Ay, me. I’ve just returned from my weekend of signings. Friday, I went to Bienville Public Library in Arcadia, visited with several ladies of the Literary Society there and with Harold A. Talbert, an Arcadia resident who is SO KNOWLEDGEABLE, and so full of stories of the area. He and I must have talked nearly an hour. From Arcadia, I went to the Barnes and Noble in Shreveport where I had another sell-out of all my books they had in the store. I spent the night in Shreveport, and then drove to Baton Rouge to the Sam’s Club there and had another good signing. Of course, then I made the trek back to Monroe. I’ve managed to stay off the cigs. The drive time is the hardest for me, but I suppose that’s just another habit. While I was waiting for my time slot at Sam’s, I did set up a signing at the Books-A-Million there in Baton Rouge for Sat. Jan. 12, and maybe another new BAM on Sun. the 13th. I’ll keep you posted. Below are two photos of store workers from the Barnes and Noble Signing in Shreveport. The two workers here were most helpful to me the whole evening and I promised I’d put them on my blog. The first is Lisa, and the second is Stevie.
Author Archives: Rickey Pittman
Friday Programs
Today and tomorrow will be very busy. I’m on my way shortly to Bienville Parish Library in Arcadia. (For some reason, I can’t go there without thinking of Bonnie and Clyde!) Then on to the Barnes and Noble in Shreveport. Saturday morning, on to Baton Rouge to the Sam’s Club there. Last night’s program in St. Francisville was fun! Went well and I’ll get some good press from it. I hope to have some photos to post of it soon. Today I decided to post a short-short story, one of my flash fiction pieces. Let me know what you think of it.
Jewels of Denial
Liam paused and wiped the sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve. After an hour’s climb, he had reached the edge of the vast tumble of granite boulders and he scanned the beach below. It was low tide, and the waves beat the sand with a steady rhythm and the ocean breeze cooled his aching muscles. He leapfrogged the last few rocks, slipped his daypack and metal detector from his back, sat on the warm sand, and drank greedily from his canteen. From his research, he was sure that this isolated beach, known as Lover’s Beach, was the location of a vanished 19th century resort along the Atlantic coastline. The terrain practically guaranteed that no other treasure hunters would go to the trouble to come here.
He set the discrimination on his Fisher Gold Bug metal detector and worked the beach methodically in a grid pattern. He swept the coil back and forth, digging every signal, but found only trash—aluminum cans, pull tabs, and rusted nails. On his fifth pass, the detector gave a strong beep. Expecting only a bigger piece of trash, he gasped when he dug up a gold wedding band. He knelt, turning the ring over in his hand. For a second, he thought the stone actually glowed. The inside bore an inscription: Prehende uxorem meam, sis.
Liam was puzzled by the strange words, but at least they had a romantic sound to them. Then it dawned on him: This ring would be a perfect gift for his wife! Veronica nagged and criticized him constantly, and he felt neglected and unappreciated. She especially hated his hobby of treasure hunting, which she called scavenging. Maybe the ring would help their relationship.
On his way home he stopped at a bookstore and purchased a Latin dictionary to decipher the inscription. He laughed out loud when he finished: “Take my wife, please!”
Liam sighed. “If only someone would take Veronica.”
When Liam returned home late that night, Veronica was watching Woman on Top.
“Hey, sweetie,” he said. “I found a really cool ring today. I think you’ll like it.”
Veronica rolled her eyes and turned up the video with the remote. “Another pull tab, dear?” she said. “More cheap costume jewelry?”
“Hold out your hand,” Liam said.
“I’m tired of the junk your treasure hunting brings home. You should be in the trash business.” Veronica lazily held out her hand, and he slipped the ring on her delicate ring finger. This time, Liam was sure that the stone glowed. This must be a magic ring! Maybe the legends about rings are true! He watched in amazement as Veronica’s face experienced a metamorphosis. It now glowed with excitement and her earlier cynicism and harshness were gone.
“Why, Liam! It’s beautiful!” she cried. She jumped from her Lazy Boy chair and gave him a bone-crushing hug. “Thank you! My darling!”
