The Subliminal Subtext Contest Winners!

This was fun! I was surprised and delighted with the entries you all came up with. I may have to periodically try a “trust the reader” exercise like this. I think it was a good way to measure how much it’s safe to leave out in a scene and how much a reader can pick up from subtle clues. Unfortunately, this particular scene isn’t part of any larger story, but I suppose one day it may become just that.

I had to laugh because the immediate recognition or non-recognition of the medallion and The Big Book lends itself to interpretation with regard to the stories of the guessers and/or those close to them. Not that a person couldn’t pick this kind of insight up purely through research as Carleen Brice did when she wrote Orange Mint and Honey, but that’s usually not the case.

The actual story for the scene in question is not nearly as fascinating as what some of you came up with, but here it is.

Dick and Jeanne’s only son has just been sentenced to a long prison term. At Jeanne’s insistence, the couple spent money they didn’t have in order to secure an attorney for their son. Dick is a recovering alcoholic and has been in A.A. for quite some time. During those years, Jeanne has abstained from alcohol in order to support Dick’s recovery. Dick was still drinking when their son was very young and there has always been some unspoken resentment on Jeanne’s part and a suspicion that their son’s problems with drug abuse and in general are related to those early years. Their son, like most drug addicts is highly manipulative and his mother is especially vulnerable to this. Dick harbors a great deal of resentment toward Jeanne because as a recovering substance abuser, he believes Jeanne has enabled their son. He believes that had she made him take accountability for his actions and not continually rescued him, he might not have ended up in prison. The prison sentence is a long one, so they’ve cleaned out their son’s room to dispose of his belongings, which show evidence of his drug abuse right in their home. When the phone rings the first time, it is their son calling from prison, probably to ask for money and for additional legal help. It was confusing to some, but when my phone rings, if I press the off button, it will silence the ringing during that call, but not turn the phone completely off (comes in handy when those evening telemarketing calls start coming in). During dinner, they both knew it was their son calling and Dick silenced the ringer, although Jeanne had a very difficult time not taking her son’s call. Dick deals with this additional stress and the threat it poses to his sobriety through A.A. When Jeanne takes the first drink right in front of Dick, it is an unspoken “eff you” to him. When the phone rings a second time, it’s their son calling again because he knows eventually, his mother will answer. Dick knows this too as he walks out the door.

I like that people picked up on the sounds of the plows going by. I remember writing them during the free write, but I didn’t have a concrete reason for doing it. They probably do mean something within the context of this, but the truth is that even I don’t know what.

Since there were so many great entries, I decided to pick three names, but before I announce the names, let me tell you the two I wish I'd written.

Larramie's - In part because it was so extreme. This entry in particular actually made me gasp, mainly because of all the people in the world that I know, in the real and the virtual worlds, Larramie is the most optimistic and will always choose a happy ending. I almost fell over when I saw she'd subjected on of my characters to lethal injection. Larramie, you are full of surprises!

Billy's - Just because I thought the idea of a body being under the street being plowed was awesome. I need to ratchet my dark side up a notch!

And the three winners are:

Judy

Patti

Anonymous (if you want to truly remain anonymous, just leave a comment and I'll pick another name, otherwise please email me).

I'm copying the spirit of Bernita and Shauna's Pay it Forward Contests somewhat. Just email me with your choice of a selection of the latest release (or the book of your choice if they’ve published more than one) from one of the following author/bloggers:

Carleen Brice
Karen DeGroot Carter
Therese Fowler
Patry Francis
Charles Gramlich
William "Billy" Hammett
Timothy Hallinan
Bernita Harris
Judy Merrill Larsen

If you're one of my blog friends and you've published something that I can order on Amazon and I've missed it, please email me and let me know.

OR

In the spirit of paying it forward, or if you've already read these books (Judy, I'll bet you've read most of them) or have something you're dying to read that's also on Amazon (preferably a debut novel), just let me know.

Please email your choice and your mailing address to: lisa at eudaemonia.gmail.com and thank you all for playing!

Hey Are They Laughin' at Us?

