury. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.
I smiled at her pleasantly. “I’m attending the ball,” I said as sweetly as I could and feeling very satisfied with myself.
She looked as if she was about to slap me. She moved to towards me then abruptly her face turned white.
“Excuse me madam,” I heard someone say. I turned to find myself face to face with the prince. “May I have this dance?” he asked me.
I must say that I was startled when I first looked into those clear blue eyes. I curtsied in the appropriate way of acceptance. As he lead me onto the dance floor I looked behind me to see Prudence still standing in shock.
Here, I am afraid, is where the similarity to the story of Cinderella almost entirely disappears. For although the minute the prince laid eyes on me, he fell in love, I did not. He was very sweet, and an excellent dancer. The first dance finished we kept dancing. In fact, we didn’t stop dancing for another half a dozen songs. And only then because I said I was thirsty. He seemed to be missing something behind those incredibly clear blue eyes.
“Wait here,” he told me eagerly. “I will get you something to drink.” Maybe it should have occurred to me that he would have people to do that for him. Why was he paying me so much attention, and why wouldn’t he stop staring at me? I didn’t have time to think about it though.
“Annabella,” I heard a cold voice say.
Uh-oh, busted! I thought. I put on as carefree of a face as I could as I turned to meet Gwendolyn. “Hello,” I said simply.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. The calm in her voice was most unsettling.
“I’m dancing.” It was all I could think to say. I saw Prudence and Roseland rushing over.
“See mother,” Prudence said out of breath, “she’s here and keeping to prince all to herself. She should be home cleaning the basement. The little vixen.”
“Yes,” said Roseland, “the vixen.”
I could feel the color rising in my cheeks, anger swelling just as fast with just as much heat. Vixen? Just who did they think they were? After all, they were the ones that were throwing themselves at Connor. What right did they have? “The basement is taken care of,” I said as calmly as I could. “And since you never forbade me to go to the ball, I came.”
“Where did you get your dress?” Prudence demanded.
“I’ll bet she stole it!” Roseland piped in.
“Were did you get the dress?” Gwendolyn asked me.
“My Godfather gave it to me,” I said defiantly. “He wanted me to go to the ball.” Suddenly Gwendolyn began to smile. I looked over at Prudence and Roseland. They were smiling too. What the-?
“Annabella.”
Oh no. The prince was back. I put my smile back on and turned to greet him. He wasn’t alone.
“Annabella,” he said, “May I present to you my mother and father. Mother, father, this is Annabella.”
“Your majesties,” I said bowing. Why was the prince introducing me to his parents? Something was up.
“Is this your family?” the prince asked looking behind me.
“Oh, yes,” I said. I couldn’t very well ignore them, and maybe introducing them to royalty would spare me some of their scolding. “May I present my step-mother, Gwendolyn and my step-sister, Prudence. Also, Prudence’s friend, Roseland.” They each bowed in turn.
“Your majesties, Prince Casper,” said Gwendolyn extending her hand. “Thank you so much for inviting us into your home.” She was the epitome of grace.
“Yes,” said Prince Casper ignoring her outstretched hand, “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” And before another word was said, he whisked me away and we were dancing again. He was like a little puppy, eager to please and not understanding when you didn’t want attention. We just kept dancing. Soon, we danced ourselves into the garden. I hadn’t even gotten my drink. “You are so beautiful,” he told me.
I don’t think that I had ever been called beautiful before. Not by anyone besides my father anyway. It was nice to hear. And then we stopped dancing. He took my hand and led me deeper into the garden. A little warning sound went off in my head screaming DANGER, DANGER! GO BACK NOW! But it was too late. I found myself in a beautiful grotto, and still the prince kept staring at me. I looked around at the flowers, trying not to notice.
“It is beautiful here,” I said, trying to banish the discomfort. “The flowers are gorgeous.”
