And The First Shall be Last or Vice Versa

Today's photos have nothing to do with today's post. I was outside this afternoon raking and walking around the block, and I saw single leaves in two spots. Because I had just written about the cummings' poem and the burning bush in our yard, I decided to go my camera and capture these two lonely leaves. Our burning bush is now red with berries and a maple leaf was caught within its branches. In the other photo, a single leaf remains at the very top of a tree in Tom and Nancy O'Neill's front yard. The leaf looks like a bird, or perhaps, a star.

I went to a Writing for Children class yesterday morning at Caz College. It was taught by Ellen Yeomans, a very talented Baldswinsville writer and a good teacher. I think I may have been to too many classes and conferences over the years. Occasionally they deflate me rather than inspire me, because so often I hear contradictory opinions on the hows and whys of getting your work published. Still, I try to get at least one special nugget of information or one special idea out of every session I attend, and yesterday, I was very interested in Ellen's attention to the importance of the first line of a book, long or short, and how the last line of that book should bring the story to its logical ending, creating a kind of wholeness to the tale. She was talking at the time about shorter works like middle grade novels, but I'm quite sure she felt strongly about the importance of first and last lines in a novel of any length.

So this afternoon, I decided to do a little first line/last line research using 3 famous novels, 2 of which are my favorites. The first novel, which is definitely not among my top 100, is Melville's MOBY DICK. MOBY starts with the wonderful first line "Call me Ishmael." This line may be the greatest and briefest of character introductions ever penned. So begins Melville's epic voyage through obsession and the whaling industry. The final line of MOBY DICK reads, "It was the devious-cruising Rachael, that in her retracing search, only found another orphan." Man, that is a great last line. The orphan found is, in fact, Ishmael, only survivor of the Pequod and Ahab's obsessive quest. Those two lines certainly do surround the novel in a lovely sense of wholeness. If only the middle hundreds of pages hadn't been so boring.

The first of my beloved books is Shirley Jackson's THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE. I feel it necessary to include 1 and 1/2 sentences as this books first line. "No living oranism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within. . ." Great start to a greatly scary and truly literary novel. This opening tells us that this book will be about the insanity of living organisms, and that Hill House is not sane. Ergo, Hill House is a living organism. The last two sentences of HILL HOUSE are needed to constitute a final line. After about 250 frightening pages, and the suicide (?) of the main character, Shirley Jackson tells us, "Hill House itself, not sane, stood against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, its walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone." Even if you never read the book, those final lines could scare you, and they bring the opening intimation to a nice, round, spooky close.

Finally, I searched out the opening and final lines of my favorite novel of all time, which is also my candidate for greatest novel of all time, TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD. The importance of first and last lines aren't quite as apparent in Harper Lee's book. The first line is simply "When he was thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow." Quietly starts the wonderful story of Jem, Dill, Scout, and the magnificent Atticus. The final line is pretty simple, too. "(Atticus) would be there all night, and he would be there when Jem waked up in the morning." It's really interesting how the book begins and ends about an injury to Jem. Of course, at the end Jem's injury was caused by the despicable Bob Ewell. I think the connection of those 2 lines that provide the final wholeness to the story isn't Jem, but Atticus, who is there for the kids at the beginning, although unmentioned, throughout, and at the end, and possibly, as a symbol, forever.

I would urge my 15 on-line followers and my good-sized bunch of FACEBOOK readers to send me their favorite novel first lines. (Last lines, too, if you want) I'll put them in a great first line blog. Tomorrow or the next day, I'm going to do a post about repairing the first and last lines of two of my YA manuscripts.

You may have seen the awful movie version of THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE a few years ago. It starred Liam Neeson and Catherine Zeta Jones. Know that it bears no resemblance to the wonderful book it is supposedly based on. My most hated part of that movie was when Luke Wilson got his head chopped off. That didn't occur in the book. People in Hill House don't get their heads chopped off. Far worse things happen to them.

Explanations of Last Two Blogs

November 8th's posting can be written as "1(a leaf falls)one1iness." e.e.'s vertical version is to suggest both the shape of a #1 and the fall of a single leaf. The poem contains both the theme of loneliness and the image of a falling leaf. Quite clever for a guy who didn't know how to use capital letters.

Richard Russo's placard above the bar reads: "Here stop and spend a social hour in harmless mirth and fun. Let friendship reign, be just and kind, and evil speak of none." A nice sentiment for a tavern wall.

