More truths that eerily reveal themselves in fiction

From Amy Tan's collection of essays, The Opposite of Fate. Isabel Allende reported a similar experience.



While I was writing the Joy Luck Club, I asked my mother to tell me more about her parents, both of who had died when she was a child. My mother revealed that my widowed grandmother had remarried – a disgraceful thing to do, my mother said, but at least she became the first wife to a rich man. Later my grandmother gave birth to a son; two months after that, she accidentally died, from eating opium while having too much of a good time.



When I wrote the story “Magpies,” I changed the detail a bit; the young widow is raped by a rich man and becomes his fourth wife, a lowly concubine who gives birth to the man’s first son, the result of the rape. The baby is claimed by a higher-ranking wife, and this so enrages the fourth wife about the worthlessness of her life that she dies, not accidentally while having fun, but with the vengeance of suicide.



When my mother read this story, she asked me, “How you know what really happen? Why can you write about things you don’t know?” And then she remembered: I have always been able to talk to ghosts.

More truths that eerily reveal themselves in fiction

From Amy Tan's collection of essays, The Opposite of Fate. Isabel Allende reported a similar experience.

While I was writing the Joy Luck Club, I asked my mother to tell me more about her parents, both of who had died when she was a child. My mother revealed that my widowed grandmother had remarried – a disgraceful thing to do, my mother said, but at least she became the first wife to a rich man. Later my grandmother gave birth to a son; two months after that, she accidentally died, from eating opium while having too much of a good time.

When I wrote the story “Magpies,” I changed the detail a bit; the young widow is raped by a rich man and becomes his fourth wife, a lowly concubine who gives birth to the man’s first son, the result of the rape. The baby is claimed by a higher-ranking wife, and this so enrages the fourth wife about the worthlessness of her life that she dies, not accidentally while having fun, but with the vengeance of suicide.

When my mother read this story, she asked me, “How you know what really happen? Why can you write about things you don’t know?” And then she remembered: I have always been able to talk to ghosts.

Punky and the Revolution

I helped a patron today find the phone number of a family in Italy that had taken her in from a refugee camp when she was a young woman fleeing Communists in Hungary in the 1960s. She cared for this Italian family's children and then eventually moved on to the United States after being granted asylum. She was going back to Italy and wanted to see them and thank them again for their kindness. We were able to find a couple of promising phone number leads and she came back a while later to say that she had reached them on the phone and then we both got a little emotional together. I have a special soft spot for survivors of communist totalitarian regimes because we get a lot of haunted survivors of the Cultural Revolution in China at this branch. Orwell had no idea how bad it could get. 1984 was a real walk in the park in comparison.



Earlier I spotted Punky roving around the neighborhood with a videocamera - just like Leni Riefenstahl, but a lot more mincing and drunk. I was wondering if Punky had taken up videography as a new hobby when the Feisty Old Broad came in and said that Punky told her he 'found' the camera on a playground bench. I'm sure he found that video camera just like he found the bike he stole outside the library. He then tried to sell it to her and every single person that passes through the park, but there were no takers. Even the wig shop/thrift store on the corner, which is notorious for fencing stolen items, won't touch it.



The FOB said that she saw that the frantic and heartbroken owners took out an advertisement in the paper offering a reward for its return in yesterday's paper. The FOB said that she was going to go to the homeless center and threaten Punky that she would call the police on him if doesn't return it. I hope that the rightful owners get it back, but Punky is so spiteful that I fear he will destroy the camera rather than relinquish it, even if it is of no use to him. He's just that petty.



Loretta Update



It's now summer and Loretta has taken a new lover. Putting her boozy coquetry and cozy new lodgings to work, she got herself a man and she is now cohabitating with him in her new residential hotel room. I hope he treats her decently.

Punky and the Revolution

I helped a patron today find the phone number of a family in Italy that had taken her in from a refugee camp when she was a young woman fleeing Communists in Hungary in the 1960s. She cared for this Italian family's children and then eventually moved on to the United States after being granted asylum. She was going back to Italy and wanted to see them and thank them again for their kindness. We were able to find a couple of promising phone number leads and she came back a while later to say that she had reached them on the phone and then we both got a little emotional together. I have a special soft spot for survivors of communist totalitarian regimes because we get a lot of haunted survivors of the Cultural Revolution in China at this branch. Orwell had no idea how bad it could get. 1984 was a real walk in the park in comparison.