“Do you think so?” said the prince excitedly. It sparked something in him that I had not seen up until that point. That thing that was missing behind his eyes suddenly appeared. “This is my section of the garden,” he said. “I grow these plants myself.” So that was it, this was his passion.
“They are some of the most beautiful I have ever seen,” I said, and I meant it.
Then he gave me a look that struck fear in my heart. The look that couples get when standing in the moonlight. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” That is when it hit me, hard and fast; romantic setting in a garden, dancing all night, meeting the king and queen. Was he in love with me?
“I love you.” He said.
Uh-oh, I thought, I’m in big trouble now!
“I’ve already talked to my parents. We’ll start planning for the wedding immediately.”
WEDDING! What was I supposed to do with that? I had known this man for about an hour. And although he was sweet, I certainly didn’t love him, much less want to marry him. I tried to leave subtly thinking if I could make it out of the grotto I could make a run for it, but disaster struck! As I tried to get away I stumbled and he caught me in his arms. Apparently he took this as an invitation because after he caught me he drew me up and kissed me. BAD, BAD, VERY BAD! I was stunned, to say the least. “I have to go now,” I said, and ran away as fast as I could.
What else was I supposed to do? I could feel Prince Casper behind me.
“Wait,” he called to me.
“No time,” I said, “I have to go.” I dashed through the ballroom, again causing murmurs and whispers to go through the room. I was going pretty fast, but he was gaining on me. Not fast enough! I thought. I kicked off my shoes and kept on running.
“Wait,” The bewildered prince called again, “You forgot your shoes!”
I ran outside and looked around. Why hadn’t Godfather Marlin given me transportation to get home! I could here a crowd of people rushing after me. I darted into the nearby woods and waited for them to pass me by.
I Cannot Speak
I cannot speak, I was not there
to feel the lashes born and bare
that brought good men to mortal pain,
and laid them there in reverence slain
to end what we might yet have gained,
I cannot speak, I was not there.
I did not hear, I did not know
the anguish that was wounded so.
Unaware of painful cries
that tore the soul that filled the eyes,
that gathered as the victim dies
I did not hear, I did not know.
I did not move, I was not near
to stop the vicious anger’s jeer, to stop the sorrow and the fright,
that mocked all justice and all right,
that banished all who fought the fight,
I did not move, I was not near.
Now I am here, I’m standing now,
and at the heaven’s gate I bow,
that somehow in my foolish state,
I may yet still not be too late,
that I can somehow stop the hate.
I am here, I stand now.
to feel the lashes born and bare
that brought good men to mortal pain,
and laid them there in reverence slain
to end what we might yet have gained,
I cannot speak, I was not there.
I did not hear, I did not know
the anguish that was wounded so.
Unaware of painful cries
that tore the soul that filled the eyes,
that gathered as the victim dies
I did not hear, I did not know.
I did not move, I was not near
to stop the vicious anger’s jeer, to stop the sorrow and the fright,
that mocked all justice and all right,
that banished all who fought the fight,
I did not move, I was not near.
Now I am here, I’m standing now,
and at the heaven’s gate I bow,
that somehow in my foolish state,
I may yet still not be too late,
that I can somehow stop the hate.
I am here, I stand now.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Death Makes a Difference
At rise: It is evening and we are in the room of a girl who is 18 or 19. The girl, MELIA, is sitting cross legged on her bed reading Wuthering Heights. Her bed is covered with a homemade quilt. There are one or two stuffed animals on her bed and the wall behind her is covered with posters of bands ranging from the 60’s to the 80’s, maybe “The Who” or “Queen”, movie posters, perhaps The African Queen or the original Sabrina, and a print of the Alfred Eisenstaedt’s famous picture of the kiss in time square. There is a door stage right and a closet door stage left.
MELIA
(Sitting on her bed, getting more and more frustrated as she reads. Finally, she gets so upset she throws the book behind the bed. With a groan she falls back on her pillows.)
I give up! That’s it, really. I give up.
