Talking “A Change in Perspective"

Welcome to the intro video and an excerpt from the twelfth post of my weekly serial, “Sketches from the Café Confictura.” If you’d like to share a comment, please use the comment option at the end of this excerpt. To follow the mystery of Applewood, and get recipes from Mrs. Creaverton, writing advice from Roscoe Belesprit, and fashion tips from the Fastionista, please visit www.ClarissaJeanne.com for new posts every Tuesday at 2:30 p.m. EST.

“These are the dean’s words,” said Wicks. “It’s a game. It’s all a game, still is. You got yourself scouted by the major leagues, and then instead of going to bat you sat down on home plate and said no. Well, the majors are calling again. You’re getting a second chance. By virtue of this endowment board, you’re getting a second chance. But this time you’ve gotta play. And one of the things you need to understand is how to survive this business.”

“Business?” said Roscoe. “We are still talking about education, right?”

“Yes,” said Wicks point-blank. “We sure as hell are. Rule number one, you don’t tell a good student they’re good. You find fault. Especially with writers. Everyone thinks they’re a writer. You throw ’em in the deep end--”

“I thought we were playing baseball, now we’re swimming?” said Roscoe.

“You throw ’em,” said Wicks. “Some sink. Some figure out how to swim. Those are the ones you lose. But most of them, most of them, will keep doling out their money to anyone who keeps offering a lifejacket.”

Slowly, Roscoe said, “Professor, the level of your cynicism is nauseating.”

“It’s not just mine,” said Wicks. “And it’s not just academia. There’s a whole industry devoted to keeping beginner writers beginners. ‘Buy our new edition featuring this year’s rules. You’d better buy it, you don’t want to get caught using last year’s rules.’ We’re competing with them. Come on, now, it makes sense. If a student doesn’t have the confidence to move on from the classroom, they come back for an MFA, or a second undergrad degree, or an alumni seminar. They buy our guides, attend our workshops. Tell ’em they’re good and teach them practical skills, they don’t need you anymore. Keep moving the goalpost, inject a little self-doubt that you swoop in and cure each time, you’ve got ’em coming back for more, every time.” 

  

--To read the rest of the post, please click here to go to www.ClarissaJeanne.com/a_change_in_perspective.html, and then share your comments below--

Thoughts on “A Change in Perspective”? Share them below:

Talking “Lost in the Sauce"

Welcome to the intro video and an excerpt from the eleventh post of my weekly serial, “Sketches from the Café Confictura.” If you’d like to share a comment, please use the comment option at the end of this excerpt. To follow the mystery of Applewood, and get recipes from Mrs. Creaverton, writing advice from Roscoe Belesprit, and fashion tips from the Fastionista, please visit www.ClarissaJeanne.com for new posts every Tuesday at 2:30 p.m. EST.

Yesterday morning, Pastor Sweeney held his hands aloft and posed on top of his church’s front steps, trumpeting his pre-service homily. Even in winter he wears no coat, so the sleeves of his vestments gather down at his elbows. The forty-something’s skin is so white you can see his veins coursing through it, like blue blood dripping. He used to do this thing on the steps all the time, back before he was indicted on the money laundering charges. Yeah, he was cleared, but everyone knows he was just as guilty as the guy he supposedly snitched on, who ended up taking the fall for the whole ring. Even Father Jack across town, if asked, gently admits that Sweeney must answer for his actions--not with God, or Jesus, or the church, but with the people of Applewood. Yep, everyone knows the truth about Sweeney.

Well, not everyone knows it. Or maybe I should say not everyone wants to believe it.

Sunday after Sunday since the charges against him were dropped, Sweeney preaches his services to either a few loyal dozens or just one, depending on how you look at the numbers. His followers usually act as one shared mind, and since he’s been back they act on his behalf, spreading his word by cold-calling, recruiting for his church by handing out glossy leaflets. But this was the first Sunday he’d come back out to do his pre-service homily, a way of “grasping wayward souls in the community and pulling them in.” His words.

