Category: WritingCommunity

  • The Demon Lover – a play for 2 voices by Alysse Aallyn

    SCENE III

    EVAN
    This is the letter I would write you if I dared,
    if I weren’t frightened bf the cancer
    Of your Elayna-hatred.
    I am overworked, wrung out.
    I feel possessed by you.
    You must always live at the pitch of anguish.
    Our love has roots in good and evil,
    It lives in the darkest places of our natures
    Despite of its pleasant surface.
    Shall we end by destroying each other?
    You have the deadlier weapons.

    EVA
    I have a bad effect on people.
    Guilt, conspiracy, love,
    I cannot breathe without them.
    Oh, the pain of your reproach!
    Not seeing you would kill me.
    I live for the memory of our every moment.
    I wouldn’t give a damn if I had a month to live.

    EVAN
    Boredom, dissipation, remorse,
    And apprehension– I can’t escape this obsessive cycle.
    Beneath the controlled surface of my mind
    Opportunities to be frenzied are endless.
    I’m afraid of saying something evil which many stick.

    EVA
    Gratitude for our happiness chokes me.
    This restlessness of things going to waste.
    Missing you is like an illness.
    I have never fallen out of love with you.
    The flame is always there.
    The place is full of you.
    I can no longer look at hyacinths

    EVAN
    There’s a worm in this bud
    But who is its corruptor?
    Your insights are so powerful they alter mine.
    I’m sorry for your husband’s death.
    I feel a shift in the angle of vision.
    A sadness fell on me
    A foreboding so final it seemed the end.
    Your pleading for our life dissolved my will.
    I agree to renewal, something I can live by
    But I refuse your guilt.

    EVA
    Did I leave my diary behind?
    Don’t read it, not that you would.
    It’s anaphrodisiac. I am filled with envious admiration
    For the way you spend your time.
    You get so much done!

    EVAN
    Of course, it’s an incentive to work, being alone.
    You have created your own circle
    Even if the intelligentsia is as insensitive as you say.
    I’m grateful we are calm,
    Those fearful scenes never likely to begin again.
    I’m sure the panic of youth has played a part.
    I used to hope you would love me less over time
    But now I think we love each other equally.

    EVA
    I believe we should exchange rings.
    Do you think this faux? Would Elayna object?
    This is so I have something in case you die of that itch or fall out of an airplane.
    I wonder why Elayna’s throat won’t heal?
    I believe she is ice-bound.
    She’s sealing you away from life.

    EVAN
    You witch, you have
    Frozen Elayna’s throat.
    I begged you not to. You make
    Sadness physical.

    EVA
    Elayna’s frozen her own throat
    I wish you’d see it.
    Depression is hallucinatory.
    Guilt and sorrow undermine all confidence,
    I refuse to give them credence.

    You are so near me I feel we are one person.
    I feel you now beside me.
    I will make you real.

    EVAN
    These acute waves of feeling sometimes come over me
    As if you’re signaling.
    I owe you happiness
    But I can’t express it.
    We must always believe life is as beautiful as the music
    Says it is. The illusions you must cultivate are in fact
    A form of courage.
    Forget my deficiencies
    Find amusement in the worldly game.

    EVA
    Without Allen, I re-experience my youth.
    Oh, the bafflement of the young!
    I broke off my engagement because I loved too much
    And cast about for a spouse I could
    Control. I believe you did that, too.

    EVAN
    Our parting was unbearable.
    I had to run away –
    Your rush of talk was like someone bursting into tears.
    I feel like an executioner robbing you of sleep.
    My nose began to bleed and
    It’s been bleeding ever since.
    We must love each other less to become more tranquil.

    EVA
    I am a witch and you should fear me.
    I glow with contempt and boredom and fury.
    I don’t understand why
    I can’t experience life by your side.
    We share the same senses,
    The same vein of joy.
    Our life together is timeless, continuous.

    EVAN
    Your letter’s fraught with dynamite.
    I can never be alone, it is me and the gin bottle.
    I am home nowhere now – except with you.

    EVA
    I don’t want you getting yourself into a state
    But Edgar has proposed, forcing me to face the fact
    That I literally cannot live without you.

    EVAN
    I dread you will fall for Edgar.
    You called him “sweet” and “cozy” and “brilliantly entertaining”
    And I am none of those things. Did you bewitch him?
    he said in a persecuted voice.
    It would your justice, sending me to hell.
    We would lose each other by inches,
    But aren’t we doing that already?

    EVA
    I can’t show Edgar the brutal candor
    Behind my loving kindness.
    He mistakes the hostess for a person.
    I arrange the flowers in symbols of you
    And everyone’s too stupid to notice.
    To bed alone again tonight.
    I wish Elayna would die.
    Then we should be equals.

  • The Demon Lover – a play for 2 voices by Alysse Aallyn

    SCENE II

    EVAN
    Do you really love me?
    Why should you?
    I don’t seem any longer
    To be able to cope with friendships.

    EVA
    It is a horror, an outrage
    That we should not be here together. I struggle against
    The wound of not knowing where you are each minute.
    Everything you do is more important to me than my own life.
    The whole of me is with you.
    I see and feel you so distinctly,
    your beloved cold hand in mine
    Your touch on the nape of my neck.
    Both joy and agony
    – my insides torn by pincers.
    A double goodbye would have been awful
    – two bites on the bullet of pain.
    This love is like something we have given birth to.
    We must never blunt our imagination or tenderness.
    Don’t get a cold in your soul.

    EVAN
    I disappoint everyone.
    I deliberately left one of your letters for Elayna to find.
    With me love is linked with
    A need to betray. I invite possessiveness.
    She made me promise our love would never be physical.
    I lied fluidly.