Earlier I spotted Punky roving around the neighborhood with a videocamera - just like Leni Riefenstahl, but a lot more mincing and drunk. I was wondering if Punky had taken up videography as a new hobby when the Feisty Old Broad came in and said that Punky told her he 'found' the camera on a playground bench. I'm sure he found that video camera just like he found the bike he stole outside the library. He then tried to sell it to her and every single person that passes through the park, but there were no takers. Even the wig shop/thrift store on the corner, which is notorious for fencing stolen items, won't touch it.

The FOB said that she saw that the frantic and heartbroken owners took out an advertisement in the paper offering a reward for its return in yesterday's paper. The FOB said that she was going to go to the homeless center and threaten Punky that she would call the police on him if doesn't return it. I hope that the rightful owners get it back, but Punky is so spiteful that I fear he will destroy the camera rather than relinquish it, even if it is of no use to him. He's just that petty.

Loretta Update

It's now summer and Loretta has taken a new lover. Putting her boozy coquetry and cozy new lodgings to work, she got herself a man and she is now cohabitating with him in her new residential hotel room. I hope he treats her decently.

Flop Sweet Flop for Loretta

I apologize if it seems that I have been neglecting my blog, but I was away in the beautiful countryside of Connecticut for my cousin’s wedding. I had a wonderful time and got to reconnect with many cousins and friends I haven’t seen in years, but I am now bone tired, jet lagged and all around fried.



At the rehearsal dinner I was seated next to a friend of the groom who is a social worker. She specializes in addiction and works in a methadone clinic. Since that is what my my job seems like at times, my cousin knew we would have lots in common to talk about. The social worker lives in Charleston, WV, and told me that Oxycontin (a.k.a. Hillybilly Heroin) has become a real scourge there, outpacing even crystal meth. Her addicted patients crush the pills to release its time release feature, snort the powder, and then spend the day woolgathering and collecting disability, much like their west coast urban counterpart, the denizens of the park near my library branch.



Happy news on the Loretta front. The city is trying to wean its homeless off of cash handouts by providing more housing and services, and Loretta has been affected by this new policy. Although the city reduced Loretta's welfare payment, it set her up in a room in a residential hotel on the other side of town. Her new residence is far enough away from the park that it is too much effort for her to visit often, although it would finally be safe for her to do so. Archie, the man who broke her finger and stamped on her foot when she refused to share her money with him a few months ago, violated parole and is back in jail, so Loretta is safe from his predations for the time being.



More later after I collect my wits.

Flop Sweet Flop for Loretta

I apologize if it seems that I have been neglecting my blog, but I was away in the beautiful countryside of Connecticut for my cousin’s wedding. I had a wonderful time and got to reconnect with many cousins and friends I haven’t seen in years, but I am now bone tired, jet lagged and all around fried.

At the rehearsal dinner I was seated next to a friend of the groom who is a social worker. She specializes in addiction and works in a methadone clinic. Since that is what my my job seems like at times, my cousin knew we would have lots in common to talk about. The social worker lives in Charleston, WV, and told me that Oxycontin (a.k.a. Hillybilly Heroin) has become a real scourge there, outpacing even crystal meth. Her addicted patients crush the pills to release its time release feature, snort the powder, and then spend the day woolgathering and collecting disability, much like their west coast urban counterpart, the denizens of the park near my library branch.

Happy news on the Loretta front. The city is trying to wean its homeless off of cash handouts by providing more housing and services, and Loretta has been affected by this new policy. Although the city reduced Loretta's welfare payment, it set her up in a room in a residential hotel on the other side of town. Her new residence is far enough away from the park that it is too much effort for her to visit often, although it would finally be safe for her to do so. Archie, the man who broke her finger and stamped on her foot when she refused to share her money with him a few months ago, violated parole and is back in jail, so Loretta is safe from his predations for the time being.

More later after I collect my wits.