Mrs. Creaverton, Doc Graham, Violet, and I had come out of the Café Confictura to watch his show. The four of us made up kind of a human gate across the street from the Our Lord of the Ascension chapel: Graham and Violet held hands, Violet’s left hand was on Mrs. C’s right shoulder, and Mrs. C’s left arm linked with my right. None other than Nessie Fyne stood beside the preacher man; and none of us believed it was by coincidence that his first public outing was happening the day before the vote to remove Mrs. C from the Merchants Association, a vote Nessie was driving. As rumors of the joint Fyne-Sweeney appearance began to float over the weekend, so too did rumors that Violet was the one who unwittingly prompted it. On Friday, our Fastionista helped Mitzy Binkowski, owner of the stationary and pen store Watermarks, find a stellar outfit for an important dinner, and because of this Mitzy all but promised her vote and four others to Mrs. C. Apparently, Nessie now felt she needed to step up her game.

--To read the rest of the post, please click here to go to www.ClarissaJeanne.com/lost_in_the_sauce.html, and then share your comments below--

Thoughts on “Lost in the Sauce”? Share them below:

Talking “To Roar and Purr with Faux Fur"

Welcome to the intro video and an excerpt from the tenth post of my weekly serial, “Sketches from the Café Confictura.” If you’d like to share a comment, please use the comment option at the end of this excerpt. To follow the mystery of Applewood, and get recipes from Mrs. Creaverton, writing advice from Roscoe Belesprit, and fashion tips from the Fastionista, please visit www.ClarissaJeanne.com for new posts every Tuesday at 2:30 p.m. EST.

Well, Violet had a happy little dinner with our fine doctor Thursday night.

The two finally carved out an evening to get together. Violet’s been keeping Mrs. C company during this nerve-wracking week while the Merchants Association decides the café’s fate; but Mrs. C finally realized that, as much as she and Violet love each other, they needed a night off from each other when some Yahtzee dice nearly turned into deadly weapons.

The date seemed to do wonders for Violet’s mood. This morning, she was giggling and whispering on the café phone, an old touch-tone desk model that Mrs. C keeps under the front counter. I don’t know how, but Violet can hold down the register during Friday morning rush while trading sweet nothings. When I went up for my latte, I leaned toward the receiver and called out, “Hey, Doc, from the way she’s smiling I take it you two kids had fun last night.”

Violet laughed. “Oui. And why was it so fun?”

She turned the receiver to me so I could hear him answer, “Because I left my baseball cap at home.” He sounded like he was rolling his eyes while he said it. But he also sounded like he was in heaven, so I guessed the dinner was worth the sacrifice.

For a while, even Violet finally hung up, it seemed nothing was going to bring her down from her cloud, at least not until bell bottoms make their next comeback. She was even talking about what a beautiful day it was, which was strange because if Violet could hibernate anytime the temperature dipped below seventy degrees, we wouldn’t see her again until Memorial Day. And, yes, it was a beautiful day for February, if we’re talking sunshine. But no one wanted to remind Violet that the beauty was deceptive. You know those winter days where the sun is so cheerful and beaming that you can almost see the icicles dripping, and the plowed white mounds shrinking, and you’re bursting to go outside after so many months of dead cold? You’ve grown used to the skeletons of trees and the muted, icy air. Everywhere you walk you crunch through the patina of frost over stale snow. And then one day you look out your window, and there’s this gorgeous sun beckoning you to the party that is winter’s end.

Then you walk outside and it’s still, like, -49 degrees and the first hit of wind cuts through your soul like death metal music, and the one fleeting thought you have before you run back inside to put on no less than a Sherpa-approved coat is that you remember just how deceiving looks can be.

Well, Violet thought it was a beautiful day.

Then Mitzy Binkowski came through the door.

