The Green-Walled Tower

February 27, 2014

Why Writers Should Blog

I’ve been writing in a serious, dedicated way for about nine years now, but I’ve only had a blog for a little under two years. I had heard for a long time that writers these days should have blogs, but I resisted for the same reason I resisted getting a smartphone: I had gotten along fine for years without one (yes, in some ways I’m a mental octogenarian). Here is what I learned, however, and why I have very glad one of my friends finally convinced me to start The Green-Walled Tower.

The final frontier. [*]

1. It’s great practice

This is partly bad. Since I started my blog in June, 2012, I have worked a lot less on my novel writing and editing. On the other hand, I have still made progress on several of them while also writing about 450 blog posts, almost 350 of which are fiction pieces. Not all 350 are great, but not all of them are bad either, and some are really good. A few have even been published in literary magazines. Writing is not just a numbers game–quality counts for a lot–but quantity is important too. Before my blog, I probably write fewer short stories in a year than I currently write in a week. And like anything, if you do it enough, you will inevitably get better.

2. You get practice interacting with an audience

When it comes to my blog, page views are great and Likes are awesome, but it is the comments that really make it all worthwhile. People point out things I never noticed, offer good constructive criticism, and make suggestions I never would have thought of on my own. When I wrote my story, The Girl Who Could Snee, one of the commenters said I should turn it into a novel. I hadn’t thought of it, but I liked the idea, so that November I wrote the novel version of the short story and while it still needs a lot of work, I think it definitely has publishing promise (if/when it does get published, I’m going to give a dedication to you, Samesides, for the suggestion.)

In the same way, when I wrote Peregrine’s Bar, another commenter suggested doing more with it, so I turned it into a series and now I’m writing a novella version of it. My point is that comments add an interactive element to writing which is totally different than the traditional method of writing alone, showing it to some trusted friends, and then sending it off to an editor. There is still a place for the old way (I’m not suggesting we all post our novel drafts online) but I value every comment I get.

3. It’s all about the relationships

I don’t like to use the word ‘networking’. While blogs are useful for that, it seems much too cold and calculating. When it comes down to it, I don’t blog to market myself or promote my writing or even gain valuable business contacts. Those things may come, but for me it’s about the relationships with real people from many different countries and backgrounds. There is always the temptation to go on a blitz of Liking a million blog posts I haven’t read or Following hundreds of blogs I’ll never read, in the hopes of gaining more readers, but that would be missing out on the most important thing, which is getting to know the people behind the blogs and blog posts. Because I have gotten to know so many wonderful bloggers, I have done collaborative stories with several other bloggers, gotten tips about publishing opportunities, and I am even working on a book with a good blogging friend of mine. And most importantly, I’ve made a lot of good friends.

Blogging is not always an easy addition to a writer’s schedule. It take time to do it right: writing posts, reading others’ posts, commenting, and replying to comments. Still, I think it is a good investment for any writer. In today’s world, writers do not have to be isolated units–they can be part of a community that is beneficial to all involved.

8 Comments | tags: blogging, outside the tower, writing | posted in Uncategorized

February 26, 2014

I Killed Rapunzel – Friday Fictioneers

By David Stewart

I Killed Rapunzel

I killed Rapunzel.

The hair, it finally got to her. Some say it was the five hours of brushing a day that sent her mad; others, that her conditioner was cursed. All I know is she started strangling people.

She got five cops down on Brown Street; broke their necks with a single tug. Nothing there when I arrived but five corpses, and a single, 90-foot strand of hair.

I finally got her with a poison-tipped comb. No reward; they just handed me a pair of scissors.

Now what am I going to do with thirty bales of flaxen hair?

58 Comments | tags: crime, dark humor, death, detective, fairy tale, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, funny, hair, murder, quirky, Rapunzel | posted in Friday Fictioneers

February 25, 2014

You Have to Follow the Rules

By David Stewart

You have to follow the rules, even when those rules are unwritten social rules, and even when they inconvenience everyone involved. This is a true story that happened to me one Friday last fall.