Braaains...Internet...Braaains...Internet

The doors of this branch are glass so when patrons crowd outside waiting for the library to open they can see me inside milling about or seated at the reference desk. I can feel them watching me. This library is always busy, but now school is out and our neighboring branch is closed for remodeling so we have even larger numbers than usual. Today well before we opened a mob had already formed. Just like the cannibalistic zombies in the shopping mall of Dawn of the Dead, they were pressing against the glass, trying to get in to eat my brain and/or get first in line for the internet computers, fogging and fingerprinting and smudging up the glass as they pawed at the doors with horrible, mindless intent.

I really shouldn't think of my patrons in this way.

Braaains...Internet...Braaains...Internet

The doors of this branch are glass so when patrons crowd outside waiting for the library to open they can see me inside milling about or seated at the reference desk. I can feel them watching me. This library is always busy, but now school is out and our neighboring branch is closed for remodeling so we have even larger numbers than usual. Today well before we opened a mob had already formed. Just like the cannibalistic zombies in the shopping mall of Dawn of the Dead, they were pressing against the glass, trying to get in to eat my brain and/or get first in line for the internet computers, fogging and fingerprinting and smudging up the glass as they pawed at the doors with horrible, mindless intent.

I really shouldn't think of my patrons in this way.

Bolshevik Beach Reading

Listening to the local listener call-in show on public radio this morning was like listening to a spoof. The topic of the day's show was fun summer reading, and the literary taste of the callers revealed a lot about this area’s 10:00 AM NPR market demographic, which apparently consists of unemployed radical relics of the sixties with indoctrination on their mind. Although I found it hilarious, it would have been enough to give that gorgon-of-The-Right Anne Coulter an aneurism. Here’s some light reading that the callers suggested you tote to the beach, along with your copy of the Daily Worker and Jemima J. Curiously, there hasn't been a run on these titles at the library today.



I’m not making these up - these were actual suggestions.



Chasing Che: A Motorcycle Journey in Search of the Guevara Legend



The Autobiography of Mother Jones



Murdered by Capitalism: A Memoir of 150 Years of Life and Death on the American Left



The Koran

Bolshevik Beach Reading

Listening to the local listener call-in show on public radio this morning was like listening to a spoof. The topic of the day's show was fun summer reading, and the literary taste of the callers revealed a lot about this area’s 10:00 AM NPR market demographic, which apparently consists of unemployed radical relics of the sixties with indoctrination on their mind. Although I found it hilarious, it would have been enough to give that gorgon-of-The-Right Anne Coulter an aneurism. Here’s some light reading that the callers suggested you tote to the beach, along with your copy of the Daily Worker and Jemima J. Curiously, there hasn't been a run on these titles at the library today.

I’m not making these up - these were actual suggestions.

Chasing Che: A Motorcycle Journey in Search of the Guevara Legend

The Autobiography of Mother Jones

Murdered by Capitalism: A Memoir of 150 Years of Life and Death on the American Left

The Koran

You're my bitch, rope toy

We used to think it was absolutely adorable when Billy Jack would methodically gather all of his toys together in a big pile like this, until we noticed that he was arranging his toys like this so he could hump them in this disturbingly aggressive manner. He was not being a little sex fiend, though. Humping of this sort is a sign of dominance, and this behavior signified that we a had a pathologically dominant puppy on our hands. We theorize Billy never got over being the runt of his litter, and now he is hell bent on being the alpha of all.

You're my bitch, rope toy

We used to think it was absolutely adorable when Billy Jack would methodically gather all of his toys together in a big pile like this, until we noticed that he was arranging his toys like this so he could hump them in this disturbingly aggressive manner. He was not being a little sex fiend, though. Humping of this sort is a sign of dominance, and this behavior signified that we a had a pathologically dominant puppy on our hands. We theorize Billy never got over being the runt of his litter, and now he is hell bent on being the alpha of all.

The other day I answered a reference question over the telephone for an elderly woman with the most lovely phone manner, and after we finished her question we stayed on the phone having an interesting discussion about some of her favorite new books. She had such a beautiful speaking voice as well as a droll, urbane wit - definitely the product of a more elegant era. She was like Myrna Loy as Nora Charles in her dotage. After our discussion she spent a good minute singing the praises of library services. Then her voice suddenly darkened and she said, “When I think of what this fucking administration is trying to do to you librarians I just… Oh, please forgive me! I don’t know why I do that. It’s like I have a tiny devil in my mouth that makes me say the most terrible things. Well, have a wonderful day, my darling. You have been most helpful.”