(She takes the pillow, covers her face does a little scream into it. We hear a crash of thunder and a knocking noise.)
(Through the pillow, rather hopeless sounding) Come in.
(MELIA’s closet door opens and a figure hooded in a black robe carrying a scythe comes out. It is DEATH.)
DEATH
Amelia Holiday, I have come for you.
MELIA
(She slowly takes the pillow off of her face, raises her head and looks at the hooded figure.) Who are you?
DEATH
(Sighs and Shakes his head.) Who do you think? The pizza delivery boy certainly doesn’t dress like this. (Gestures in a way to best show off his outfit.)
MELIA
(Sits up)(Fearfully) When I said “I give up” I didn’t mean literally. I’m not that depressed.
DEATH
Why are you depressed?
MELIA
Well, right now I’m depressed because apparently I’m dead or about to be dead. (sarcastically) That’s just the perfect ending to the perfect day. I think that gives one cause for a certain amount of melancholy.
DEATH
(Leaning on his scythe.) Oh, I’m not here for you soul.
MELIA
You’re not?
DEATH
Nope.
MELIA
Then why are you here?
DEATH
My you’re taking this all rather well. Most of the time when I meet people they behave rather shamefully, always begging and crying and challenging me to games or asking me to dance. No one ever says “hey death, you look dead on your feet, how about a cup of cocoa. It doesn’t occur to anyone that I might enjoy a nice cup of hot cocoa, preferably with some of those mini marshmallows in it. But I’m not here to talk about my problems. I’m here to talk about yours. So, tell me, why are you so depressed?
MELIA
You can’t be serious.
DEATH
Look Melia, you don’t mind if I call you Melia do you?
(Melia Shakes her head)
Good. Now, look Melia, I’ve come for a reason and I’m not going to go until I get an answer. Now, I’m a very busy man and there are a lot of greedy people waiting for rich relatives to die and any fool will tell you that you can’t keep Death waiting. (He swivels the scythe in his hand.)
MELIA
(Eyeing the scythe wearily.) Well, it all seems a little stupid being confronted with Death and all.
(DEATH shakes his head at the pun)
I’m just having one of those days. The kind of day when everything seems to go wrong. The world is full of awful people who do awful things. And I feel like a no talent looser who is too incompetent to do anything about it. No matter what I do, I do it wrong. I am a walking disaster area. I tend to destroy things. I will never be anything or anyone of import.
DEATH
That is a bad day. Why did you throw the book?
MELIA
Have you ever read Wuthering Heights? It was the wrong book to pick up when feeling depressed. I’m sure Emily Brontë is a charming girl, but that’s just way to depressing. What’s so wrong with a happy ending every now and then?
DEATH
Emily Brontë. I remember her. Yes, I can see what you mean. She was nice enough, but a little depressing. So what else is bothering you?
MELIA
I have no idea what to do with my life. I need to choose a life plan right now, but I have no idea. And, maybe I’m just paranoid, but sometimes I feel like no one likes me. Like my very presence annoys the people I’m around. Have you ever had that feeling?
DEATH
(Shaking his head again) No, my life is peaches and cream. Everybody loves me. (Throwing his hands into the air) I’m Death! Of course I’ve had that feeling. No one likes me. And not only do people not like me: they treat me like the bad guy. People have to die, that’s just the way it is. It’s not my fault. But still, people insist on demonizing me. The only reason I get invited to poker night is so people can say that they’ve (with air quotes) “cheated Death”. I almost never get invited to parties.
MELIA
I’m sure you’d be the life of the party.
DEATH
Oh, that’s funny, like I don’t hear enough of the puns already. “Cheat Death”, “dance with Death”, “looked Death in the eye”. Or my personal favorite “laughed in the face of Death”. What’s that all about? Have you ever had someone laugh in your face? It’s extremely rude.
MELIA
(Looking at DEATH like he’s crazy) Why are you here again?