A Literary Puzzle (sort of)

In his new book THAT OLD CAPE COD MAGIC, Richard Russo, author of EMPIRE FALLS, MOHAWK, NOBODY'S FOOL, and a bunch of other good books, places his main character in a bar called the Old Cape Cod Lounge near Wellfleet. On the wall above the bar is an intricately lettered sign. At first, Griffin, the main character can't read the sign. The bartender tells him, "A couple martinis and it'll make sense." Alcohol assisted or alcohol free, can you read the sign?

heresto pands pen d

asoci al hourin har

mles smirt hand funl

etfri ends hipre ign

bej usta ndkin dan

Devil spe akof no ne.

for those who would autumnfallleafcherish

I really enjoy raking leaves on a bright fall day. This weekend was great for moving leaves and watching leaves move. As I watched the wind choosing individual leaves and sending them on their way to dry and die, I was reminded of a poem by e.e. cummings that I used to share . For those who like the fall and like alternative poetry, this one's for you. If you look carefully, you will see this little verse is a case of form (shape) being content (theme).

1(a

le

af

fa

lls)

one

1

iness.

by e.e. cummings

It's interesting how Charles Schulz and Snoopy looked at a similar leaf differently.

If My Mom Let Me Use the Word, I'd Say This Really Sucks!

I'm looking out my office window on this fine fall day. The sky is blue, there are a few streaky clouds, and the wind is whipping hard enough to convince my silver maple that it really is autumn, and it's about time it dropped its leaves. It is the kind of day where I am prone to feel no malice toward any other person. It's a shame I read the POST STANDARD this morning. Two stories in two different sections of the newspaper suggested I was truly a wimp to sit in my chair and feel that things were O.K. with the world. There are plenty of people to hate out there, and one need not travel to the Middle East to find them.

Shame on me, but when I read the morning paper, I read the sports section first. I read Dave Rahme's lucid and sensitive article "Marrone stands up for Paulus," in which Doug Marrone confronts the issue of the boo-birds, who snarl and howl at Greg Paulus each time he takes the field. Even though this fine coach and fine man offers his broad shoulders to bear the brunt of the bleacher nuts' venom, and, even though, Paulus claims to be deaf to their shouts, everyone with a brain knows those shouts hurt both coach and quarterback. It's ironic that the boo-birds, so desperate for a win to validate whatever it is they need validating, take it out on the young man who is trying harder than anyone else to get that win for them.

After my sports fix, I went to Section A and found on page 5 an article by Michelle Breidenbach entitled " 'Hate, lies,' wore her down, Scozzafava says.' " In this account, I got to read about hatespeak on a national level. Dede Scozzafava seems to be a good person, a caring civic leader, and a person of conscience. She's one of those ladies about whom might be said, "She is her own woman." For being an independent-minded Republican she was scourged nationally by her own party. We're used to this Republican nasty noise from Rush and Bill and their ilk, and it isn't surprising. I was most bothered by the man who called Scozzafava from Oregon and had the audacity to try to beat her up with God. Let me say that I have dozens of fine friends who are fine people and loyal republicans and I honor their right to their political beliefs, but the lunatic fringe is apparently now the voice of the party, and like the boo-birds in the Dome, they are so in need of validation by winning something, that they attacked the fine Republican woman, who was trying to get that for them.

I blog for the fun of it. After reading the two aforementioned stories and thinking about how they had taken some of the joy out of this autumn day, I went back to the archives of "The Blue Moon Grille," my blog. On September 6, 2009, I wrote about attending the first SU football game of the season. My wife and I gave up our season football tickets years ago, not so much because we'd lost interest, but more because of the high DPR ratio in our section. If you aren't familiar with the DPR, that's the "drunks per row." On that Sunday two months ago, I wrote, "Behind me sat the doofus, a fellow who announced loudly from the beginning that he didn't like Greg Paulus or Doug Marrone even though he loved the Orange. He was just like a Republican pulling for the president to fail." He wanted his team to win, but he didn't want those people he didn't like to be part of that success. Those two little sentences were just a little thought I tossed out while talking about the whole game experience, which I really enjoyed. Today they don't seem so little.

FYI: How To Kill A Zombie!