I told her to please call again because I had enjoyed talking to her so much. With the exception of the crankily loathsome AndyRooney, I feel that the elderly have earned the right to speak their mind and if they want to drop an f bomb now and then that’s perfectly fine with me, although I hope in her case it wasn't a harbinger of age related dementia.

The other day I answered a reference question over the telephone for an elderly woman with the most lovely phone manner, and after we finished her question we stayed on the phone having an interesting discussion about some of her favorite new books. She had such a beautiful speaking voice as well as a droll, urbane wit - definitely the product of a more elegant era. She was like Myrna Loy as Nora Charles in her dotage. After our discussion she spent a good minute singing the praises of library services. Then her voice suddenly darkened and she said, “When I think of what this fucking administration is trying to do to you librarians I just… Oh, please forgive me! I don’t know why I do that. It’s like I have a tiny devil in my mouth that makes me say the most terrible things. Well, have a wonderful day, my darling. You have been most helpful.”

I told her to please call again because I had enjoyed talking to her so much. With the exception of the crankily loathsome AndyRooney, I feel that the elderly have earned the right to speak their mind and if they want to drop an f bomb now and then that’s perfectly fine with me, although I hope in her case it wasn't a harbinger of age related dementia.

Shoot up @ your library - a slogan I don't care to see

I was at the branch in the formerly ‘hippie’ section of town yesterday. Although there were still plenty of flower children patrons, they’re now way outnumbered by permanent dropouts, scary drifters, and junkies. In fact, there were enough opiate addicts there that it would make it a convenient time saver for all involved to just go ahead and open a methadone clinic in the branch. I was stationed there because the regular librarian was being stalked and threatened by a deranged female patron the day before. The librarian didn't feel comfortable returning to this branch the next day for some reason and had herself transferred to another branch temporarily. No one bothered to tell me the situation until I reported for duty yesterday morning and I all I could do was wait there like a sitting duck, terrified some angry, crazy woman would come bursting into the library hell bent on revenge. I hoped that her particular mental disorder had not disabled her facial recognition capabilities. Even if she could distinguish me from the object of her obsessive hatred, I prayed that she wouldn't shrug and say to herself, “Well, I’m already here, so I guess the librarian sitting at her desk will have to do.”



I hadn't been to this branch in a while, but I used to work here a lot back when I was a naïve, fledging public librarian and I credit it with bringing me up to speed. One night I went to the children's section and saw that the young woman I had helped print something from the internet earlier had passed out over the heating grate. I immediately thought that she must have slipped into a diabetic coma or suffered a brain aneurysm and shrieked at the tech to call 911. I tried to revive her but she remained inert and unresponsive. Instead of calling 911, the old jaded tech marched over, stood over her and yelled, "No sleeping in the library!" This had about the same effect on her as it did on Uma Thurman when John Travolta plunged the hypodermic needle of adrenaline into her heart in Pulp Fiction. She woke with a gasp, looked around and smiled sheepishly. She then got up and weaved her way unsteadily out the library. Her pupils were pin pricked, what I now recognize as a tell tale sign of heroin use, and soon after we found some hypodermic needles in the bathroom.



I got quite an education the next few times I worked there, and also got good assertiveness training by having to kick junkies off the computers that were nodding off in front of the monitors. Talk about a waste of your turn at the computer! Anyway, I hope that I don’t become so cynical that I won’t recognize a genuine medical emergency when one does happen.

Shoot up @ your library - a slogan I don't care to see

I was at the branch in the formerly ‘hippie’ section of town yesterday. Although there were still plenty of flower children patrons, they’re now way outnumbered by permanent dropouts, scary drifters, and junkies. In fact, there were enough opiate addicts there that it would make it a convenient time saver for all involved to just go ahead and open a methadone clinic in the branch. I was stationed there because the regular librarian was being stalked and threatened by a deranged female patron the day before. The librarian didn't feel comfortable returning to this branch the next day for some reason and had herself transferred to another branch temporarily. No one bothered to tell me the situation until I reported for duty yesterday morning and I all I could do was wait there like a sitting duck, terrified some angry, crazy woman would come bursting into the library hell bent on revenge. I hoped that her particular mental disorder had not disabled her facial recognition capabilities. Even if she could distinguish me from the object of her obsessive hatred, I prayed that she wouldn't shrug and say to herself, “Well, I’m already here, so I guess the librarian sitting at her desk will have to do.”