DEATH
Right, right. Sorry. I’m here to offer you a job.
MELIA
Come again?
DEATH
I’m sure I will. But, yes, I am here to offer you a job.
MELIA
A job as what?
DEATH
I need an assistant. There are a lot of people out there in the world and do you know what? All of them, no matter what they do, are going to die someday. Think of the job stability.
MELIA
That is so morbid.
DEATH
Professional hazard. Morbidity comes with the territory. You said you needed a life plan. Maybe what you really need is a death plan.
MELIA
Why me? What makes me so qualified to be an angel of death?
DEATH
Well, you said yourself that you have a knack for destroying things.
MELIA
So putting that talent to good use and killing people is going to help raise my confidence?
DEATH
Look, I’m not going to lie. Being Death isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.
MELIA
Oh, really? Because you’ve been making the idea sound really appealing. Tell me, is there a fate worse than Death?
DEATH
(Holding up his hands in surrender) All right, all right. I can see that you aren’t interested. (Starts to turn back towards the closet, but stops) However, I’d keep in mind that death is one thing that always makes a difference. Have a nice life. I’ll see you in about 50 or 60 years, give or take.
(MELIA is struck by DEATH’s statement. As she ponders DEATH makes a deliberately slow exit, waiting for her to change her mind.)
MELIA
Wait.
DEATH
(spinning around quickly) Yeeesss?
MELIA
Do you really think I could make a difference?
DEATH
As certainly as death and taxes.
MELIA
(Nods as if deciding something) I’m willing to give it a try. I don’t want to decide anything for sure, but I’m willing to give it a shot.
DEATH
I suppose we could try it on a temporary basis, if that’s what you want.
MELIA
(Smiling) Yes, I think that’s exactly what I want. (Extending her hand) Death, you’ve got yourself a Holliday.
DEATH
(Taking her hand) I was hoping you’d say that.
end
MELIA
(Sitting on her bed, getting more and more frustrated as she reads. Finally, she gets so upset she throws the book behind the bed. With a groan she falls back on her pillows.)
I give up! That’s it, really. I give up.
(She takes the pillow, covers her face does a little scream into it. We hear a crash of thunder and a knocking noise.)
(Through the pillow, rather hopeless sounding) Come in.
(MELIA’s closet door opens and a figure hooded in a black robe carrying a scythe comes out. It is DEATH.)
DEATH
Amelia Holiday, I have come for you.
MELIA
(She slowly takes the pillow off of her face, raises her head and looks at the hooded figure.) Who are you?
DEATH
(Sighs and Shakes his head.) Who do you think? The pizza delivery boy certainly doesn’t dress like this. (Gestures in a way to best show off his outfit.)
MELIA
(Sits up)(Fearfully) When I said “I give up” I didn’t mean literally. I’m not that depressed.
DEATH
Why are you depressed?
MELIA
Well, right now I’m depressed because apparently I’m dead or about to be dead. (sarcastically) That’s just the perfect ending to the perfect day. I think that gives one cause for a certain amount of melancholy.
DEATH
(Leaning on his scythe.) Oh, I’m not here for you soul.
MELIA
You’re not?
DEATH
Nope.
MELIA
Then why are you here?
DEATH
My you’re taking this all rather well. Most of the time when I meet people they behave rather shamefully, always begging and crying and challenging me to games or asking me to dance. No one ever says “hey death, you look dead on your feet, how about a cup of cocoa. It doesn’t occur to anyone that I might enjoy a nice cup of hot cocoa, preferably with some of those mini marshmallows in it. But I’m not here to talk about my problems. I’m here to talk about yours. So, tell me, why are you so depressed?
MELIA
You can’t be serious.
DEATH
Look Melia, you don’t mind if I call you Melia do you?
(Melia Shakes her head)
Good. Now, look Melia, I’ve come for a reason and I’m not going to go until I get an answer. Now, I’m a very busy man and there are a lot of greedy people waiting for rich relatives to die and any fool will tell you that you can’t keep Death waiting. (He swivels the scythe in his hand.)
