Bathroom Monologue: Flaccid Floods

Every spring they offer aphrodisiacs to the River Queen. They reap the deepest wheat and darkest grain, set it all in burning boats and let them drift down her sacred channels. They do it not for her, but for her husband. The River King is amorous only at the beginning of the season. If his lusts go unmet, he loses his erection and pisses into the river until it overflows. Entire harvests are ruined when the couple does not lie together. Not believing in conventional prayer, they can’t beseech their gods directly and explain how their love life controls humanity’s supper. All they can do is try to help a brother out.

Interview at the Other Side

This weekend I was interviewed by Deanna Schrayer. We covered the dozen ways I started writing, how writers block is a luxury, where my ideas come from and other topics. Feel free to tell me I'm nuts and that's not how writing works.

You can read the full interview by clicking here. Comments or additional questions can go either on the Other Side or right on this post. Thanks for reading!

True Stories of John, 2 - Response to Bracknell

To hear John read today's story simply click the triangle on the left to begin streaming or click this text to download the MP3.


“I’ve always been of opinion that a man who desires to get married should either know everything or nothing. Which do you know?” –Lady Bracknell from Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest

I came upon Lady Bracknell interrogating her daughter’s suitor. Being written by Oscar Wilde, she was a bit of a cock. I took the abuse with him until she asked his age. He said he was twenty-nine. I’d turn twenty-nine tomorrow. She said that was a good age at which for a man to marry.

Then she asked, “I’ve always been of opinion that a man who desires to get married should either know everything or nothing. Which do you know?”

I did the only sensible thing. I got up, carried the play into the bathroom, and responded to the page. It made an unhandsome woman, but it’s seldom you like your in-laws.

“A little of both, madame. The first inclination is to play Socrates and say that I know nothing, but that plea still got him killed. The second inclination is to impress you by claiming omniscience, but any question you should pull from your pocketbook will puncture it. Thus I’m reduced to being earnest. Everything or nothing? I know a little of both. Raise any subject and I can tell you everything I know about it. Just as true, raise any subject and I will tell you far less than the whole of it. In my reply I’ll say a little bit of everything, leaving around it a gaping periphery of what I’ve missed. It’s quite a nothing to be pursued by. It haunts me. The only solace will be when I’m wed to your daughter. There is nothing like a wife to educate a man on how he knows nothing, while she can know everything for him.”

I don’t think she liked me. The suitor answered, too, and the Lady Bracknell replied to him instead. So I turned 29 a bachelor.

R.A.Q. 2010 Edition

There are many FAQs across the internet. But what about Rarely Asked Questions? Who is going to answer them? I am.

Michelle Ann-Flemming asked: "Who would win in a fight: Batman or Monkey?"
---If the Americans were writing, Batman. If the Chinese were writing, Monkey. If, as I currently suspect, a consortium of India and Brazil usurps the world economy from underneath both of us, they’ll be lucky to show up on the undercard, let alone have a headlining fight.

Erin Cole asked: "We the people or politicians?"
---Politicians. I've been a person my whole life and would enjoy the change.

Anthony Venutolo asked: "What's more important: Divine Providence or Manifest Destiny?"
---Destiny always manifests, but when the divine provides, the author of that manifest shows up. That’s when I get out the good silverware.

Linda Wastilla asked: "I am very curious -- do you really write in your bathroom? and if so, where exactly?"
---I compose most of what you read on this site in the bathroom. These answers I’m writing at my computer because otherwise I couldn’t read what you’re saying. If you want I’ll go sit in the bathtub now, imagine a question from you and answer that instead. I’m serious. It’s my birthday. I have the time and who’s going to stop me?

Anonymous asked: "If you were in charge of an alien economy that had no knowledge of, understanding of, or expectations for Earth, what would the price be for a one pound block of Vermont cheddar?"
---If we have no knowledge, understanding or interactions with earth, then Vermont cheddar must not be on the galactic market. Therefore I assume you're asking how much the cheddar would be on earth, outside my jurisdiction. A good pound of sharp cheddar should run you twelve earth dollars.

Cassie Nichols asked: "Of the stories and worlds you've written about, is there one in particular you'd like to visit? Is there one where you'd like to live?"
---Old Teioh. The subject of at least two stories so far (arguably more – I’ll leave it up to readers to do the arguing, if they’re ever of such a desire), it’s my favorite setting. It’s empty of people, can provide food, shelter, sun and peace. I’d only be nervous that, if I showed up there, someone else was writing the story and intended it to reject me in some horrible way. But then, you said the worlds I’ve written about, so I’m saying I get to write my stay there. In that case, really, any place is equally as good as the next since I’ll edit the heck out of it until it’s air conditioned and has good barbecue.

Cassie Nichols also asked: “Who would win in a fight, Vineguard or Lo?”
---Ninx won’t let Vineguard kill anyone, and Lo is restrained by the Cacoas Bonds, and neither of them is terribly accurate at throwing pies. Also, no one knows what we’re talking about.

Rachel Welton asked: “Would you like to write one of your Norse Pantheon stories for publication in a pagan magazine?”
---I haven’t written many stories about or emerging from the Norse Pantheon. Usually it’s just Odin hanging out with his inter-faith poker group. But sure, the P.P.G. is pagan-friendly. Have one in mind?

Cathy Oliffe asked: “What’s your love life like?”
---I have had a very pleasant off-and-on relationship with an imaginary girl since eighth grade. She's leggy (odd, since I'm not a leg man), a splendid cook and has a knack for getting through my BS without even trying. I’ve tried to convince her she’s too good for me, but she doesn’t listen.