    EVA
    Even the thought of
    Such a loss of pleasure tears at my heart
    Like some medieval torture.
    You harrow me unbearably.
    My defenses are down.
    I’m filled me with a sense of ghastly injury.
    How I wish I were more beautiful –
    It’s my mouth that ages me.
    I want you seeing all of me –
    Even if it hurts.
    You are your own child,
    You preserve your youth with the harm
    That you cause.
    I am dead and already
    Interred – in you.
    You are my eternity.

    EVAN
    You can’t have everything.
    I am kept aloft by the conflict of
    Unbearables.
    I am happy.

    EVA
    Our dancing life is over –
    Shall I enter a convent?
    There’s no point in being alive
    if we’re not together.
    I show my deepest self to you alone.

    EVAN
    Please – no more shaming conversations
    Over Irish whisky. Let’s cut our losses
    And get some fun from life.

    EVA

    
The gash in our love might close
    But I can’t forget it’s there.
    Life with you is a remote happiness to which I cling.

    EVAN
    And all this time you write
    Fantastic books. If you were as unhappy as you say,
    You couldn’t write so well.
    I am the whetstone on which you sharpen –
    I should be thanked for all your works.

    EVA
    You shed your light around me.
    I am always aware of that other world we share
    – Or do we? Our pattern seems set –
    If treachery can’t break it,
    There is no death.

    EVAN
    I am losing interest in sex.
    My bed gets so icy in the small hours of the morning –
    I feel I am trying to communicate with the spirit world.
    I am in limbo and will never escape this place.
    The adolescent remains alive in me, I have a
    Panic fear of conformity.
    So I cast myself as the elderly rake.
    I’m the bore –
    Marriage gets me down.

    EVA
    When you go on and on about yourself
    You’re a man I don’t recognize.
    I prefer your adolescent self.
    The man of the house is a free agent.
    A respected prowler
    Who looks benevolently upon the faces of his womenfolk.
    Then he’s away – with mistresses or boyfriends.
    In my attack of loneliness, I’m housebound,
    Eating baked beans and drinking stewed tea.

    EVAN
    In other countries women
    Are less bossy and more decorative.

  • The Demon Lover – a play for two voices by Alysse Aallyn

    Scene I

    EVAN

    I like women willful, late
    For appointments,
    fond of showy clothes and society, vague, drifting, dreamy,
    yet of course all of that is tiresome.
    But I don’t like competence, intellectual honesty, intelligent sensuality.
    Women keep turning on me saying,
    “You don’t love me.”
    What good is it to have been so happy
    when it ends so painfully?
    I am a “crook”, a “torturer of women”,
    “Murderer.” She has made me feel a monster.
    Below the surface of the will
    I feel deep animal distress, as if I had wives
    Hidden away somewhere
    To marry my present wife.

    EVA
    I find your misery gratifying.
    When I was younger I used to
    Accommodate everyone –
    Now I’m recalcitrant.
    You’re never out of my thoughts, but
    Sadness dulls one.
    Honestly, I always risk failing you,
    Failing you in outstandingness.
    You are extraordinary, I am extraordinary,
    we have been extraordinary together.
    We’re specimens under glass.
    It hurts because the pin runs through both of us.
    The agonizing force of missing you
    Is sweeping over me.
    We have eternity connecting us,
    Backward & forward but
    I can’t get anyone to believe it.

    EVAN
    Would my death simplify things?
    My wife struggles with carrying the conversation
    While I stare glumly at the rain.
    We go to an expensive little restaurant
    And pretend we are on a date to really talk.

    EVA
    That woman’s killing you.
    Imagine if you were dead and your wife
    Wrote a book explaining you
    To everyone! That’s true suffering –
    Fodder for the mealy-mouthed.

    EVAN
    My wife won’t be writing any books
    About me or about anything. You’re the one
    To write the book.
    I feel safe in your hands.

    EVA
    Except I’ve told you over and over
    You’ll outlive me.
    You’re killing me.
    Or your wife is.
    I’ll die of my addiction –
    We always do.
    We prefer it.
    Will you write about me?

    EVAN
    I’ve lied to everyone for
    So long, I’m sure that truth
    Is beyond me.

    EVA
    I’d rather see you dead at my feet
    Than dead ON your feet.
    That would be a mercy killing –
    The last unbearable agony –
    Wondering if you existed at all.
    I have small talent for this.
    I have disgraced my idealism,
    Pretending boredom can be fruitful.
    Waiting, waiting for you everywhere. I
    Wake one day to find I’ve lost my looks, my hair,
    fascination, brain – everything.

    EVAN
    You’re simply waking up
    In an empty hotel.
    The light is always different
    The morning after.
    This is what middle-aged people do.
    I love the brutality of your world.
    You never fade. You are my word made flesh.

    EVA
    You are my religion.
    Until In fell in love with you I was 25 inside.
    I lived in a world of dreams and theories.
    Your experiences seem realer to me than mine.

    EVAN
    To have touched the same places
    Is a bond between us.
    Social instinct is my religion.

    EVA
    Middle-aged people go to weddings
    Out of perverse fascination for the bride.
    I was that bride –
    My day was all champagne.
    Anaesthetized
    It doesn’t hurt so much.
    Such a sense of enormity came over me
    I almost fainted. I gave Allen the dirtiest look: “You caused this.”
    Without wedding dress
    I was a restless, dowdy snob.
    People were falling in love left and right –
    Even in decaying marriages.
    I wanted that –
    He read my subtext.
    And I was caught.