I go to four schools over the course of a week, so there are several schools I only taught at once a week. One week, my second Wednesday school principal (who was a sweet, grandmotherly type of woman) invited me to a barbecue the school was having that Friday. My Friday school was far away, but I told her I would try to make it, since it was possible to get there if I rode my scooter.

She told me to get there by 3pm and since my classes at the other school finished at 2:30, that was perfect. I rode my scooter along back roads in the mountains and got to the school just before three.

They were packing everything up.

Here was my first dilemma. I could have just taken off, but I didn’t want the principal to think I hadn’t come. That might make her feel bad. So I went through the crowds and found her to say hello.

I was planning to just say hi and leave but of course, as a good host who had invited me there, she couldn’t let that happen. So she told some of the women to get out a grill and cook up some meat for me (samgyeopsal, for those who know Korean food). I tried to refuse, but like all grandmotherly-type women, she didn’t know the meaning of the word “no”. I could have just left, but that would have been rude.

So there I was, sitting at a table while a woman cooked meat for just me, while most other people were sitting around talking or cleaning up. The principal, because she was hospitable, sat next to me to keep me company. She didn’t eat anything, since they had all eaten before. However, she did make up food for other people.

In Korea, when you eat barbecued meat, you take a lettuce leaf, then put a piece of meat on it, with whatever other vegetables or sauces you want, then wrap it up like a little package and eat it in one bite. The principal kept making these up for other people, who had to take them even though they were full, since you can’t say no to the principal.

Like this

After a while, most everyone else wandered off to deal with other stuff and a few women sat talking, while I kept eating. They had made a ton of meat and while it was delicious, I was getting full and felt uncomfortable sitting by myself. I kept asking others to come eat with me, but they all said they were full. I apologized to the women cooking, since they were only waiting there for me to finish. Of course, they said it was fine, since it was have been rude to say anything else. I hope it really was fine.

They had made a lot of meat and I felt obligated to eat it all or at least make a big dent in it. I didn’t eat it all and finally left, very full.

I don’t regret going, since it really was delicious meat, but thinking back it is amazing to see how the iron rails of social etiquette predestined this scenario. It could not have played out any other way without offending someone or at least breaking unwritten rules. Every culture has its own social etiquette rules, some more strict than others, but they’re there so that everything runs smoothly. Whether you like it or not, you have to follow the rules.

…Or do you? What do you think? Are there some social etiquette rules you break?

5 Comments | tags: culture, etiquette, 삼겹살, 한국, Jeonju, Korea, Korean, Korean food, samgyeopsal, school, social rules, Wanju | posted in Korea

February 24, 2014

Xerxes’ War (Part 1)

By David Stewart

After the disastrous dinner with the Hendersons, Xerxes didn’t see them anymore. Even Obsequious Otter didn’t come by anymore, although Xerxes’ Prescient Pigeon said it saw the otter around sometimes. Penelope, Xerxes’ ex-girlfriend and current laundry room wall, didn’t mention if his trip to the Hendersons’ had affected her relationship with their dining room wall Bumble and he didn’t ask. He just wanted to be left alone.

One morning, Xerxes was eating cereal over the kitchen sink and staring blearily out into the eternal, empty grey, when a huge parrot landed on his windowsill.

“Awwk! Can I borrow a cup of sugar?” it asked.

“I don’t have any sugar,” Xerxes said automatically, wondering if he could kill a parrot with one punch.

“Liar! Liar!” the parrot shrieked. “You have at least four cups left.”

“But I’m going to make a cake today and I need it all.”

“Liar! Liar!” the bird yelled again. “You’ve never made a cake in your life.”

“Let me guess, you’re Polygraph Parrot,” Xerxes said. He had dealt with novelty pets enough to know how things worked.