As I've mentioned before in my blog, I really enjoy horror movies and horror stories. I read an article last week that suggested that horror films are particularly successful during times of economic difficulty. I guess the idea is that having a werewolf chaw on your leg is a lot worse than seeing your 401K in the tank. Two current hits on the silver screen would suggest the truth of this theory. Both PARANORMAL ACTIVITY and ZOMBIELAND have been selling a lot of tickets. But the horror folks have gone too far even for me. I discovered today that Mattel is producing TWILIGHT BARBIE. Yes, a Barbie-esque Bella and Kennish Edward are already being sold in Canada and due in the U.S. soon. Is this the end of society as we know it? Are nine year olds expected to play TWILIGHT with their dolls? Will instructions come with the dolls warning the kids that if BellaBarb touches EdwardKen for too long that Bella might just get ravaged like Barbie never dreamed of being ravaged? Will EdKen come with special cream to polish his alabaster skin and onyx eyes? What will BellaBarb say when EdKen rips out the throat of Skipper's dog and drinks its blood? Maybe Hellmouth has really opened up in Sunnydale and the demon marketers are here in full force.

I've always thought things happen for a reason. I have been working on a young adult horror novel called ZOMBIES 'R' US for awhile. Last week I was pondering what a teenager, when faced with the prospect of what to do about a zombie, who had murdered his gym teacher, might do to dispatch this representative of the undead. Why the kid would "google" for a solution of course. So I really googled "How Do You Kill A Zombie?" I was overwhelmed with responses. The best one came from an on-line periodical called the PORTLAND MERCURY. So I can give their advice to you in the event that some zombie tries to sell you an aberration called TWILIGHT BARBIE for Christmas. The answer to the question posed in this posting's title follows:

“DECAPITATION.

To kill zombies, you need to destroy their brains. The most surefire route is simply lopping off the cranium with a chainsaw, machete, or samurai sword. Mind the follow-through, however-- anything less than 100 percent severance just isn't good enough.

BLUDGEONING.

Any blunt object--from a baseball bat to a brick--wielded with suitable force at the cranium will destroy the brain. But be quick on your feet and keep your eye on the target, slugger--when you're this close to a zombie, miss even once and you might as well just hand your brains to the zombie on a silver platter.

BURNING.

Don't have the convenience of a sniper rifle to take out zombies from afar? The next best thing is a Molotov cocktail--just make sure the zombies are far enough away so they'll be reduced to ashes before they can shamble after you.

EXPLODING.

A solid technique, but one that requires heavy weaponry. In the chaos that will doubtlessly strike an urban center after a zombie infestation, make your way to a military storehouse or a morally dubious pawn shop and acquire a rocket launcher. Then shoot, load, and repeat.”

That oughta do it!!

Where are They Now?

I was straightening out my record collection just now. I have about 50 of my old vinyl albums left, and I came upon one by a 60's British pop singer named Sandie Shaw. I'd forgotten all about the album. The Sandie songs I remember were "There Is Always Something There to Remind Me" and the rather dubiously titled "Girl, Don't Come." I remember loving those songs, but there's nothing about the album "To Remind Me" why I would have spent $2.99 and about 4 or 5% tax on it, when in high school, that was a lot of money. It must have been because of her picture on the album cover. She was really cute. We didn't say "hot" back then. We said "cut,e" or if a girl was really, really cute, we said she was "tough." Sandie was "tough," and seeing the old album, made me wonder where she is now. On the back of the album it said, that in 1964, she was an "18-year-old phenomenon." Where do you suppose, "tough" "18-year-old phenomenons" from England end up.

This started me thinking about other "where are they nows" in my life. For example what happened to the kid named Doug who lived at the end of my street when I was 6. He was 8 and carried a little razorblade knife around with him so he could make anyone he met his "blood brother." And I wonder what happened to the ponderous 9 year old twins named Marshall and Maurice who used to knock us down all the time. And how about Toto and Gigi, the weird little boys who lived at the other end of the street.

I wonder what happened to the cute blonde I sat next to in study hall in high school, who was an amazing artist. Is she a painter now? A teacher? Did she get married and give up her art for a husband, kids, and suburbia? Or how about the the older kid who used to check our report cards on the school bus and whack anyone around who didn't get satisfactory grades? I wonder where he went after the took him away for trying to burn down his house?

I wonder what happened to the kid I knew in college who decided to drive his VW bus around the inside of the academic podium in the middle of the night? I know he got tossed out of school, and I heard he went to Vietnam. I don't know if that's true, though.

I have one really memorable "where is he now" from when I was first teaching. There was an English teacher who did drop dead hilarious impersonations of both the principal and the vice-principal. He wasn't much at teaching, though, and one afternoon, he climbed out of his classroom window and never came back. I heard the Vietnam rumor about him, too. Back in those days, I guess anyone who disappeared had gone to Vietnam.

I really wonder what happened to all of those people. I ought to make a whole list of "where are they nows," search them out, and write a book about them. Then I'd not only know where they are, but maybe why I have bothered to remember them.