    EVAN
    These dreary parties have a decaying effect.
    My loneliness for you is like a whiplash.
    Your absence is a bitter injury
    But nothing can injure our love –
    We’re too strong for them.
    I’m silenced till I hear from you.
    If I let myself go I would feel desperate.
    I can’t bear you’re going to France without me –
    isn’t love our country?

    EVA
    I won’t say “I’ll die if you don’t come”
    Because I know you would come if you possibly could.
    What a skeleton in the cupboard a wife is.

    EVAN
    Don’t be jealous of Elayna. You are the only goal
    Toward which my life is tending.
    You are the meaning of my life.
    I could never live for work alone.

    EVA
    You enlarge my soul.
    In your mind is my existence.
    You’re more real to me than me.
    I’m in a peculiar psychic state.
    It’s an atmosphere of illusion.
    I envy Elayna all the time.
    It drips like an irritant over my nerves.

    EVAN
    What of Allen? You
    Have your worse half too.

    EVA
    Oh, Allen spends his time lost in woods,
    Falling in love with trees. He’s
    No threat to anyone.

    EVAN
    To understand one’s destiny
    One needs a framework for this mass of experience.
    How can I live separated from you?
    If I stopped caring for you
    I couldn’t care for anything.
    I need my wife, her whip-cracking organization.
    I loathe living in the squalor I get into on my own.
    Having breakfast OUT of bed is the last horror.
    Miasmic feelings of impossibility and terror. Help me.

    EVA
    We help each other
    By existing. Except for God I have no help but you.
    Our love is growing more formidable as our unshakeable belief
    Grows stronger. Like grace, it renews itself.
    All yesterday I glowed. My inability to accept your wife
    Is my deformity – help me with it.
    The light of our love is the only light for me.

  • Motive: a curtain-raiser play by Alysse Aallyn

    (A chorus of Cardinals, sedate & proper, approaches from right, a more colorful chorus of Goombas from left.)

    CARDINALS
    Oyez, oyez, oyez.
    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet,
    pro in iudico minimum definitionem,
    quo justo intellegebat ne.

    GOOMBAS
    A guy’s gotta live
    Ain’t a guy gotta live? You
    Do right by me and I’ll do right
    By you.

    JACK RUBY
    (Appearing on balcony – flat affect – as crowd blends in below)

    The world will never know the true facts
    Of what occurred. My motives.
    I’m the only person in the background
    That knows the truth pertaining to
    Everything relating to my
    Circumstances. The people who have had
    So much to gain and had such an
    Ulterior motive to put me in this position
    Will never let the true facts come
    Out to the world.

    GOOMBA # 1
    But you’re crazy!

    JACK RUBY
    I have locomotor attacks-you.

    (Spreading his arms, he falls ritualistically off balcony & is absorbed into crowd. JOE KENNEDY
    appears on balcony)

    JOE KENNEDY
    Has anybody seen my son? I’m looking for my son.

    GOOMBAS & CARDINALS TOGETHER
    Woe is you! Woe is you!

    JOE
    Has anyone seen my boy?

    CARDINAL VOICE
    Which one, your honor?

    GOOMBA # 1
    You rat, you.

    JOE KENNEDY
    The big one. My big boy.

    GOOMBA #2
    But he’s crazy.

    JACK RUBY
    He’s been struck. He’s been struck down.

    GOOMBA #3
    We all get hit. Take a rap, be a prince.

    CARDINALS
    (together, waving arms)
    Vidit scriptorem vix in,
    ceteros tractatos assentior pro no.
    Ius etiam ornatus voluptua ne. Invenire democritum
    consectetuer an eum.

    GOOMBA #4
    Give us a taste! Just a little taste!

    CARDINALS
    An offering! An offering!

    JOE
    (Rains fluttering bills upon the crowd)
    My wife went to church
    My daughters prayed –
    I had four fine sons.
    Joe was smart, Jack was charming
    Bobby was loyal and Teddy –

    (Pauses. Sighs.)

    Teddy runs to keep up.

    GOOMBA #5
    Didn’t you make a deal?

    JOE
    Deal? I made plenty
    Turned one dollar into twenty
    To forty, to five million.
    Of course I made deals.

    CARDINAL #1
    The father shall eat sour grapes
    And the children’s teeth
    Shall be set on edge.

    (The CARDINALS break ranks and look at each other, amazed.)

    CARDINAL #2
    If you sow the wind you
    Reap the whirlwind.

    (The CARDINALS & GOOMBAS merge together, oohing and sighing as if a wind shudders through them.)

    GOOMBAS
    Omerta! Omerta!

    CARDINALS
    Qui habitat! Qui habitat!

    GOOMBAS & CARDINALS TOGETHER
    A deal’s a deal! A deal’s a deal!

    JOE
    But I wanted only fine things
    My boys to grow up

    Grab everything they wanted
    Take their place, rule the world.

    GOOMBAS
    But you gotta play ball!

    JOE
    I played ball with the unions!
    I played ball with the cruisers
    Settled scores with the bruisers.
    I know to grease skids
    I know to oil palms.

    GOOMBA #1
    We helped you with Jack
    And you sicced us with Bobby!

    JOE
    I never sicced anybody!

    (the crowd jeers and boos, CARDINALS cover faces in shame)

    GOOMBA #2
    Bobby won’t play right.

    GOOMBA #3
    Bobby’s a hard ass!

    CARDINAL #3
    (Very offended)
    Bobby’s a good boy!

    GOOMBA #4
    He’s TOO good a boy if you know what I mean.

    JOE
    I’ll speak to Bobby! Let me speak to Bobby!