--To read the rest of the post, please click here to go to www.ClarissaJeanne.com/faux_fur.html, and then share your comments below--

Thoughts on “To Roar and Purr with Faux Fur”? Share them below:

Talking “Dialogue Tag, You're It"

Welcome to the intro video and an excerpt from the ninth post of my weekly serial, “Sketches from the Café Confictura.” If you’d like to share a comment, please use the comment option at the end of this excerpt. To follow the mystery of Applewood, and get recipes from Mrs. Creaverton, writing advice from Roscoe Belesprit, and fashion tips from the Fastionista, please visit www.ClarissaJeanne.com for new posts every Tuesday at 2:30 p.m. EST.

While Mrs. Creaverton’s been warring with Nessie and now the Merchants Association, and Violet’s been running hot and cold on Doc Graham’s invitation to dinner (she’s rescheduled twice now), Roscoe’s had a bit of a mystery on his hands. We still had no idea who the strange man was who’d eavesdropped on his salon last week. Mr. X had lurked in the shadows, curled like a vulture’s talon over his tea. Even more unsettling than that? He didn’t just go away. He’s been circling.

Anytime Roscoe’s seen him it’s been a quick glimpse--while Roscoe’s in line at the grocery store he’ll see Mr. X dash through the sliding exit doors; when Roscoe goes out for his brisk morning walk he’ll see Mr. X walk even brisker around a corner up ahead. Each time, Roscoe calls out to the strange man, and then the man disappears. Sometimes, it seems, literally. This is how Roscoe’s been able to rule out at least one possibility of who this guy is.

“He’s not the government,” Roscoe told me yesterday over lattes and Mrs. C’s trial recipe of vegan blueberry cake.

“Why would the government be following you?” I asked.

“I said he’s not the government.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but why even consider the possibility?”

“My teaching style might be construed as anarchic at times.”

“Anarchic?” I said. “Hey, I wouldn’t put it past you to overthrow one of those blogs on writing that just regurgitates the same bad advice over and over--and, in fact, I’d commend you for overthrowing them--but I don’t think you’ve got the government too worried.”

“No?”

“Roscoe,” I said, “you’re teaching twenty-two-year-olds the difference between writing literature and writing whatever comes into their heads. No one’s going to DEFCON 1 over you.” I love Roscoe, but sometimes it’s evident that growing up with a Civil Rights activist mom who saw the shadowy side of government took its toll.

“Sure,” he said, “because those in power have never tried to silence literature or teachers of it.”

Well, okay. He had a point there.

He added, “Then there’s my ex-wife.”

“You think she’s worried you’ll overthrow the government?”

“She wishes I would.”

“I don’t think I knew you were married.”

“Oh, yes. It was a civil separation. I saw her at our daughter’s wedding a couple years ago. She left me because I wasn’t politically active enough. She’s been on more than a few lists, I’m sure.”

“I see,” I said. “Well, then, in that case how do you know this guy isn’t from the government?”

Roscoe shook his head as he sipped his coffee. “He’s too quiet. They like there to be a to-do when they take in a rabble-rouser,” he explained. “My mother taught me that. Rather, those who arrested her, gave her trouble with the IRS, harassed her, they taught me that. They make a show of their strength. Making a to-do gives the public a sense of security, whether it’s really there or not. ‘We’re looking out for you, we caught the bad guy.’ At the same time, they can deepen divides in the masses. Inevitably, some will side with the activist, some against him. It benefits the establishment to make a show of their arrests. I’m fairly certain that’s the only explanation why Cops has been on the air for so long.”

“The government does like its secrets, though,” I said. “They’ve got their dark corners.”

“Yes,” he said. “But those corners are so dark, few people know they’re even there. Those operatives don’t chance coming out from the shadows to get you. They pull you in.”

--To read the rest of the post, please click here to go to www.ClarissaJeanne.com/dialogue_tag_youre_it.html, and then share your comments below--

Thoughts on “Dialogue Tag, You’re It”? Share them below: