CALEB JOSEPH WARNER
Three stories you won’t believe—or read!!
The next story I am going to write is about an african penguin coming to the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ. I would tell you the details of this story further, but in order to surprise you, let’s just leave you with that titillating premise. The working title for it is, “Out of the Zoo I Have Called my Daughter”. I am really excited about it. It’s inspired by the dream I had last night and the entire story just came to me. Plus, it works well with a bundle of short stories I am currently working on tentatively called, “Three Stories to Concern Us”. Yet with the advent of this story, I think I am going to kick out the one I have already written and wasn’t sure about to once more spend its time in the trash disposal. I am privileged to do this.
I am taking a break from working on my novel. I am certainly going to finish it. I have said before that there is only one short story I have never finished, called “The Peacock’s Blanket”. It’s about this mother and daughter who go into a yarn shop while they are driving from Delver, Illinois (a fictional place) to New York (another fictional place). I was initially really excited about the story! The way I have in the past generated stories is by counterpointing two premises. The two story ideas counterpointed there, unfortunately, were not enough to generate a good story.
My only way of fixing it was, I guess, to make it much more complicated than it ought to have been. I started imagining their slow progression into the yarn shop and then into the apartment of the owner as the three stages of the soul, blah blah blah. You can guess why it failed—because it sucked. I just wanted to write an honest-to-God love story, but it ended up being this subtle piece of realist schlock. And I kid you not, in order to have the ending at least be interesting, I asked myself, “This might be better if the shop owner is an alien in disguise, or like a wizard who’s going to curse them and keep them there forever. I mean he’s a lonely old creepy dude who invites this mother and daughter into his apartment, surely there’s some wacko thing up beyond just his loneliness.”
Once you get to the point of asking whether the antagonist in your realist story should be an alien in disguise, you need to stop. Just stop. Go somewhere else, be someone else for someone else. No one asked you to perform your song of C-chords over and over again. In fact, we’ll pay you to stop.
But none of this misery of course applies to my newest story about the penguin, I can assure you. This one is sheer brilliance! Plus what I like about it is that it has given me a concept to work with in the micro collection. The first story I am currently putting through the editing wringer is about these two brothers and the nephew who make idols for a living in this valley. The uncle is tired of living in the valley, though, so without further adieu I might as well tell you that they try to escape. Does it work? Ah no. Does that mean something significant? You bet your bottom dollar it means something that is double-dog-baby-Bad-News-Bears.
The next story is about the penguin that comes to the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ. I won’t explain further, lest I spoil the excitement like I just did with the last one, but it does end with her on an airplane flying somewhere. Oh! Where? Tell me, tell me PLEASE!
And then the next story—which is totally a different thing entirely than the penguin—begins with a dude on an airplane flying to a far eastern country, in hopes that he will begin his vigilante career there. This story is based off a friend, actually, and I am not entirely sure what is going to happen in the story yet, but I do know how it ends. And I know vaguely what happens in the middle, but we’ll see how much I balance the fiction with the nonfictional raw material of my own experience and that of my friend’s.
When Novel is Spelled Ennui
Why am I doing all this, you ask? Because frankly, I have been working on the same novel-within-a-novel since October. It’s been lingering at around 50,000 words for like a month now and I am ashamed of going back to it. It is of a form and style so strange and unusual even to myself that I have thought about disowning the entire thing. Not just the entire thing, but disowning the entire mammoth collection that I have been working on for the past three years. You might think this is reactionary and a very unhealthy thing to do for someone with such a positively successful writing career so far, but let’s be honest: those stories need so much work.
The earlier ones, especially, within the collection. I might have been excited about the entire epic, ambitious thing one year ago, but as I have grown as a writer and in my taste and in my disposition, I have grown away from those stories. It’s almost like someone else wrote them. So if I get to heavily re-writing them in the next few months, maybe that will be of advantage to me. At the same time, maybe it won’t be. What’s worse, I made the decision of making the stories so interconnected and so linked together, such that if I were to take out the stories that I most enjoy and think are the strongest out of the collection, I am afraid that they will not stand on their own.
But don’t be afraid. I will finish the damn thing…just let me…do these three stories. And then after the enlivening fulfillment of having written, edited, completed, and published a smaller thing, with the sales and the money just pouring in, then I will be ready to return to my ancient ennui. Just not yet, Lord, not yet.
Despite it all, there’s still cheap brandy
In the meantime, in all that time in between work and this writing, I am either researching penguins (a recent development as of today. I am especially fond of the viral videos of penguins slipping on the ice, or the less viewed videos of african penguins clicking their beaks against cameras, one of which was so adorable, I almost got a little teary-eyed), hallucinogenic drugs (purely research, purely (I’m not kidding (I would call myself a psychonautic if I hated myself and loved fedoras))), SEO optimization, Patricia Highsmith (whose honesty about sexuality is enough to make a grown man not be interested I guess), and mixed drinks containing brandy. I have my sights next on the Porto Flip, which is made with port, brandy, and egg yolk—though one of my friends pointed out that it is not in fact egg yolk, but egg white. I don’t know the truth. The internet said.