    GOOMBAS
    Too late. It’s too late.

    JACK RUBY
    You can’t speak to nobody, Joe.
    You’ve been struck down.

    (JOE throws out his arms and falls into crowd as if dead. The CARDINALS rush out a wheelchair. NORMA JEANE appears sneaking through crowd. As JOE is whisked offstage, attention turns to her, in spite of the fact that she’s wearing dark glasses, a kerchief, halter top, ballet flats and Capri pants)

    GOOMBA #1
    Hey, guys, it’s Marilyn!

    GOOMBAS
    (chanting)
    Marilyn, Marilyn!

    NORMA JEANE
    That’s not me, boys, I’m Norma Jeane.

    GOOMBA #2
    Aw, come on Marilyn, there’s no disguising that shape!

    GOOMBA #3
    I can smell her!

    NORMA JEANE
    Marilyn is dead, boys, everyone knows that.

    (Takes off her glasses)

    See? It’s just me. Poor old Norma-never-been-nowhere-Jeane.

    CARDINAL #3
    Lying’s a sin, Marilyn.

    GOOMBA #1
    Dance for us, Marilyn. Do a little of this- and that –

    (he simulates a bump and grind)

    And these and those!

    CARDINAL #1
    Just give us a little song, Marilyn. Just for the kids. We’d be ever so grateful.

    NORMA JEANE
    You all know Marilyn’s dead. I’m just trying to find Bobby.

    CARDINAL #2
    Bobby? What do you want Bobby for?

    CARDINAL #3
    Are you trying to get that nice boy in trouble?

    GOOMBAS
    (Chanting)
    Marilyn! Marilyn!

    (They grab her up on their shoulders and lift her up to the balcony)

    NORMA JEANE
    No! I don’t want to go! There’s no more Marilyn!

    (But they are touching her everywhere. She gives up and climbs into the balcony.)

    OK, boys, one last time.

    (She throws off her glasses and kerchief, shakes out her hair, one grind, one bump, blows a kiss, EXITS.)

    THE END

  • Secrets of the Self – Second Book Contract by Alysse Aallyn

    My second book contract was a two-book contract. I had long been working on a novel, Model Prisoner, that was based largely on the true crime story described in Barthel’s Death in California , where a man murdered his best friend and kidnapped the friend’s wife. I was working through the issues created when women are forced to cooperate with dangerous men. As often happens, the characters hijacked the story. The relationship between the two men became more and more important – my poor heroine was just a marker of success or loss. In a lucky flash of intuition, I realized the mythic proportions of what I was dealing with – my protagonist became Persephone, uncomfortably contended over by two Lords of Darkness.

    Another character pushed his way onstage – Persey’s dog, Digger. Because Persey loved him, he was an object of jealousy by the Lords of Darkness, who wanted her all to themselves. This evoked the legends around domesticating wild creatures into household pets and the story became Woman Into Wolf.

    When I was ready to submit the novel I discovered my publisher Bridgeworks had been bought by another publisher, Rowman & Littlefield, so I sent it to them and prepared myself for the uncomfortable weeks long wait for consideration lowly authors are subjected to. A few weeks later I heard from my old editor (who I’d dedicated my second novel to!) that Rowman & Littlefield in fact had no editorial department, and so my contract was essentially null and void. I submitted Woman Into Wolf to my old editor to see if she had any good ideas about what I should do next. She suggested I de-emphasize one of the characters (the Bird Lady) and play down Persey’s past life – I took all her suggestions. But when I sent her the revised manuscript I discovered she had forgotten all about it and wanted me to tell her how the novel USED to be!

    At that point I lost faith in her. My trusty Girl Focus Group (my daughter’s friends) loved the book, and I feared further monkeying around might break something important! It seemed a better idea to jut publish the thing myself. And the reviews bore me out.

    …a thrill-ride, unique and highly recommended reading.” –Entrepreneur.com


    “deceit, rape, fertility, imprisonment and a mother’s grief…as each piece of the tightly coiled fiction was loosed I waited for the revelation to come…she couldn’t imagine the extent of the deception until it was spelled out. Neither could I.” – MyShelf.com

    “one of the most unusual mysteries I have ever read…I loved reading Woman Into Wolf … kept me on the edge of my seat right through the end…I highly recommend this novel to fans of crime mysteries that also
    enjoy some extra spice in their stories.” – Readerviews.com

    “a very fine psychological thriller…
    the characters in this book are as bright
    as crystal and as sharp as shattered glass.
    Aallyn not only can describe them to a
    neo-noun, she can make them speak
    true to those characters.
    Quite a talent…a novel every bit as worthy as
    her first.” –ArmchairInterviews.com

    “Satisfying as hell.” – Quoth the Raven

  • Secrets of the Self – how I became a warrior by Alysse Aallyn

    Dormancy

    Artists spend a lot of time trying to find and develop their unique voice. Purveyors of art want you to copy first – so they can compare it to something they already sell – and put a unique – but not TOO unique – touch on it later.

    These contrasting mandates send the artist down a lot of rabbit holes with no rabbits at the end.

    Before I discovered True Crime my own work annoyed me with its amorphousness. I could not figure out where my sense of doom was coming from. Everyone around me just assumed I was being fashionably angsty. You know! Modern megrims!

    But then I attended the Beth Carpenter trial for capital murder in New London, CT in 2002. The guilty were paraded before us – the hitman, the girlfriend, the coked-up lawyer, the hitman’s son. Frozen in the press gallery (my husband was covering it) our eyes boggled. American law gave the story shape – defense attorneys battled right in front of us with the prosecution bar. The jury, invisible on TV, sat before us dressed as if attending sporting event. Which this was – the outcome in question right up to the end.