“My owners call me Polygraph Polly,” it said. Xerxes ended up giving it some sugar, just to make it go away.

It wasn’t just Polly either. Over the next few weeks, other animals appeared at the house, sometimes just to say hello and sometimes to ask for things. There was Gregarious Goat, who always wanted to talk for hours; Haranguing Hamster, who squeaked up at him about the lack of hamster representation in politics; and then there was Malicious Marmoset. Xerxes found the marmoset chasing his ShyPhone 4 around his bedroom. It hissed at him, then stole the book he was reading off his table, tore the cover, and threw it in the toilet.

That night, Xerxes pulled out the house manual and figured out how to lock the doors and windows, something he’d never done before. After an hour, he got them all locked, ending with the kitchen window, which was how Prescient Pigeon usually came and went.

“You don’t have a ceiling,” Mr. Pettyevil, Xerxes’ kitchen wall, whispered.

“What?”

“You don’t have a ceiling,” Mr. Pettyevil repeated, and smirked as only a wall can. Xerxes looked up. Dang, he was right. He had forgotten there was no ceiling. It had cost extra and Xerxes had just assumed he wouldn’t need one in an empty dimension where his house was the only thing in the whole universe. Plus, he liked the idea of his walls appearing to go up and up into infinity.

The next day, Prescient Pigeon arrived with a gun, just as Xerxes decided that one might be necessary. He wasn’t sure what kind he wanted, so he was curious what kind the pigeon had brought.

“It shoots gummy worms,” Prescient Pigeon said proudly.

“What?”

“That’s not all,” the pigeon said quickly. “There’s a selector knob here. Let’s see . . . It also shoots gummy bears, gummy spiders, gummy amoeba, and gummy Ten Commandments. See?” The pigeon aimed the gun at the wall and fired with his foot. There was a bang and Mr. Pettyevil shouted in irritation. Xerxes picked up a tiny, gummy copy of the Ten Commandments. It was perfectly readable, or would have been if Xerxes could speak ancient Hebrew.

“Nice,” he said. “I wish I had a porch, so I could sit out there with this and shout, ‘Get off my lawn!’”

“You’d need a lawn too,” Prescient Pigeon said, “but I’m not carrying that here for you.”

That night, Xerxes woke up in darkness to hear something crawling down his wall. It must be that Malicious Marmoset! he thought. Slowly, he reached over and picked up his gummy gun. He flicked on the lights and there was the marmoset, dumping melted lemon sherbet into his sock drawer. Xerxes fired a burst of gummy amoebas at it and it dropped the bucket and darted to the far wall. Xerxes flicked the selector switch and strafed the fleeing marmoset with gummy worms. It screeched as it was hit and finally fled back up into darkness.

The next day, Xerxes coaxed his ShyPhone 4 out from under the bed and called Conrad, his real estate agent.

“Conrad, this is insane. When I moved here, you promised me total isolation. Now I’ve got marmosets dumping lemon sherbet into my sock drawer in the middle of the night.”

“Just wash them. The washing machine still works, right?” Conrad said.

“Well, it turns out the Cereal Python really loves sherbet,” Xerxes said. “He ate it all. Unfortunately, he ate all my socks too.” At that moment, Prescient Pigeon arrived, gasping and clutching a 12-pack of socks. Xerxes took them with a nod.

There was a knock at the door. “And now there’s a knock at my door!” Xerxes shouted over the phone. “In a dimension where I’m the only person, I should not have people knocking on my door.” He hung up and flung the door open.

There was no one there. Instead, there was a note taped to the door. It said:

How dare you attack our cutsey-wootsey marmoset! You, sir, are no gentleman. This means WAR!

For some reason, this cheered Xerxes up. No one had to be polite or make small talk during a war.