A few weeks ago Scott and I went up to Estes Park for the weekend with our friends, Wes and Nicole. Nicole is Canadian and we often have long philosophical discussions about politics and culture. I'm always curious about how Americans are really perceived by people in other countries, especially our nearest neighbor to the north. I just about died laughing when Nicole introduced me to these YouTube episodes of Rick Mercer's "Talking to Americans". The video quality isn't the best, but it is just hysterical.

After watching this and grilling some of my Canadian friends for a while, I've come to the conclusion that Canadians must think of us in the same way one would think of a likable but goofy cousin.

And P.S. the capital of Canada is Ottawa.

Enjoy! And if you're feeling wobbly about your Canadian geography, hop over to Seize a Daisy and check out a great virtual tour of Toronto.

Subliminal Subtext

During one of the workshops I attended this fall, we had an assignment to write a scene with no dialogue. I wrote the following, and have always wondered if anybody in the world would be able to figure out what was actually happening in the scene. I don't think anybody in workshop did, but if you're game, tell me what you think the situation surrounding this scene might be and what brought you to that conclusion. Or, if this just seems like a completely jumbled and confusing mess, tell me that too.

This is just a raw snippet from a writing prompt, so you're not going to hurt my feelings a bit if you tell me it's completely incomprehensible.

To make this more interesting, there will be a prize for whoever comes up with the interpretation closest to what I had in mind. Naturally, I haven't figured out what the prize will be, but it will most likely be something from Amazon (I heart you one-click). I will announce the winner -- oh, I don't know -- sometime early next week. So guess away and no guess is too crazy. As a matter of fact, if you guess something better than what I originally envisioned, I'll probably claim it's what I meant to say.

Jeanne folded the invoice from the attorney, pushed it to the edge of the kitchen table past the plate of congealing chicken, mashed potatoes and canned peas, and ran her hands through her hair. Gunmetal streaks dominated either side of her center part for an inch or more, and abruptly transitioned to dark brown like a bad neighborhood divided from a good one. Dick drained the last of a tepid cup of coffee and checked his watch. A pile of black trash bags and a smaller pile of boxes, labeled Salvation Army sat in the middle of the floor, an accusation, a poor man’s shrine or perhaps, just the trash that it was. One bag remained open; a torn flannel shirt coiled around a broken Walkman, the stench of an ashtray and unwashed clothing hiding the burnt kitchen spoon underneath.

The phone in the middle of the table rang, ripping through the silence in the house that had until now been interrupted only by the sounds of the plow blades grinding against the street out front. Jeanne’s hands stopped ruffling and froze, still, as though she considered pulling her hair out by the roots. They both looked at the Caller ID. Department of Corrections. Jeanne’s right hand extended up and at an angle, hovering over the table and giving her the look of an uncertain student, offering the answer to a difficult question. Their eyes met and Dick picked up the phone and pressed the off button to silence the ringing. He set it down precisely, checked his watch again and pushed back from the table. He carried his plate and the chipped mug across the kitchen, stopped to scrape the chicken bones and cold peas into the open trash bag and then placed the dishes in the dishwasher.

Jeanne stared at the phone and dropped her hands to the table top. Dick pulled a heavy parka from a coat rack beside the back door, put it on and began gathering keys, wallet, and cigarettes and pocketed a heavy metal medallion with a triangle and Roman numeral inscribed in the center. He patted down his coat pockets. Jeanne stood, moved her chair to the front of the refrigerator and hesitated, staring at the snapshots of smiling faces held on with magnetic fruits and vegetables, a heavy magnet that said Korn, and one that said Visualize Whirled Peas. She reached out and touched a yellowing photo of the three of them and then climbed up. Dick stopped to watch as she took a dust covered bottle out of the cabinet above and stepped back down. He jammed his hands in his pockets and dipped his bearded chin inside the front of his coat. Her back turned to him, she filled a glass with amber liquid, took a long swallow, wiped her lips with the back of her hand and planted both fists on the edge of the counter in front of the sink. She tried to look beyond the reflection that stared back at her from the dark window. The sound of the clock ticking was interrupted by the compressor in the refrigerator, and the smell of roasted chicken lingered in the tiny kitchen.

The phone rang again as another plow passed by. Jeanne turned to face Dick and he looked away. He reached into his pockets and pulled his keys out, tucked the Big Book under his arm, grabbed the trash bags and walked out into the snow.