    This was thrilling modern theatre – the view (the harbor was visible from the courthouse), the company (Press World), even the food was good – we tried a different restaurant every day (once the jury treated us to an Italian meal.)

    I became an addict of Court TV, segueing to the ID channel (where I appeared on Blood Relatives in 2014.) I began reading the true crime greats of which, it turns out, there are many. A novel I had been struggling with – Model Prisoner (which could have described me) was freed into becoming Woman Into Wolf. I based Find Courtney on 2 famous cases.

    LIZZIE BORDEN:
    “Not I But the Moon”…

    Not I but the moon

    Decrees each loss of blood

    You confided slyly, Besom-Breast!

    I’ll crochet a horsehair head for you and

    Lacework- stitch your flesh, my darling

    You and Scrimshaw Pate – He

    Who Must Know Better.

    Hot wax outlines a new broom’s sweep in

    Sacred dust: chorus of shoe-buttons popping like

    Potato-eyes. Oh, I shall dine on you

    My darlings, rolling you in

    Pig viands, I dredge your souls in

    Righteous lard. I am the sanctified enemy

    Of the paper cut people:

    My hymn shall rock

    The laughing house.

  • Secrets of the Self – how I became a Warrior by Alysse Aallyn

    Creativity –

    When I was 11 I saw a 3,000 year old Greek play in a Greek stone theatre and was very taken by all its mechanisms of chorus and emotion. When we went back to the boat I sat down and wrote my own play, Chrysothemis, about Electra’s other sister. I couldn’t help it, I had to reflect that emotion back. It was a hot day and everyone else went swimming, but a Warrior would have finished that play.
    I finished the play.

    Clap Back

    When the universe calls


    You have to answer


    Mimicking what you hear


    Imitating what you see


    Until you’re brave enough to grab


    The balls of fire


    And juggle them for yourself.


    Then you get offered a job


    Juggling other people’s fire.


    Good work for some but not for warriors


    We call those people


    Mercenaries.


    We need to juggle our own fire


    And if you think learning the basics


    Was humiliation enough


    You won’t survive this.


    There’s a lot of stumbling and


    Silencing.


    I was what’s politely called a


    “Late Bloomer.”


    But I did finally


    Bloom.


    And when you’ve created your first


    And maybe only


    Immortelle


    It’s worth everything.

  • Embattled Love – the diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    Stormfall Farm Sat Jan 2 – ’82 – 6:15 PM


    At last, fireside peace. Finally got the baby to sleep pressed against my body in the bed, then managed to substitute a pillow.


    He seems fussy lately – reacting I think to the general disorganization of streams of family & visitors. Also, I may be drinking too much caffeine. Fix that.


    it’s surprising how little you can get done while baby-tending. The books warn – naps more important than housework. Can read while breastfeeding thank God. Starve without brain matter.


    Today read almost all of Stone’s The Mystery of B Traven. Love this mania for self-concealment!
    1:45 AM – Just back from Sutton’s – a delightful evening playing “Dictionary.” Shane gave me an exhausting early eve but he slept 3 and 1/2 hrs at Sutton’s like an angel. Sutton said he transferred funds to our joint acct at Kidder but we no longer have a joint acct at Kidder. T. says, “Probably mine, then.” Well, he’s not my father.


    Our first night here was a nightmare – Toss a crazy man. House very cold and took some time to warm. Toss frantic about the baby who was perfectly warm but cried harassingly. In the AM he apologized. I always feel brutalized by his anger – seems he makes no effort to control it. He thinks everything I do is to “spite” him. What is the cause of this? Must have been Lois. She is pretty strange.


    Outside this bedroom in the winter living room Toss & Dom & friends re-living the dictionary game – recounting the funny definitions. Finished feeding Shane and now waiting for him to fall deeply enough asleep that I can move him to his crib.


    My press now an obsession. Every book is compared to my inner books. Last night intercourse first time! I was nervous because inside vagina has strange raw feeling tight but not painful.
    Shane clucking. Better turn out light.

    12:30 PM Sun 3 Jan 82 – StormFall
    Review of book about the creative process quotes the theory that the artist must “stop before coming to premature closure” – closing off options too soon. Later, in discussion of life of Meyer Levin reviewer produces astonishing analysis of the way writers try to answer critics objection WHILE WRITING and that is “responsible” (i.e. bank-worthy.) Further along in a review of Why Bad Things Happen to Good People writer concludes that God is powerless to stop the consequences of the world He set in motion!! He “weeps” but can’t help!! Unbearably wrong-headed. Shows how religious tenets can go in one ear and out the other while the thinker THINKS he has understood. (Of course Judaism is different.)


    Christ prayed the cup would pass – it didn’t but the story doesn’t end there. He ROSE! They all saw it!


    2:40 PM Baby cried so couldn’t continue. Sad about leaving but eager to get home. The exit always puts me at odds with T and emphasizes my powerlessness. We’ll leave when he is ready at the most inconvenient time. He can promise nothing. Now he has committed us to taking soup with Sutton & Pansy which I am determined he will retract. Thank God I have SOME money and can protect myself from Housewife Madness. Feeling fat and ugly now and I was feeling beautiful before I came – a psychic manifestation of my powerlessness. Sutton’s house a fount of luxury. Toss agitates to seem successful around him instead of honestly stating difficulties & truths. I always feel the problem boils down to loss of identity – I feel like a ghost. The artist cannot allow herself Fear of the Unknown. Everyone else hedges – I want to leap.

