Closing the Window

Fact-based:

After another long day in the classroom, Sarah went home to take a short afternoon nap.  Teaching elementary school seemed to be in her blood, as it was the chosen profession of her mother and grandparents.  As she stared at the ceiling fan moving slowly, she reflected back on her thirty-five years of life and didn’t have complaints.  Though she had no children of her own, she had a loving husband, a great job, a comfortable home, and her mother lived nearby.

Then the telephone rang.  The blast from the past was a cousin from her father’s side of the family.  She hadn’t spoken to him in almost twenty-five years.  Before he said it, she knew what was coming:  Her father was dying.

She thanked her cousin politely for the news and sat on the bed.  What to do now?  She’d seen her father maybe three times since the end of her parents’ horrific marriage, and the night he held the loaded gun to her and her sisters still burned in her mind.  Her friend at school saw it happen through her window. Did he feel sorry now?  Could this be a chance for redemption and closure?

Sarah got dressed and went to her father’s room in the hospital.  He was a mere shadow of what he was in the past, with wasting of chronic disease changing him into almost a skeleton.  After exchanging hellos but refraining from hugs, she visited, listening to what he had to say to her. 

The dark shadow of the past loomed over the room.  He spoke only of himself, of the travels he did after the separation from her mother, the places he had seen while never paying support to help raise them.   One unfamiliar name after another he mentioned, without asking how her sister or mother were doing.  All Sarah had done was sit and listen to the words of a formerly violent, selfish man.  After a couple of hours, she gave him a restrained goodbye and told him she’d be back the next day.

She never went back. After another telephone call weeks later from her cousin, she found out he was about to pass away.  Sarah stopped by, looked down at him, and he said nothing.  She told him she needed to check on her mother and left.

That night, she received the call that her father died.  After years of swearing to never attend his memorial service, she changed her mind.  Seeing him in the casket at peace made her glad he wasn’t suffering.  Despite the person he was, he did not interfere with her adult life.  While remaining unapologetic about his life, he gave her something with his death.  He closed the window.  It felt good to breathe again.

On the Power of Devastation

"The Perfect Storm"

"Atonement"

Red Wedding "Game of Thrones"

While I like a good laugh as much as anyone else, sometimes stories stick with me that hit me emotionally like a sledgehammer.  I do have films that are completely off limits like “Brian’s Song” (the original version, haven’t seen the remake), “Old Yeller” (the prototype) and “Where the Red Fern Grows” (no way I’m watching that).    I did watch the recent film “War Horse” and I admit it was excellent, and though it had a happy ending, I didn’t have a dry eye for at least a day.

Whether the events are fact based or fantasy, why do the ill fates of the good draw us into the story?  Many reasons:  One, for true events, I tend to see it as respect for the people lost.  In fantasy/fiction, we want to see revenge.  A few stories can be all-downers with no revenge or reconciliation and still be worthy, but for me, that is a small number. 

Sadness in stories does bring us a slice of real life.  I’ve never known anyone that’s never lost a loved one.  The feeling of loss grips a reader like nothing else can, and the pain lingers, hence so does the story.  But great pain often brings out great strength, so loss can be an essential tool that is often used to develop characters (example: Harry Potter).

To flip the coin and be fair, comedy to me is more challenging to write, and when I see interviews with famous comedians, they often comment on how difficult comedy is.  A puppy can be run over by a truck and make us sad, but the same puppy running away with a guy’s shorts is another story altogether with potential laughter with clever writing.

Readers, when writers devastate us, they are punching us in the stomach for a reason.  We are reeled in by appreciating the lost characters, and our ongoing zeal for some kind of fitting ending.  Some endings are more gratifying than others, but so is life.

On Returning to Robert

                                           

 

King Robert Baratheon "Game of Thrones"

As I’m making my way back into the Dark Fantasy blogosphere, digesting and comparing the third season of the “Game of Thrones” series, to the books, I decided to return to George R. R. Martin’s weighty tomes to revisit the short-lived but important central character, King Robert Baratheon. Though I had my own criticisms of the burdensome fourth and fifth books of “A Song of Ice and Fire,” like other Martin fans I’d like to see it completed.