Liam wondered if he had entered the wrong house or if Veronica’s doppelganger had moved in. However, he accepted the new Veronica gratefully. At last, his wishes had come true. He thought it amazing how this lost ring had changed and energized his wife. Her libido increased so much that he called it the “Viagra ring.” After work, instead of wearing himself out doing his wife’s endless list of “honey-do” chores, he found his feet up in the chair, and Veronica waiting on him hand and foot. She chattered constantly about his greatness, showering him with kisses, thanking him for the ring time and time again. Liam thought that f the ring’s effects were residual, he could rent the ring to other husbands plagued by wives who needed transformations. Men would pay a pretty penny for such power.
“There’s a Latin inscription on the inside of the band.” He snickered. “I translated it at the library. It means ‘I Love you.’ ”
“How sweet! What would you like for supper, dear?” She rubbed his shoulders. “I’ll cook that casserole you like so much. And maybe later, I can prepare a very special desert.” She bent and kissed his ear, lightly biting his neck. “You know what I mean?” The ring glowed brightly as if energized by her romantic mood.
Liam enjoyed the new Veronica—for about three weeks. There were some drawbacks. Veronica’s intense, doting eyes resembled a creature from Tolkien’s Middle-Earth. She wouldn’t allow him out of her sight, even for a second, following his every step closely around the house. Worse, she became possessive and jealous, screening phone calls, suspicious of every female voice. Liam felt smothered.
Liam decided that her Stepford-wife condition must be related to the ring, that perhaps some malevolent spirit had possessed her. The haunted ring had to go. He wanted the previous, predictable Veronica, not the zombie-like slave she had become. As Veronica would not surrender the ring willingly, he used subterfuge, attempting unsuccessfully to grease her fingers with peanut butter and slip the ring off her finger as she slept. When that failed, he resorted to force. One day he tackled her, straddling her arm and pulling the accursed ring from her finger. He left his traumatized wife weeping on the living room floor, begging him to return the ring to her. However, an almost immediate transformation took place. Before he reached his truck, the whining had changed to cursing.
“That’s better,” he said. He returned to Lover’s Beach and threw the glowing ring as far into the ocean as he could. He hoped the ring with its mysterious, dangerous power would be forever lost to mankind. There were other, safer treasures to find. Turning on his detector, he again searched the beach and almost immediately found a silver bracelet. It too had a Latin inscription: Me oportet propter praeceptum te nocere: I’m going to have to hurt you on principle. The bracelet seemed to glow as he stuffed it into his pocket.
A Beautiful Thursday
Today is absolutely gorgeous in weather. ‘Tis my second day of cigarette abstinence. Other than causing me to bite and gnaw the bark off a few trees in the backyard, it hasn’t affected me much. Wish me luck.
In a moment, I’m going to the Post Office to send to my publisher another children’s book manuscript. Wish me luck with that too. This afternoon, I’ll be on my way to Wl Feliciana Parish Library for a program there tonight. I received an email from the director there yesterday, and she seems quite excited. Donnie, Kennedy, a devoted Southerner, just left my house. He recorded me talking about my books, Jim Limber Davis: A Black Orphan in the Confederate White House, and Stories of the Confederate South. He will post what he recorded, plus info on the book and my picture that soon on a Website that features the signed books of Southern authors. I’ll be home late tonight and if I’m not too tired, will post an entry about my program/signing tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll be at the Bienville Parish Library in Arcadia and at the Barnes and Noble in Shreveport. Saturday, at the Sam’s Club in Baton Rouge. This means there’s much packing for me to do this morning to prepare for that. Fall has always been a time when I wrote much poetry, so I thought I’d post one of those fall poems today. I’ve also been reading of the Celts (again). This produces a strong amount of feeling in me for some reason.
Fall Kisses
I’m your oak,
Sacred tree to the Celts,
Strong, weathered,
Full of ancient memories.
When you’re sad,
My kisses will drift to
Your cheek like leaves,
Stirred, floating on the air.
Clutch my trunk for comfort,
Climb my branches
For a better view of your life.
It is good you’re here with me,
Before winter, for there’s a
Beauty in this fall
Neither of us have ever seen before.
Close your eyes and hear the
Leaves descend, and know
That every leaf will be a kiss.
Wild Wednesday
My schedule is becoming a routine. I’ve been working on editing a book the past few days and am drained from that concentration. Thursday through Saturday, I’ll be very busy again and on the road, and it looks like every weekend will be that way until New Year’s.
Today I’ll be at the college. In my ENG 206 class, I’m going to teach the famous Raymond Carver short story “Cathedral.” In my 102 class at Delta, we are going to continue our study of drama with Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, as well as Oedipus Rex and Trifles. Today is really cold. Of course it made me think of winter. I walked outside and saw that some of my Camellias were in bloom, a sure sign of winter, or at least winter coming. Here’s a poem that resulted from some thought about winter flowers.