I hadn't been to this branch in a while, but I used to work here a lot back when I was a naïve, fledging public librarian and I credit it with bringing me up to speed. One night I went to the children's section and saw that the young woman I had helped print something from the internet earlier had passed out over the heating grate. I immediately thought that she must have slipped into a diabetic coma or suffered a brain aneurysm and shrieked at the tech to call 911. I tried to revive her but she remained inert and unresponsive. Instead of calling 911, the old jaded tech marched over, stood over her and yelled, "No sleeping in the library!" This had about the same effect on her as it did on Uma Thurman when John Travolta plunged the hypodermic needle of adrenaline into her heart in Pulp Fiction. She woke with a gasp, looked around and smiled sheepishly. She then got up and weaved her way unsteadily out the library. Her pupils were pin pricked, what I now recognize as a tell tale sign of heroin use, and soon after we found some hypodermic needles in the bathroom.

I got quite an education the next few times I worked there, and also got good assertiveness training by having to kick junkies off the computers that were nodding off in front of the monitors. Talk about a waste of your turn at the computer! Anyway, I hope that I don’t become so cynical that I won’t recognize a genuine medical emergency when one does happen.

I am the devil

The cutest, wittlewist bartender, you say? More like Lloyd, the satanic bartender in The Shining! Here is another picture of Billy Jack and further documentation of his preternatural ability to manipulate and seduce. Placing that little paw on the brick is a coldly calculated maneuver on his (its?) part - save yourself, because he will devour your soul.

I am the devil

The cutest, wittlewist bartender, you say? More like Lloyd, the satanic bartender in The Shining! Here is another picture of Billy Jack and further documentation of his preternatural ability to manipulate and seduce. Placing that little paw on the brick is a coldly calculated maneuver on his (its?) part - save yourself, because he will devour your soul.

Chicken Soup for your Who-Ha

A while back Elizabeth and I were browsing in a used book store and noticed that all of those fulsome books in the Chicken Soup for your Soul series inexplicably fed right into the women’s sexual health section. Elizabeth remarked, “This must be where you find the Chicken Soup for your Pussy  books." Which isn’t too much of a stretch, considering some of the bizarre and micro market targeted books Jack Canfield's treacly, cultish factory empire emits like so much greenhouse gas. From Canfield's website:

It is our deepest pleasure to offer you Chicken Soup for the Chiropractic Soul. As you begin to read Chicken Soup for the Chiropractic Soul we hope that you will be inspired and moved by the heart warming stories of people like yourself who have chosen chiropractic for a holistic approach to healing, pain relief, and lifelong wellness.

Chicken Soup for the NASCAR Soul features great stories of speed, courage, dedication and over-coming adversity. Buckle up for the fastest-moving Chicken Soup for the Soul book ever as many of the sport's biggest names, including Jeff Gordon and Bobby Labonte, take us inside the race car for one inspirational and uplifting story after another. You'll also hear from devoted fans who share how NASCAR has touched their lives.

Do you love your dental team? Once you've read Chicken Soup for the Dental Soul, you'll never think of the dental office—and the professionals who work there—in the same way again. Eavesdrop on kids at the dentist as they make you laugh and cry; delight in hilarious Tooth Fairy adventures; share in the heartwarming experiences of service to the poor and dental missions to third-world countries; see people's self esteem soar and their lives turn around—all thanks to the help of a caring dental team.

I can never get through one goddamned day at the reference desk without having to help at least one person find one of these insipid ‘inspirational’ books. Here is a list I have compiled for future suggestions, inspired by patrons at the library today.

Chicken Soup for the Bipolar Patron Who Forgot to Take his Meds

Chicken Soup for the Stressed Mother Who Just Lost It with Her Child in the Video Section

Chicken Soup for the Haunted, Heroin Addicted Vietnam Vet

Chicken Soup for the Cheap Euro Tourist Who Would Rather Wait Two Hours for the Internet than Pay for it at the Reasonably Priced Internet Cafe across the Street (they can read it while they wait!)