(to be continued)

8 Comments | tags: fiction, funny, marmoset, other worlds, pigeon, war, weird, xerxes | posted in Light

February 23, 2014

Private Darkness

By David Stewart

Private Darkness

Felicity prided herself on her unflappability, and yet she was still shocked, one night, to see the moon being eaten away slowly, as if a gargantuan turtle were nibbling on the lettuce leaf that was the lunar disc.

“The moon is disappearing!” she screamed.

“It looks the same to me,” a passerby said, glancing up. “Full moon tonight.”

No one else say it. They insisted the moon was full even as Felicity watched the last silver sliver disappear from view. She watched the stars go dark as God’s spilled inkbottle continued gobbling up the sky.

The next day, the sun did not rise. The streetlights went off at their normal time and Felicity groped her way to work, using her phone as a flashlight. People eyed her strangely as they strode by.

From then on, she lived in a world of darkness and time became only a number on her watch. She began only going out at night, when artificial lights were lit. One evening, she was walking to the store when she heard someone scream, “The moon! It’s disappearing!”

Felicity smiled. It may be the end of the world, but at least she wasn’t crazy.

“Anything is bearable, when one does not have to endure it alone.” – R.W. Guy

10 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, apocalypse, catastrophe, darkness, fiction, flash fiction, moon | posted in Dusk

February 22, 2014

An Ode to Minimalism

By David Stewart

7 Comments | tags: minimalism, quirky | posted in Light

February 20, 2014

Lonely in a Crowd

By David Stewart

Two days ago, I went on an overnight business trip. It was all top-secret government stuff (no, seriously) and they took away our cellphones and Internet access for the whole time. So, it was just me and about eighty Koreans in a remote hotel by the ocean. Everyone was friendly enough and even though I speak Korean and the people I worked with spoke English, it was still a pretty lonely time for me. It got me thinking about why.

Probably the loneliest I’ve ever been was one summer in high school. I had had a girlfriend in another town for a couple months but she broke up with me since we lived really far away and since I didn’t have a license, we could never see each other. Still, I liked her and when I heard she was going to a certain summer camp, I decided to go too. None of my friends were going but I had it all worked out in my head, how we’d meet up again at camp and fall in love all over again.

I arrived there and met her before too long. I said hi and she said hi, then walked away with her friend. I was crushed. Suddenly, I was stuck at a week-long camp without knowing anyone at all. They put me in a room with five guys who were all together and while they were nice, they were their own group.

What I really wanted to do was just make a break for it. I looked longingly at the outer fence. The camp was about 100 kilometres of wilderness from my town, but if I could have just made it to the woods, I would have been totally happy walking home by myself (although insanely cold and hungry). (Postscript: I met another girl there and so the last half of the week was salvaged.)

I know everyone is different, but for me, being lonely is more than just being by myself. I can travel and hike by myself for a week in Korea and be perfectly happy. The same would probably be true in Canada, the US, England, maybe even France. But if I were to go somewhere I didn’t speak the language or where the culture was very different, I would get lonely quickly. When I went to Cambodia with my cousin, I was there a day before him and while that day was pretty good, I would have gotten lonely pretty quickly if I hadn’t met up with him. Some adventures are best shared.

What makes me the most lonely is being isolated in a situation that is uncomfortable or where I am trapped. What about you? When do you get lonely?

21 Comments | tags: business trip, Korea, loneliness, lonely, outside the tower, summer camp | posted in Uncategorized

February 19, 2014

The Last Few Seconds – Friday Fictioneers

By David Stewart

I was quite surprised and pleased to open up Rochelle’s post today and see my picture. For the curious among you, this picture was taken in a small country school in Korea. In the two years I worked there, the enrollment ranged from 14-20 students from Grade 1-6, usually with 2-3 students per grade. Only two were from the area and the rest came from bigger cities and lived in a dorm as a sort of countryside exchange program. The school did have a electronic bell, but it couldn’t be heard well outside, so they hung up this bell to let the kids know when recess was over.

The Last Few Seconds

One minute remaining.

Brent Brianson stares at the clock, willing it to go faster. His lip trembles in anticipation, like a chinchilla caught in a hurricane.

Thirty seconds.

He is doing stretches, running in place.

Ring!

Out the door he goes, shoving aside the secretary coming in. A congratulatory cake smashes to the floor, like an egg fired from a howitzer. Gravel sprays the building as Brent peels out of the parking. A distant rumble indicates that Mr. Brianson has just broken the sound barrier.

The math class stares after him, aghast.

“Mr. Brianson couldn’t wait to retire, it seems.”

(This story is also dedicated to one of my high school math teacher, Mr. Bingle, who vowed he would leave as soon as his retirement came, even if it was in the middle of class. I think he’s retired by now, so I hope he’s enjoying it.)

58 Comments | tags: bell, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, funny, Korea, retirement, school | posted in Friday Fictioneers

February 17, 2014

Xerxes’ Dinner

By David Stewart

Xerxes is one weird guy. He lives in a house in an empty dimension, with some very eccentric characters like his sentient walls and his courier, Prescient Pigeon. Read the preceding stories here if you want: 1. Xerxes’ House 2. Xerxes’ Neighbors

Xerxes’ Dinner

Xerxes was about to go out to a social occasion for the first time since he had moved to the empty dimension where his house was. He had moved there to be alone, but the real estate agency had moved other houses into the dimension and now he was about to go to a neighboring house for dinner. He didn’t particularly want to, but his ex-girlfriend Penelope, who was now his laundry room wall, was dating the dining room wall of the other house and Xerxes wanted to investigate.

At six o’clock, the neighbors’ Obsequious Otter appeared at the front door. “Wonderful ensemble, sir,” it gasped. “I see you are truly ready for this evening.” Xerxes was wearing chain mail, with a bathrobe wrapped around it. “If you would, follow me.”

Xerxes had been curious how this was going to work. He had not been out of the house in the year since he had come to this dimension. Of course, it was an empty dimension, which meant that there wasn’t supposed to be anything in the whole universe except his house. That was the point. The animals, like his Prescient Pigeon or Obsequious Otter, could come and go but they were animals and he didn’t know or care how they did it.

He took a step out his door and immediately stepped onto another porch. For a moment, he had a horrible feeling the two houses were connected, but that wasn’t right. He’d looked out his door before and seen only grey nothingness.

The door opened and a man in a green sweater opened the door. “Mr. Xerxes!” he said. “My name is Ralph Henderson. Welcome to our home.”

“Dr. Xerxes,” Xerxes said. Xerxes wasn’t his last name and he wasn’t a doctor, but he still considered this his dimension and here he made the rules.

“Ah, I’m so sorry. Medical doctor?”

“Occasionally,” Xerxes said, still determined to be as hard to get along with as possible. He stepped inside, took off his bathrobe and hung it on the hat stand.

“Ah . . . can I get you something to drink?” Ralph Henderson asked, his etiquette compass wobbling slightly off true north.

“Do you have mead?”

Ralph frowned. “I do believe we do, in fact.”

“Okay, anything but that. Where’s your dining room?”

“Um, it’s in here, although my wife Heidi hasn’t quite finished with the meal—”

“That’s fine, I just want to talk to the wall.”

“You mean Bumble? How do you know him?”

“He’s dating my ex-girlfriend,” Xerxes said and walked into the dining room. Heidi Henderson was there, setting the table.

“Ah, you must be Mr. Xerxes—”

“Doctor, actually,” Xerxes said, not looking at her and giving a sort of half-wave. He faced the wall. “You Bumble?”

“Um, uh, well, if by that do you mean is Bumble my name, then, then yes. Yes it is,” the wall said. A tremor went through the china hutch pushed up against it.

“I hear you’re seeing my wall Penelope.”

“Yes, she is your mezzanine wall, is . . . is that right?”

“Laundry room, actually. Two industrial washing machines pushed up against her; big old shelves with detergent and fabric softener on them. That’s her.”

“Ah . . ah, I see,” Bumble said. Another tremor shook the china hutch, almost knocking over a decorative plate.

Why am I doing this? Xerxes thought. It wasn’t even that he was jealous. He sure didn’t want to get back together with Penelope, so why was he trying to sabotage things for her? I think I’m just a terrible person, he thought.

Xerxes turned to see the Hendersons standing in the doorway, apparently unsure what to do next. “It’ll still be a few minutes before dinner,” Ralph said. “Do you play chess?”

“No, I only play one game. Do you know strip Russian roulette?”

“Strip Russian roulette…”

“Yeah, it’s just like normal Russian roulette, but when you lose, you take off a piece of clothing. If you don’t have a gun, I could go get mine.”

The two Hendersons were looking at him as if he were a maniac. The problem was that Xerxes said everything in such a serious way, that no one ever knew if he was serious or not. Even Xerxes wasn’t sure sometimes, which was why he preferred to be alone. That way, if he wasn’t joking about something, it was only Xerxes that found out.

“Let’s just watch some TV,” Ralph said. Xerxes nodded and followed him out to the living room, his chain mail clinking slightly.

During dinner, Xerxes tried to keep as quiet as possible. He had a vague feeling he was doing everything wrong and while he didn’t care, he had another vague feeling he should care, for some reason. So, he was just trying to get through the meal and go home. At least the roast beef was really good. Everything would have been fine, but the Hendersons kept insisting on talking.

“So, Dr. Xerxes, how long have you been in this dimension?” Heidi asked, refilling his wine glass.

“Since the beginning,” Xerxes said. “It’s mine.”

“Ah, well we appreciate you sharing it with us,” she said. “We really like it here, so peaceful and serene.”

“I didn’t agree to share it. I think you’re invading my space.” There was an awkward silence. Xerxes helped himself to some more roast beef.

“I know this used to be an exclusive dimension,” Ralph said gently. “But the government ruled that exclusive dimensions weren’t allowed. A waste of the multiverse or something.”

“Well, I don’t want any company. I just want to be by myself,” Xerxes said.

“Then why did you accept our invitation to dinner?”

“I wanted to see your wall Bumble, to annoy my ex-girlfriend.” The atmosphere had gotten almost frosty. Maybe I shouldn’t be so honest, Xerxes thought. That was another reason he hated social situations. Sometimes he had to tell the truth, sometimes he had to lie and he couldn’t keep track of which was which. He could see the Hendersons looking at him with an expression close to disgust and for a split second, he didn’t like himself.

“I’m going to go now,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ll take the rest of the roast beef home though. It’s very good.” He picked up the plate and walked out the front door. It wasn’t until he got home that he realized he’d forgotten his bathrobe.

To be continued…

9 Comments | tags: fantasy, fiction, girlfriend, multiple dimensions, neighbors, otter, quirky, real estate, Russian roulette, xerxes | posted in Light

February 17, 2014

The Green-Walled Twitter

By David Stewart

I just joined Twitter and I’m still not sure I know how I feel about it.

I’ve been a member of Facebook for years and that’s fine, but I’ve always been resistant to Twitter. Maybe it was the name, which sounds a bit like it’s all inane chatter, or maybe it was the stories I heard of people tweeting what they ate for breakfast or how many pieces of junk mail they received.

So why now? Well, I’ve been thinking about it for some time. Part of it was finding things I wanted to say that were too short for a blog post and no where to say them. Ah, the plight of the poor individual with a pithy 140-character remark and nowhere to express it! As well, Twitter is so well established now, that it’s a good chance for a lot of exposure. But I will always be a late adopter, and proud of it.

My username is @greenwalltower, so if you’re on Twitter, go follow me. I’ll try to follow you back too.