    Grover’s Mill 4:30 PM – Tues 5 Jan 82
    Feeling better. Anxiety level high yesterday but read The First 12 Months of Life that says after 3 mos the crying stops “magically”! Baby begins to play by himself! OK! I “magically” felt less fatigue (fatigue is helplessness with me.)


    Baby dozing in the Swing-o-matic but wakes the instant it slows. Hoping to finish first coat of paint on the crib so he can be in his own room by the end of the week.


    Charlene stopped by to see the baby. Why does she depress me?


    Suggested to Julio & Gretchen that they make a book of his photos of Maine & her poems and I will try to sell it for them. Labor of love. So many good artists out there discouraged by climate of rejection. Do you need mind as well as hide of rhino?


    I set Sept 82 as press beginning – I will have $7000 of Corning.


    Toss says he & Lois will start paying themselves out of Faircross – this will revolutionize our lives.
    Yesterday baby was sleepier allowing me to catch up on Psychology Today, N.Y Review of Books and My Search for B Traven which would make good novel.


    9:40 PM – Shane asleep from 7:15 to 9:30 allowing us to have a lengthy, peaceful sit-down dinner! Toss very excited about condos wants me to type condo docs. We could get Margaret to watch Shane. It’s only 50 p. Unfortunately, it’s due Fri and I can’t finish by then!
    He approved Sept as start-off for press.

    Tues. 12 Jan 82 – 11 AM
    Enjoying late breakfast downstairs after weekend trauma. Shane dozing in swing. Total nightmare weekend typing condo docs, spelling each other. Sat night we went out but that was traumatic too because we were away from Shane too long – 6 1/2 hrs – kept calling Margaret. Dinner and LOONG movie (Reds) too much! In future only one or the other. I stayed up trying to express milk – got only 3 oz which T used next AM trying to let me sleep. Worked on docs till 2 PM then dressed to drive to Lois’ go see Louise. Louise “up”, intelligent, appreciated Shane who unfortunately went on crying jag. Louise didn’t get to hold him as much as she liked. Back at Lois’ worked on condo docs till 12:20 – Shane obligingly slept – then the car wouldn’t start. Record cold night – 2 above zero – homeless being rounded up – still, five deaths. So, we couldn’t leave and spent the night at Lois’. I took the Daytimer catalog to bed with me and fell asleep choosing stationery for Quixota, my new press.


    Baby now playing, yawning, stretching beside me, the beauty. Lois & T had 9:15 AM with Heritage Savings who will probably be their lender. After the cold night, Lois’ car wouldn’t work and they had to take a cab. Shane and I managed a bath together. They didn’t return till 4:15 PM. They’d had a good day, felt the situation promising. Lois offered to make dinner – so went to work on car batteries – next thing we knew it was 7 PM and Shane was deteriorating. All my efforts to give him away were for naught – I had to collapse in tears and go upstairs to howl. T. brought Shane upstairs when he collapsed into an exhausted sleep and I was able to go downstairs at 8 PM and wolf a chicken.


    Then T & I left for our glorious home! At midnight with me swearing not to move till Baby’s christening. We discovered hot water pipes had burst (owing to cold) but we do have cold water. Called plumber today – they are coming but can’t say when. Shane sitting bad-temperedly in his swing – grumpy Baby Emperor. If he sinks into a doze, I will, too.


    Thought about nothing but press all weekend. Trying to decide whether to allow Daisy to place them in bookstores or just go with mail order. Trouble with mail order is huge advertising budget! I want to be ruthless now that I am publisher and have everything done my way – maybe G & J’s book as calendar? Shane fussing.

    8:15 PM Fri 15 Jan 82
    Shane lying in his crib transfixed by his windup mobile – talking to it – especially purple hippo for which he cherishes extravagant fondness.


    A good day – school out so Margaret didn’t come – wanted to be with her sons. Fine with me – I’m not quite ready to write.


    Shane marvelously agreeable – only one bout of tears right before nap. Only 3 hrs sleep today bodes well for night. 7 Hrs last night!!! Toss due home in half hour – had to go to bank and missed his train.


    Reading Dworkin’s Pornography – unbearably uncomfortable – especially for men! Her elegant writing anger infused – balance perfect. True, cogent, exact but does not express the blade of grass ALWAYS pushing upwards thru cement. The world may be a desert – yet deserts are hives of activity. Unexpected flowerings. It’s true that I’m disgustingly spoiled by the perfections of Toss.
    He is violent in his anger and his rage flames hot but it is not directed at me in a way that leaves me choiceless. And always there is his exquisite tenderness – the heart of his passion so personal – never a moment when he cannot be touched. (He gave his gloves to a cold bag lady this weekend – MENS’ gloves? She said!)


    If I were Dworkin, I would despair.


    And then there is the ecstasy the religious dimension gives to life! Otherwise the purposelessness & cruelty would be soul-killing – human aspiration and hypocrisy the sand constantly creating a tortuous itch. I see life now as a war only won by love. Thousand small trivial triumphs – looks- smiles – glances – tiny actions – seem to melt to nothing when extinguished by violence as Christ seemingly was – but he WON.


    So shall we. Yesterday women’s group first time in six weeks. How time has flown! Daphne Hawkes seemingly smaller – more tentative – less powerful than I remember – psalm 31 newly moving.

  • Film Review – “Stoker” by Alysse Aallyn

    Stoker – Arche-tripe

    Stoker’s screenplay started out as fan-fiction to Alfred Hitchcock’s much more enjoyable Shadow of a Doubt, which has a moral center, plus victims we care about and characters we can root for.

    Stoker has a good, even beautiful movie buried in it but park Chan-Wook kept messing it up, very deliberately, probably under the pressure (and pleasure) of his personal fetishes. It starts WONDERFULLY – psychologically interesting, visually compelling, achieving an apotheosis of eidetic perfection hen a shot of hair dissolves into quivering grasses but jumps the shark on story sanity. Anyone who want to write about crime (and criminal psychology) need to STUDY it carefully or they risk sounding like nine year old girls guessing about sex – majorly clueless and missing all the real points – ultimately creating an uninteresting world too obviously made up.

    Subjects like mental illness, spies, the foreign service, rituals of different countries, etc., can’t be persuasively invented, and threadbare simulacrums relentlessly reveal unpleasant truths about immature people who just don’t want their fantasies interrupted.

    I used to write fantasies, too, until I began an in-depth study of crime. It changed what I wrote, how I think about the world, even how I live my life. Devlyn is a fantasy – but Find Courtney can actually happen. (Versions of it already have.) This is the reason I usually don’t like sci fi. It is possible to completely make up a world – for example Alice in Wonderland – but if it doesn’t satirize the rules of the real one it collapses like a bad soufflé. Michelangelo felt he couldn’t create a credible physicality of angels without studying dead bodies in morgues.

    I understand that in Stoker our “Oldboy” doesn’t want to be “bothered” by all that stuff – he’s an “artist” who wants to create visual poetry so hypnotic it gets away with breaking the rules and it almost works! But by the end of the film real life insistently intrudes with its message that the “impossible” is ultimately boring.

    The acting in Stoker is very good – especially Matthew Goode who seemed creepily young and was almost perfect – he would have BEEN perfect if the director had allowed him to be a little less vampiric and a little less “ka-razy” and a little more human. That would have made him more appealingly believable. But of course everyone has to submit to becoming an “archetype” to satisfy this director. India Stoker’s amoral, murderous sexuality has been a fetish for middle-aged men seeking to relieve their guilt (and excuse their behavior) for literally HUNDREDS of years. “Some girls” don’t have “proper feelings” so can be ruthlessly used and heartlessly exterminated.

    Poor Mia Wasikowska! I have admired her ever since In Treatment with Gabriel Byrne – she deserves better. That said, I have to admit a personal failing – Nicole Kidman’s frozen weirdness always gets my back up. I have been rolling my eyes over her rigidity since Cold Mountain.

    Mostly I feel sorry for actors who are talked into limiting the range of their gifts by these visual directors who set out to make a cohesive, visually stunning objet d’art, not a complex story about humans. As proud professionals they know how to give the director what he wants, thereby betraying their actual abilities which could create something much more intriguing, provocative and mentally long-lasting.

    I watch a fair amount of crime and it’s always entertaining for me to speculate about how people could have gotten away with it. In this case, easily with a modicum of adulthood & sanity which seemingly bores our first-time scriptwriter (Wentworth Miller) who needs to be more “in your face”. Too bad. But I did enjoy seeing it because I relish being given a puzzle mistakenly assembled – in my view. Then I have the mental fun of putting it together more effectively myself – an amusing occupation for a winter afternoon Ah.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 26 – The Solicitor

    Scarlet asked Frankie to stop at the church so she could drop her package at the jumble sale.
    “And what is it, ma’am?” he inquired, eyes sharp.


    She displayed Candi’s stained glass creation.


    “Oh, that’s lovely, that is! See his fine red coat! Matches the foxes’ fur! I’d accept it in payment, ma’am, if you’d be willing. I’d be proud to put it in the window of the garage.”


    Scarlet thought that would be perfect. So pleasant to imagine Candi coming to town, stopping at the garage and seeing her own handiwork showcased between the neon, the Michelin man and the Pirelli tire girls.


    “Excellent,” she said.

    Pelham D’Arcy was a youthful man trying to make himself seem older – or so Scarlet assumed – by dressing and posing as some kind of a revenant from the nineteenth century. He had the most extraordinary moustache – as carefully trained as a miniature bonsai bush – and he had a way of stroking it when speaking which meant Scarlet couldn’t take her eyes off it. He first apologized that he handled marriage contracts as a usual matter, but he did have a “small” practice in divorce.
    “Marriage contracts?” Scarlet collapsed exhausted into a chair, feeling that if she had any strength left she would just walk out of there. Marriage contracts? And I there was I, innocently thinking wedding vows would cover everything! Ian had promised before God to cleave to her before all others, to worship her body with his body until death did them part. If a man was ready to go back on THAT, what help could a contract possibly be? She feared the worst about all solicitors, but at this particular moment she was far too dispirited to seek further. She summoned up as much energy as she could manage and asked a question.


    “What good is a marriage contract?”


    “Well, I am afraid that under our laws the wife and children are entitled to only one third of the husband’s income,” he confirmed. “Any income she makes would be added to that pool – she still gets only a third. A marriage contract would guarantee that in the event of – er, negative outcomes – the wife gets a fairer disposition.”


    Now she could see the point. Too late, of course. She explained her situation.
    “Plus, I don’t currently have any income,” said Scarlet faintly.


    “What is your husband’s income, if I may ask?”


    “I don’t really know,” Scarlet admitted. “He’s negotiated something with the BBC. It seems to include a flat.”


    “Well that’s unfortunate,” said D’Arcy, “decidedly unfortunate. What’s to prevent them cutting you out?”


    “Why would they cut me in? Are you saying the BBC would conspire with my husband to cheat me?”


    “Goodness no,” he gasped, “I am saying no such thing. On the other hand, if your husband is seen as a desirable acquisition they will attempt to accommodate his needs. If not, they may of course, simply get rid of him. This is a most awkward time for the pair of you to decide that your marital difficulties are insoluble.”