MELIA
(Eyeing the scythe wearily.) Well, it all seems a little stupid being confronted with Death and all.
(DEATH shakes his head at the pun)
I’m just having one of those days. The kind of day when everything seems to go wrong. The world is full of awful people who do awful things. And I feel like a no talent looser who is too incompetent to do anything about it. No matter what I do, I do it wrong. I am a walking disaster area. I tend to destroy things. I will never be anything or anyone of import.
DEATH
That is a bad day. Why did you throw the book?
MELIA
Have you ever read Wuthering Heights? It was the wrong book to pick up when feeling depressed. I’m sure Emily Brontë is a charming girl, but that’s just way to depressing. What’s so wrong with a happy ending every now and then?
DEATH
Emily Brontë. I remember her. Yes, I can see what you mean. She was nice enough, but a little depressing. So what else is bothering you?
MELIA
I have no idea what to do with my life. I need to choose a life plan right now, but I have no idea. And, maybe I’m just paranoid, but sometimes I feel like no one likes me. Like my very presence annoys the people I’m around. Have you ever had that feeling?
DEATH
(Shaking his head again) No, my life is peaches and cream. Everybody loves me. (Throwing his hands into the air) I’m Death! Of course I’ve had that feeling. No one likes me. And not only do people not like me: they treat me like the bad guy. People have to die, that’s just the way it is. It’s not my fault. But still, people insist on demonizing me. The only reason I get invited to poker night is so people can say that they’ve (with air quotes) “cheated Death”. I almost never get invited to parties.
MELIA
I’m sure you’d be the life of the party.
DEATH
Oh, that’s funny, like I don’t hear enough of the puns already. “Cheat Death”, “dance with Death”, “looked Death in the eye”. Or my personal favorite “laughed in the face of Death”. What’s that all about? Have you ever had someone laugh in your face? It’s extremely rude.
MELIA
(Looking at DEATH like he’s crazy) Why are you here again?
DEATH
Right, right. Sorry. I’m here to offer you a job.
MELIA
Come again?
DEATH
I’m sure I will. But, yes, I am here to offer you a job.
MELIA
A job as what?
DEATH
I need an assistant. There are a lot of people out there in the world and do you know what? All of them, no matter what they do, are going to die someday. Think of the job stability.
MELIA
That is so morbid.
DEATH
Professional hazard. Morbidity comes with the territory. You said you needed a life plan. Maybe what you really need is a death plan.
MELIA
Why me? What makes me so qualified to be an angel of death?
DEATH
Well, you said yourself that you have a knack for destroying things.
MELIA
So putting that talent to good use and killing people is going to help raise my confidence?
DEATH
Look, I’m not going to lie. Being Death isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.
MELIA
Oh, really? Because you’ve been making the idea sound really appealing. Tell me, is there a fate worse than Death?
DEATH
(Holding up his hands in surrender) All right, all right. I can see that you aren’t interested. (Starts to turn back towards the closet, but stops) However, I’d keep in mind that death is one thing that always makes a difference. Have a nice life. I’ll see you in about 50 or 60 years, give or take.
(MELIA is struck by DEATH’s statement. As she ponders DEATH makes a deliberately slow exit, waiting for her to change her mind.)
MELIA
Wait.
DEATH
(spinning around quickly) Yeeesss?
MELIA
Do you really think I could make a difference?
DEATH
As certainly as death and taxes.
MELIA
(Nods as if deciding something) I’m willing to give it a try. I don’t want to decide anything for sure, but I’m willing to give it a shot.
DEATH
I suppose we could try it on a temporary basis, if that’s what you want.
MELIA
(Smiling) Yes, I think that’s exactly what I want. (Extending her hand) Death, you’ve got yourself a Holliday.
DEATH
(Taking her hand) I was hoping you’d say that.
end
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