Yes, that is the title, I know, I know. Let me explain:
There’s a band called Brighter Death Now that does death industrial music and they have a song called, “I Wish I Was a Little Girl.” For reasons beyond my control—look, when it comes to writing, I’ve said it before and will say it again, it’s often simply that I am a conduit for whatever weirdness has decided to frolic through my brain and decided it needs expression--I decided, no, let's follow the thread here, ahem... My brain decided it wanted me to write a story that played on that idea; but how? (Or, perhaps why? is the pertinent question, you sick puppy, Mr. Smith.) Combine that with an image that formulated in my wee noggin while heading to the beach at Half Moon Bay one day of an arm sprouting out of a conical shell, and we’re on our way! Yes, that’s all it takes; yes, that’s the way the brain works, bizarre imagery and explorations of unfamiliar terrain are the norm. How do they relate? Well, you can find out in the collection, of course. This one’s disturbing, the back to back of the previous story (the title story; see previous blog post) and this one I find quite powerful, provocative. Gender issues are at the core; or perhaps it’s the illusion of myth that drives the story.
There’s a band called Brighter Death Now that does death industrial music and they have a song called, “I Wish I Was a Little Girl.” For reasons beyond my control—look, when it comes to writing, I’ve said it before and will say it again, it’s often simply that I am a conduit for whatever weirdness has decided to frolic through my brain and decided it needs expression--I decided, no, let's follow the thread here, ahem... My brain decided it wanted me to write a story that played on that idea; but how? (Or, perhaps why? is the pertinent question, you sick puppy, Mr. Smith.) Combine that with an image that formulated in my wee noggin while heading to the beach at Half Moon Bay one day of an arm sprouting out of a conical shell, and we’re on our way! Yes, that’s all it takes; yes, that’s the way the brain works, bizarre imagery and explorations of unfamiliar terrain are the norm. How do they relate? Well, you can find out in the collection, of course. This one’s disturbing, the back to back of the previous story (the title story; see previous blog post) and this one I find quite powerful, provocative. Gender issues are at the core; or perhaps it’s the illusion of myth that drives the story.
Hmmm… I’ll let you figure it out.
Actually, stories 2-3-4 touch on a similar theme—how the past shapes the main characters’ present. Where, “The Dark is Light Enough for Me,” taps into a modern Weird Fiction vein, “I Wish…” gets downright surreal, and “Gladiatrix”? Well, that one’s messy, real messy.
Back to “I Wish…” here’s a brief sample, the opening:
***
She is so pretty, thought Leslie. Lean, with just a hint of the woman she would become—if he let her—starting to show in the slight curvature of her tiny hips, and the bud of her nipples gaining uneasy prominence on breasts eager to bloom, jutting forth under the thin fabric of her pink t-shirt.
Perfect.
Leslie remembered his first feeble attempts at transformation and the sweet pain clothespins like deliciously pinching clamps had brought to his nipples.
***
Oh, boy. Yeah, there’s something definitely wrong here--the mindset--but when you find out why this mindset is as it is, you may have a different take on what you are thinking right now. Because, yes, I know: it’s not meant to be a comfortable ride…
Thinking out loud right now, it's interesting, trying to choose samples from the stories. Because there's A LOT going on in most of the stories, as in, transformation--one of my fave themes, actually. What you read here in no way can prepare you for where it ends up. As noted up there somewhere, the last third is wrapped in a warm blanket of surrealism.
Next up, ah, yes, perhaps the messiest story in the collection…
;-)
No, I don't exactly expect y'all to listen to this 'song,' though I used to quite enjoy this type of sonic chaos (and still do, to some extent), though usually without the ultra-distorted vocals. Yeah, must have been a stage, eh? No, actually, I really like the noisy pulse of this one, hehe... Most of you will click on the link and after perhaps fifteen seconds click it off and think, "That John. He IS a sick puppy."
No, I don't exactly expect y'all to listen to this 'song,' though I used to quite enjoy this type of sonic chaos (and still do, to some extent), though usually without the ultra-distorted vocals. Yeah, must have been a stage, eh? No, actually, I really like the noisy pulse of this one, hehe... Most of you will click on the link and after perhaps fifteen seconds click it off and think, "That John. He IS a sick puppy."
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