    Scarlet looked at his hands – no wedding ring to be seen – only a sizeable carnelian pinky ring that looked to have just been dipped in the red wax seal of some Top Secret document.


    “I just gave birth to our first child,” she said as calmly as she could, “And my husband has announced that he has a girlfriend, he’s keeping his girlfriend and he will always have girlfriends. I don’t want to be in that kind of a marriage. If I get a separation, first, instead of a divorce, there’s a chance – just a possibility, mind you, that Ian will come back to sanity.”


    It wouldn’t happen. She could no longer force herself to believe it this possibility. How could she ever trust him again? Wouldn’t he simply wait for the next time she was incapacitated and vulnerable to spring something similar – or something even worse, if that could even be imagined – upon her?


    “I can’t recommend marital gambits, I’m afraid.” Said D’Arcy in a decidedly chilly manner. “Possibly your doctor –“


    “Separation or divorce,” said Scarlet, matching his cold tone, “Which do YOU recommend?”


    “Separation definitely,” he agreed, “If what you say is true.”


    “Do you have any law female partners? At this firm?” Scarlet was rapidly losing patience with this troglodyte.


    He drew back as if her question was improper and she had somehow insulted him. Then with an effort he seized control of himself, stiffened his upper lip, (thinking of England, presumably), and mustered up a calm facade.


    “I’m afraid we do not, nor do I know of any I can recommend.”


    “It’s just that I’d just like to start with a solicitor who doesn’t call me a liar.”


    “I am not “calling you a liar”, madam” – he seemed to put the words in quotes as if afraid he was soiling his mouth, “I am accustomed to ascertaining the facts of the case.”


    “The facts of the case are, that my husband spent the night with another woman who masqueraded as Mrs. Wye at The Carpathian Hotel. I have the receipted bill. When I challenged him he admitted it, saying it would continue because of Modern Marriage and stated further that he’s a man of the world, or some such thing, and showed me some photographs a detective took of me meeting a platonic male friend in London.”


    D’Arcy perked up and looked interested in spite of himself. “Your husband was having you followed?”


    “Apparently. For all I know it’s still going on – I didn’t see anybody but because I’m not doing anything, I wasn’t really looking.” I’m never doing anything, she thought disgustedly.


    D’Arcy stroked his moustache. “About this friend –“


    “Pomeroy Bronfen – the man we bought Wyvern House from – we ran into each other on the street by the sheerest coincidence. He invited me to dinner and a movie, and because he had a car, he ended up driving me around.”


    “I believe you, of course – I would hope that goes without saying – but I also think it would be sensible on your part to keep some distance from – friendly men.”


    “Should I stay away from all men?” Scarlet asked and D’Arcy looked physically pained. “That will be difficult as I’m looking for a job.”


    “Don’t ride in cars with them, don’t have dinner alone with them, don’t sit in darkened theatres with them,” said D’Arcy huffily. “It is not that I don’t trust you,” he emphasized the word – “It’s a question is what a judge might think.”


    “And what might he think?”


    D’Arcy sighed. “In England, ma’am, it is not possible to get a divorce for adultery if the spouse has been compliant or collusive.”


    She let those terms sink in. This was what she needed to know, this was why she was sitting in this dreadfully overheated room listening to this silly little man. She needed to find out what game Ian was playing.


    “You mean if we both have affairs?”


    “If neither one of you – such is English law – truly can be considered an injured party.”


    She stared at him. She wanted to tell him what she thought of English law – what a bunch of idiots they all were – but she knew that wouldn’t help.


    “I gather your husband doesn’t desire this divorce,” said D’Arcy.


    “You gather correctly. And it isn’t for any reason flattering to me, it’s because of this division that exists in my husband’s mind between “wives” and “girlfriends.”


    “I see. He doesn’t wish the categories to – collide, as it were.”


    Was there a human being buried inside this pompous little twerp after all?


    “Exactly. And I want no part of it.”


    “How refreshingly American,” said Pelham D’Arcy, shuffling papers.


    “American?” Was he insulting her again? She bridled.


    “It’s very American to want to be both wife and girlfriend,” said D’Arcy. “But I must say my wife shares your view.”


    Scarlet felt enormous relief. Perhaps this man would do after all.


    “Hopefully the world will come around to our opinion,” she said. “So, given all this, what do you recommend?”


    “Under the scenario you describe, I recommend we hire a detective of our own, get the goods on hubby so to speak – romantic and financial – and you file for divorce. A settlement contract will prove a more productive path than separate maintenance which allows him to play bloody hell with your allowance. And he seems to be a gamesman. I’ve got an excellent fellow – er, detective – er, Bogswell.”


    “Thank you,” sighed Scarlet. “What do I owe you?”


    D’Arcy raised a blocking hand.


    “Nothing until we get a better sense of your husband’s assets. I also suggest we establish a trust with you as the trustee, and you write a will.”


    “Why a will?”


    “It’s part of establishing the trust. A trust allows you to open a bank account in your own name which your husband won’t have access to – which I’m afraid you will find difficult otherwise.”


    “I’ve got even fewer assets than he’s got,” Scarlet sighed.


    “I beg to differ. I believe you said something about an infant child?”


    Scarlet brightened. “Yes, there’s always Nicholas.” An asset indeed.


    The session ended warmly on a handshake.


    “I suggest you obtain a separate address your husband doesn’t know about,” said D’Arcy. “Until you notify me I will await your call here or at my home – here’s the number to exchange news. And I’ll take that hotel bill, by the way.”


    “Sounds smart,” said Scarlet. Yes, it did.