When I first saw the series and later read the books, I was as put out as everyone else by the death of Ned Stark.  And like everyone else, I have the same favorite characters, like Tyrion, Daenerys, and Arya.  But as I look again, I ask myself, what about Robert?  The corrupt food, alcohol, sex, hunter, fat man presenting himself, as King at first to me was a turnoff.  But looking back, what happened to Robert?  He became King after the battle of the Trident, after being considered the most suitable due to his wartime effectiveness and Targaryen ancestry (though he despises the descendants).  After killing the last platinum blonde heir to the Iron Throne, his popularity with the people carried him all the way to the top, where he expected to find vengeance and happiness.

But looking back, what started this mayhem?  The cornerstone of the story, Ned’s sister Lyanna Stark, whose perceived abduction by the Prince Rhaegar Targaryen is potential unrequited love, and her early death denied tough guy Robert the love of his life.  After watching floppy sexual scenes, blundering through Martin’s endless food descriptions, or taking in the over the top excellent battle scene of “Blackwater” in both film and the books, the core of the story is the true love denied to Robert Baratheon, a man who believes as King he should be denied nothing, which leads to his doom ultimately.

Still people approach me and ask what “Game of Thrones” is about.  To we Martin fans, I find it difficult to answer without a conversation.  But to the new reader or viewer, I’d say if any character can tell the story, it would be the dialogue of Robert Baratheon.  He didn’t last long in the series, but his legacy certainly does.

Paul Anthony: TNB Thing

Paul Anthony: TNB Thing: The Next Big Thing ~ Clive Eaton, one of my twitter pals, recently tagged me for a 'chain' blog entitled 'The Next Big Thing'. The ...

On the Poison Pot of Gold

"Murder in the Hamptons"

With my never-ending film to book obsession in addition to fascination of true crimes, I decided to check out the book behind the Lifetime film favorite of mine “Murder in the Hamptons”  (Almost Paradise:  The East Hampton Murder of Ted Ammon by Kieran Crowley) As usual, the book defines the story on a much deeper, disturbing level.

Pretty California girl Generosa Rand moves to New York City in the 1980s and meets a most eligible bachelor and dreamboat millionaire Ted Ammon.  Their mutual attraction leads to marriage, adoption of lovely children, fantastic homes, and the “perfect life” to people that apparently have everything.  Generosa was denied nothing, from her own art studio to her masterpiece home in the Hamptons in which she designed down to the last blade of grass in the landscaping.  Her exquisite taste made her complimentary; her flaring temper made her dreadful to those that worked with her.

As the years wore on, the natural consequences opened to a difficult marriage, stressed out children, and a horrific divorce.  The philandering husband was spared nothing from his vengeful, spiteful wife, who accused him of cheating on taxes, wearing her underwear, and incestuous behavior, with everything in between.  After a couple of hellish years, she found a boy toy friend in handyman Danny Pelosi while living the “tough life” in an upscale hotel on almost $100,000 dollars a month.  Four days before the divorce was to be signed, Ted Ammon was found bludgeoned viciously to death in the house in the Hamptons, a property she was determined to never give up.  During the investigation, she is diagnosed with advanced breast cancer, which she ignored for two years, and dies before the case is closed.  Pelosi was found guilty and sent to prison. 

As I think about this story, I’m reminded of the wealthy socialite Barbara Baekeland, as chronicled in “Savage Grace.”  People find strength, power, and freedom by means of money, leading to devastating results.  While these two women have similar traits, the absolute hostility in Generosa was beyond anything the Lifetime film could reach, though I liked the lead actress.  The question remains, “Was the money really worth it?  Will hundreds of millions of dollars buy happiness?” 

Some of the most important things in life simply cannot be bought.  When I reflect upon these true tragic stories, I try to remember the potential poison the pot of gold can bring.

On the Value of Virtual Friends

Virtual friend Author William Butler

As we move along with the evolution of social networking, we continue to make “friends” or “followers” in mostly Facebook and Twitter.  The negativity seems endless by the media, how it wastes time, how it perpetuates shallow social unreal interaction, the either illegal, tragic, or large-scale violent consequences when used amongst large populations.  But we still use social media, and interact with our virtual friends.  Does that matter to us?

As an adult, I think about the real friendships I’ve made through the years, and the ones still lasting today.  My close real time circle of friends is quite small; probably a combination of being an introvert, a non-conformist, and a married professional, beholding to the bare truth that a wife’s friends link to the husband’s more than vice-versa.  That may not be true in every relationship, and in my marriage I don’t consider it a negative, only a truth.  Men marry and continue their lives with families, sports, and talk about old times over beer.  Women marry with their lives encompassed with their children, and for the childless married woman, like myself, in the closest friendship there’s not much in common in everyday life. 

I’ve written before about how a few wonderful ladies introduced me to social networking.  From the beginning, I’m still meeting great people virtually.  Of course in virtual friendship, we see whatever the person wants us to see.  But that’s part of the deal, taking the good with the bad.  As a new author, I’ve found some of my virtual friends to be my biggest cheerleaders in my writing journey, and they give me encouragement during the tough times.  I’m happy to do the same for them.  Why not?  That’s what’s good about technology; maybe we can make someone smile sometimes.  In reality, that level of giving is wonderful, so why should it not apply virtually?  Sure, there is the negative spin, ugly book reviews, and political arguments, but that’s where we can shut out the virtual part.  Virtual enemies wearing a mask of friendship aren’t family bullies we have to endure because our parents force us.  We have a choice.

In the big scheme of things, I like my virtual friends.  Technology has a double edge, but there’s more good than bad.  Like others, of course my real life friends and family take precedence, as they should.  To me, that’s another definition entirely; virtual friendships are exactly that…virtual.  I’m glad to have them.

On Knocking the Chip Off My Shoulder

Princess Diana

Back in the 1990s, I was in the latter days of what I’ve referred to in past articles as my “vast hard science educational background.”  The 90s pulled every bit of strength I had every day, with difficult training, the loss of my sister, my family split apart, my husband in graduate school while working, financial difficulties, and I worked a demanding job while in school that encompassed nights and entire weekends.   In general, the 1990s were a lost decade for me. 

While working on a weekend, I tried to get an hour or two of sleep and just before I turned the television off, the news alert said, “Princess Diana had been severely injured in a automobile accident.”  I switched it off, struggling to get a bit of rest before the next day started with an unforgiving amount of workload and testing.  Failure was not in my rulebook when it came to my education and job.

I didn’t sleep well, but never did in those days.  I thought about Diana. During my one trip overseas to England was when she gave birth to Prince William, and did she look great the next day, after a night of labor!  She was always in the tabloids, with her failed marriage, her stunning dresses, I mean, how many crowns did she have?  She always looked so perfect.  Sometimes I’d see news clips or magazine covers of her visiting the poor or abused.  She seemed nice.  I thought if I met her, I would have liked her. 

Then my mind took a dark turn.  Would she have liked me?  Hmm…An American wearing the same clothes for three days.  Aristocracy isn’t a concept easy for Americans to take in, though it’s generally respected.  In America, many have to work hard to crash through the glass of poverty, and at that time, I was building my hammer.  Then I thought, the truth is, Diana is a Princess, and I am a nobody.  To her, I’m a nobody and my recently deceased sister is a nobody.  But she’s been in a car accident.  Who’s in the worst position?  I thought, “Nothing will happen to her.  She’s rich and the whole world will bend over backwards to help her.”  I fell asleep.

Morning came, and the person coming on to take my place exchanged the usual hellos.  Before I picked up my bag to leave she said, “And Princess Diana died.”  A cold chill swept through me.  What a fool I was!  A shallow, stupid idiot, low class, imbecile taking for granted that money shelters people from something as common and deadly as automobile accidents.  As a worker in the health care industry, I know all too well how many lives are claimed.  Angry with myself, I watched all of the televised features about Princess Diana, and my favorite was Elizabeth Taylor’s interview when she said, “They killed the world’s Princess.” 

On August 31, 1997, we did lose the world’s Princess.  She was classy, beautiful, compassionate, and yes, wealthy.  And after that day I grew up and knocked the class chip off my shoulder.  Everyone is a person, and life is fragile.  Bless the Princess.