Cathy Oliffe also asked: “why is there a little handicapped symbol beside the word verification box on everyone's blog comment page?”
---Because the internet is handicap accessible. Don’t be insensitive.

Deanna Schrayer asked: "What is the color of barnacles?"
---Most barnacles I've ever seen were white with black on the interior. Those, my nautical friends said were quite nutritious if you were starving. But they can also come in mossy green, black or yellow varieties.


Danielle La Paglia asked: "Wonder Woman or Cat Woman?"
---Whoever's free, honestly.

Marisa Birns asked: "Do you make fun of us behind our backs?"
---No. I've never been behind your back.

Ian in Japan asked: “Which of these questions took the longest to answer?”
---Rachel Welton’s, because I had to go through my archives looking for stories about Norse deities. It will take substantially longer if I write a story about Odin, Raven and the rest of the poker group vacationing in Iceland.

Bathroom Monologue: Man is the Master of His Own Home

“Man is the master of his own home,” Douglas told himself. He didn’t know where he’d heard it first, but it comforted him hearing it now. Lord knew he needed to feel comfortable.

He undid his fly. It was the only kind of rebellion he could think of, and he buttoned it back up shortly thereafter. He paced around the living room carpet like a panther. He paced in socks, then remembered how Cheryl hated bare feet on the carpet, took them off. He scrunched his toes into the fabric and grinned like a big cat who knew his prey was somewhere.

“My living room,” he told himself. “Nobody else’s.”

Nobody else’s as of Tuesday when he and Cheryl signed the papers. She got the Manhattan place and he got this. A two-bedroom with goldenrod carpets he’d never wanted and echoes of her criticisms.

“Incapable of spontaneity!” he repeated and undid his fly again. He did it back up before anyone might see him through the window. He tugged on his jeans. They sunk half an inch, then snagged on several years of fast food.

“Surprising you with Arby’s that one time was spontaneous.”

He strolled to her faux-Persian drapes. No one was outside. No one would be up here for weeks, barring the occasional caretaker. This was a summer community.

Douglas remained at the window, watching nobody go by. No caretaker. No ex-wives with hideous red dyejobs. When he released the drapes, his hand wandered back to his crotch.

“Incapable,” he snarled. He undid his fly, moved to re-do it, and stripped off his damned pants before civility could succeed. Let a caretaker see it.

“Incapable.”

He threw the legs of his jeans around his neck like a scarf. He stormed into the kitchen that way, grabbing the phone book and opening the refrigerator door.

“Is it spontaneous to order take-out while looking in your own pantry?” he asked the lettuce. He dialed. As it rang he wandered over to the biggest carpet – the one Cheryl would likely send for in a week, when she realized it wasn’t explicitly in the papers. He sat on it, boxers and toes defiling her awful taste. He wondered if the delivery guy would take a photo of him posed like this so he could send it to his ex.

“No. I thought about it in advance – not spontaneous. I’ll have to come up with something else before he gets here.”

A vaguely Asian voice on the line asked, “Excuse me?”

“Oh, hi. What kind of food do you folks sell?”

“Only Thai, buddy.”

“Oh, that’s great. I hate Thai food. What’s expensive?”

That was spontaneous! And his joint account with Cheryl wasn’t closed yet. As the order-taker listed dishes, he flipped the pages over to Interior Decorators. He circled a number and farted into the carpet.

Bathroom Monologue: Liner Notes for "Non-Starter"

This album is the greatest project of my entire career. In twenty-two years I’d never harmonized so many tracks and themes. It was supposed to come out in 2002, but I got a little carried away researching in India and Pakistan. I wound up composing more material for this than any other project in my life. The big stumbling point was figuring out which track should open the album. The first one I wrote is more middle-material, and there are eleven tracks that really could start the thing off. Finally this summer I decided – screw it, the album will have no beginning. The songs are so intertwined that the only justice is giving no way to start it. That may be too existential for some listeners, but I think a 31-track album that you can’t begin listening to is just what the industry needs. Fuck Hollywood and it’s anti-endings; this is the anti-beginning. Hit play and enjoy it anywhere – the car, subway, airport, club or church. I guarantee it’ll be the same unexperience everywhere.

Bathroom Monologue: What You Want

"They're ugly,” I smirk as our car passes the girls. “They're all lesbians."

My aunt gawks at me in her flannel. I’ve never teased her about this subject before.

"Hey. There are beautiful lesbians."

"Ah, they're all hags."

If she wasn’t a pacifist, she would have slugged me.

"Sorry," I said without a trace of sorrow. "But you know what they say: you don't want what you can't have."

"God, and you’re in college. It's 'you want what you can't have.'"

"Why would you want what you can't have? That'd be moronic. You want what you can have. That way you get it and you're happy."

She turned us off the campus road, towards where there are clean restaurants and other places you’d visit with an aunt. "Not being able to have it is what makes it attractive."

"So if I go jogging for an hour,” I say, pointing to the side of the road, “I'll only want a bottle of water if I can't have one? It's a dollar at the college store. I’ve got a dollar."

“But the things you really want are what you can’t have.”

“I’m going to college. This is, what? Thirty thousand a year? If there was something else I really wanted, I could probably swing the loans.”

“You’ll get it when you’re older.”

“And when I do? I’ll have wanted it.”

An hour later, I paid for lunch. Eleven years later I finished paying off my loans. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have mouthed off to my only rich relative like that.