Chicken Soup for the Vegan’s Soul. Oh, wait… (Elizabeth’s contribution)

Chicken Soup for the Latchkey child who is on his own for Lunch

Chicken Soup for the Computer Game Addicted Child with Gnarled Hands who Hasn’t Played Outside in Years

Chicken Soup for the Oddly Attractive Exposure Tanned Homeless Man

Chicken Soup seething with Salmonella for the Gorgon (hateful woman who yells at the staff and lies pathologically about when she returned her items to weasel out of her late fines)

Chicken Soup for the Skeevy Relic from the Beat Generation Who Now Lives in a Depressing Residential Hotel and Thinks that Women 40 years his Junior whom he Has the Nerve to Hit on Would Actually be Impressed b/c he had a Passing Acquaintance with Jack Kerouac

Chicken Soup for the Sleeper Cell Terrorist

Chicken Soup for the Book Defacer’s Soul

Chicken Soup for your Who-Ha

A while back Elizabeth and I were browsing in a used book store and noticed that all of those fulsome books in the Chicken Soup for your Soul series inexplicably fed right into the women’s sexual health section. Elizabeth remarked, “This must be where you find the Chicken Soup for your Pussy  books." Which isn’t too much of a stretch, considering some of the bizarre and micro market targeted books Jack Canfield's treacly, cultish factory empire emits like so much greenhouse gas. From Canfield's website:

It is our deepest pleasure to offer you Chicken Soup for the Chiropractic Soul. As you begin to read Chicken Soup for the Chiropractic Soul we hope that you will be inspired and moved by the heart warming stories of people like yourself who have chosen chiropractic for a holistic approach to healing, pain relief, and lifelong wellness.

Chicken Soup for the NASCAR Soul features great stories of speed, courage, dedication and over-coming adversity. Buckle up for the fastest-moving Chicken Soup for the Soul book ever as many of the sport's biggest names, including Jeff Gordon and Bobby Labonte, take us inside the race car for one inspirational and uplifting story after another. You'll also hear from devoted fans who share how NASCAR has touched their lives.

Do you love your dental team? Once you've read Chicken Soup for the Dental Soul, you'll never think of the dental office—and the professionals who work there—in the same way again. Eavesdrop on kids at the dentist as they make you laugh and cry; delight in hilarious Tooth Fairy adventures; share in the heartwarming experiences of service to the poor and dental missions to third-world countries; see people's self esteem soar and their lives turn around—all thanks to the help of a caring dental team.

I can never get through one goddamned day at the reference desk without having to help at least one person find one of these insipid ‘inspirational’ books. Here is a list I have compiled for future suggestions, inspired by patrons at the library today.

Chicken Soup for the Bipolar Patron Who Forgot to Take his Meds

Chicken Soup for the Stressed Mother Who Just Lost It with Her Child in the Video Section

Chicken Soup for the Haunted, Heroin Addicted Vietnam Vet

Chicken Soup for the Cheap Euro Tourist Who Would Rather Wait Two Hours for the Internet than Pay for it at the Reasonably Priced Internet Cafe across the Street (they can read it while they wait!)

Chicken Soup for the Vegan’s Soul. Oh, wait… (Elizabeth’s contribution)

Chicken Soup for the Latchkey child who is on his own for Lunch

Chicken Soup for the Computer Game Addicted Child with Gnarled Hands who Hasn’t Played Outside in Years

Chicken Soup for the Oddly Attractive Exposure Tanned Homeless Man

Chicken Soup seething with Salmonella for the Gorgon (hateful woman who yells at the staff and lies pathologically about when she returned her items to weasel out of her late fines)

Chicken Soup for the Skeevy Relic from the Beat Generation Who Now Lives in a Depressing Residential Hotel and Thinks that Women 40 years his Junior whom he Has the Nerve to Hit on Would Actually be Impressed b/c he had a Passing Acquaintance with Jack Kerouac

Chicken Soup for the Sleeper Cell Terrorist

Chicken Soup for the Book Defacer’s Soul