Winter Flowers
When I purchased my house,
A few Camellias were in my yard,
Were wrapped in vines,
Weeds, and dead branches,
Like mummies waiting for burial.
I cleaned the detritus,
Pruned, and watered them.
Now, they bloom in
Red, white, and pink,
Flowers of my winters.
A gift to America from Asia,
Brought to the West by a Jesuit priest
In the seventeenth century.
I look at those delicate flowers,
Exotic, beautiful in form and foliage,
And I think of you,
How you were,
How you are now,
Blooming in my life’s winter.
Southern Gothic
Maybe it was the proximity of Halloween that revived my interest in the genre of Southern Gothic literature. We are just entering Vol. E of our Norton Anthology for American Literature in ENG 206, and I began with a study of two stories by Flannery O’Connor. I mentioned “A Rose for Emily” by Faulkner and a few other stories as examples of this genre, and the students seemed to immediately sense the ideas behind it. I also illustrated it with movies I consider to be in the Southern Gothic tradition such as Deliverance, Cape Fear, Sling Blade, Angel Heart, Black Snake Moan, The Green Mile, Skeleton Key, and others.
Here is a list of the characteristics of Southern Gothic that I garnered from several sources:
1. Though in some ways it may be built upon the Gothic tradition, Southern Gothic is a distinctly American genre.
2. Characters often are deeply flawed; damaged; disturbing;disturbed, deranged, delusional or diseased mentally; dangerous; and/or deformed in some way. A deep, inner life is usually lacking and they may be broken in body or soul.
3. Plots are built around or at least using the macabre, bizarre, the unusual, the grotesque–things that make us cringe.
4. The humor is a dark humor. Sometimes a mocking humor that attacks our cliches and habits of life.
5. Southern Gothic explores social issues and reveals aspects of Southern culture.
I truly enjoy teaching this genre. If I teach ENG 206 in the future, I’m likely to give Southern Gothic more emphasis.
Sundry Monday Thoughts
My daughter informed me that I’m going to be a grandfather again. I think the baby is due this summer. I really do like this grandfather business. A part of me hopes she moves back to this area.
About New Orleans: When a signing goes well in New Orleans, and the weather is good as it was this past weekend, I’m energized. There’s always something interesting to see. Friday, I watched groups of wildly dressed youths riding bicycles down the street like flocks of seagulls. A lady pushing a baby carriage introduced herself to me as the Jesus type of homeless person, and asked me if I could write a chldren’s book about her babies. “Perhaps,” I said. Well, she wheeled the buggy around and in it I saw a row of dolls. Interesting. As usual, most of the people I sold to in New Orleans were not local and came from all parts of the country.
I’ve been listening to Darrell Scott recently. He is an songwriter with such depth to his lyrics. His song, “Hank William’s Ghost” won Song of the Year ( I think in Nashville). It’s a song about one’s thoughts in the early morning. I don’t have the lyrics yet, and I could not find a site that did. Here is what Darrell Scott said about how he wrote the song: http://www.lonestarmusic.com/lsmsongnotes.asp?id=3702
“A guitar maker friend of mine named gray burchette from north carolina sent a baritone acoustic guitar that he had made for me one august morning—- when i opened the new guitar i started to write this song as if the song were in the guitar and i just had to hang on as it came out—– it was something that had been building up in me to say for a while; basically, the realization that i am as screwed up as can be even though my artsy lofty thoughts allow me to float high above my troubles and shortcomings, sometimes—-but at the end of the day or top o’ the morn, i am as human as they come—– also, i have always marveled at early morning’s meanderings…oh the cruelty . . .”
Schedule This Week: Today is the long day at the college. Tomorrow, I’ll be immersed in an editing job. For those editing jobs I usually vanish to a writing coffee shop or cut off phones, etc. Wedness is college, catch-up, and prepare for another long weekend. Thursday, I’ll be at the West Feliciana Parish Library in St. Francisville. Friday afternoon, at the library in Arcadia, then Friday night at the Barnes and Noble in Shreveport. Saturday, I go to the Sam’s Club in Baton Rouge. Then of course, Sunday will be spent here, catching up and preparing for college again. Busy, but I should be able to post a blog every day this week.
Weekend Report
Wow. It’s been such a busy, intense weekend. I left early Thursday, went to the Ferriday, Louisiana library, and set up an appointment for Dec. 16 to come to the schools there for a program. On the way to South Louisiana, I stopped in at Nottoway Plantation, just outside of Plaquemine. Absolutely wonderful. It is advertised as “The largest plantation home in the South.” You should visit this plantation. My books are now going to be in their bookstore and we are talking about a future signing there. Here is their Website: http://www.nottoway.com/ Here is a photo of the mansion and one of me in the ball room that the grounds manager took.
After that visit to Nottoway, I drove on to Napoleanville and spent the night with my friends there. Friday, I signed books at the Friends of the Cabildo bookstore on Jackson Square. A SLOW MORNING. I thought there’d be more traffic considering the weather was so good. However, my afternoon signing at Tisket-A-Tasket was brisk, and I had another sell-out. I’ve posted below the photos of myself with two book buyerswho wanted to be photographed with me. The first is Sandra, and the second, Charla.
Saturday, I went to the Kenner Sam’s Club, only to find that they had lost my books. After pissing away two hours while they looked for them, (I’m glad I went early) I moved on to the Metarie Sam’s Club where I had a very decent day of signing and selling books. I do love these travels. I always meet so many cool people. I’ll have more to say about my trip, but I’m tired now, so I think I’ll sign off.
Weekend Signings
This morning, I’m packing for my New Orleans weekend and headed down to South Louisiana. I’ve got two appointments, and if I have time, I’ll try to work in some others. Tomorrow, I must get to Pelican early to pick up a couple of boxes of my books, then go to the Friends of the Cabildo Bookstore on Jackson Square, then to Tisket-A-Tasket. Traffic should be high in this busy season with such pretty weather. Saturday will be a long day at the Metairie and Kenner Sam’s Clubs. I’ll end up back in Monroe in the wee hours of the morning Sunday. I wanted to make this post this morning because I don’t know if I’ll get to make another before Sunday. In addition, I need to follow up on some phone contacts, but because cell phone reception is unpredictable on these trips, that may have to wait till Monday.
I have so many projects I need to get to. Just added another editing job last night. Looks like an interesting book though. One project I’ve already mentioned is the collection of poems based on the astrological signs. Another is a new one based on mythology. I recently saw a John William Waterhouse painting and it inspired this poem. There is a great essay on this painting here: http://www.newcastle.edu.au/school/fine-art/arttheoryessaywritingguide/johnwilliamwaterhousessainteulalia.html
A great site on Waterhouse, where I borrowed the painting below, is here: http://www.johnwilliamwaterhouse.com/
The painting is below the poem.
My Saint Eulalia
Martyred in AD 304,
In the terrors of Diocletian,
She is the patron saint of sailors.
In the Waterhouse painting,
I thought she looked like you,
Her beautiful exposed body
Cast to the cold, stone ground,
Falling snow her burial shroud.
Like her, you’ve been tortured . . .
Your heart torn with meat-hook words,
Your face scorched with fire-brand insults,
No one there wants to listen to your faith,
But we sailors do.
Her bones and relics are still
In the Church’s hands,
Kept with great veneration,
As great as the veneration
I have for those you’ve given me,
Relics that have given me fire and warmth.
With my poems I’ve built you a church,
Erected over the sad bloody ground of our hearts.
I am a sailor, and you are my saint,
Protecting, guiding, inspiring me,
And most of all, loving me.
Halloween Short Story
Today, like most Wednesdays, will be spent with college related work. I must also pack and prepare for my weekend signings in New Orleans on Friday and Saturday. Thursday will be spent visiting schools and libraries on the way there, doing the endless networking that we authors have to do.
Anyway, since today is Halloween, I thought I’d post a murder/horror story I had written in the past. I set the story in Dallas, Texas. Let me know what you think of it. (rickeyp@bayou.com).
BODIES IN THE TRINITY
Evil is a true thing in Mexico. It goes about on its own legs. Maybe some day it will come to you. Maybe it already has—Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses
I AM LA LLARONA, AND I WEEP FOR MY CHILDREN. For centuries of nights I have wandered along the waters throughout Mexico. And yes, I walk along the banks of your Trinity River. I have strolled along your Turtle Creek, your Bachman Lake and the other waters. You are surprised to find me in your country? Do not be. No, in my lifetime, your land too was once a part of Mexico.
I am a Mexican ghost, born of a desert tragedy. On that dreadful night, when I realized my lover had abandoned us, I blew out the last candle I had lit for him and drowned my two little children, damning myself forever. But as I was a whore in the eyes of all, what else could I have done? I had given this man my virginity, my honor, my future. No one would help us—-not my parents, not the Holy Church, not the residents of our pueblo. I am forever lost now—in the night, in the madness, pain, hopelessness, grief, and loneliness. Ay, mis hijos, ¿Donde Estan mis hijos?
But I have found I am not so alone.
One night, I came upon a couple–shouting, fighting. Two young children clutched each other nearby, watching. A boy and a girl. They so reminded me of my own.
“Jorge, please, take us home,” the woman said. “The children are frightened.”
The man spat at her and threw her to the ground. “No. I do not care where you go, but you will not return with me.” He cursed, then stormed out of sight.
When I came to her, she was weeping. “Why do you weep, querida?” I asked. She shook her head and did not answer, wiping fiercely at the tears on her cheeks.
I lifted her chin with my hand so she would look at me. “What is your name?”
“Veronica,” she said.
“He was your man, was he not? And now he has left you? Answer me.”
“Yes. But who are you? Are you an angel?”
“Yes, querida. I am your angel tonight—your guide and guardian.”
“Oh, thank you!”
She clutched my legs and buried her tear-stained face in my dress. Her weeping tore my heart.
“Jorge has abandoned me. And now who will take care of my children?” She clenched her fists and held them against her face.
I sat next to her and wrapped my arms around her. “I will help you take care of them. I am your sister. Do you not see the resemblance?” I brushed my fingers through her long dark hair and looked deep into the black-pearl eyes. “I understand your pain. Look into the river. The river holds the secret. The river will tell you what to do.”
Dipping my hand into the water, I held my arm up and watched the drops slip back into the river. As she sobbed and stared at the water, I held out my hands to the children. “Come, hijos.” I led them back to Veronica, and we sat together, staring at the river. In the distance I could see the Dallas skyline, and even in our remote location, the sirens, and sounds of the city roared in my head. I knew what the mother would soon do, and so I kissed each of them and left them there by the water, and followed Jorge.
I found him leaning against a tree smoking. He smelled of tequila and beer. I stepped behind him and gently tapped him on the shoulder. Turning, he said, “Jesus, you scared me. Buenos noches.” He attempted to walk away, but I moved in front of him.
“Ah, but you would not leave me so soon? And such a handsome man.” I stroked his cheek and placed my hand on his chest. “Such very fine clothes. Surely you are able to give a woman all the things she needs.”
“So the lady wants something from me, tonight, eh?”
I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and put my arms around his neck. “I knew a man very much like you once. Why are you here, guapo, my handsome one? You are all alone and along sad waters.”
“I’m looking for a beautiful woman like yourself.”
I could see the lust in his eyes. “Why won’t you marry Veronica?”
He pushed me away. “You know her, don’t you? She sent you? Does she think she can trick me into keeping her? Why should a successful man marry beneath himself? My family disproves of her. As they would of you.”
The arrogance in his eyes enraged me. “But she will have nothing without you.”
“She is no longer my concern.”
“I know you, Jorge, and many more like you.” I clutched him and kissed him hard, biting his lip.
“So the lady wishes to play hard?”
“You have no idea how hard I can play.” I took him by the hand toward the river. “Come, lie with me.”
He grinned. “You will not forget this night.”
“Nor you,” I said.
He struggled to live, but it was in vain. In those last moments, when I held his head under the water, I knew his thoughts. How can a woman be so strong? Will my body be found tomorrow in the dirty water of the Trinity?
You think I’m cruel. A murderer of my own children. A malevolent spirit. Perhaps. But I am no more cruel than your society, which drowns your little ones in violence, in drugs, in neglect. It is a terrible thing to lose a child. If you listen in the quiet of the night, you will hear me weep for my children, and for yours. They are all my children now. I want to save them, but I don’t know how. Ay, mis hijos, mis hijos. ¿ Donde estan mis hijos? And Dallas has many drowning children for me to cry for.
Mason’s Halloween Preparation
Meet my grandson, Mason Alexander Shelby. He will be three in January. I predict he will receive lots of books in his life as gifts. He calls me popi, a term of endearment I borrowed from my Cuban friends when I lived in South Florida. He finally decided on his Halloween costume. Here it is: