25 likes
70 comments
It was a little after midday when I steered my boat into the harbor at Port Moresby, New Guinea, and tied her up at the pier. It was much busier here than it had been before the war started last December. There was a PBY Catalina floating just beyond an Australian patrol boat. I stepped up onto the pier and headed to the harbormaster's office.
Maxwell Parsons, a prewar friend, stood next to a desk. He was dressed in his crisp white Royal Australian Navy (RAN) uniform and was talking on the phone.
“Yes, sir. I know, sir. But there's nothing we can do right now. Lee was one of the best coastwatchers we had in the area, as was Brabham. There was no time to extricate them before or during the Japanese attack. Yes, Lee's wife has been notified. We're still looking for Brabham's wife. No, we don't have a suitable replacement yet for either island.” Then Max paused and added, “Actually, I think I might have one. Good day, sir.” He hung up the phone.
“They keep you busy, Max,” I observed.
“Of course, Ezra,” he said calmly. “There's a war on.”
“So I noticed,” I said.
“We seem to be on the losing side,” he went on. “At least for now.”
I shrugged.
“You don't seem to have any current residence,” he went on. “What if I offered you one? I think you would find it comfortable enough. And you could even assist us while you're there.”
“That depends on what you call 'comfortable',” I said. “I'm pretty comfortable on my boat.”
“Ah, yes, your boat,” Max said. “I'm afraid that we might have to requisition it as part of the war effort.”
I stood up and glared at him. “Max! That boat is all I've got!”
“Just a temporary requisition,” he went on. “We could even improve it. At no cost to you, of course.”
“Cost in what” I asked. “Money or my skin?”
“Money, of course,” he said. “In exchange for assisting us.”
“Do I have a choice?” I asked.
“Of course you do,” he said. “You can either volunteer or get drafted.”
I made a face. “That's not a choice. Jumping out of a plane or jumping off a cliff is a choice. The only difference is that you usually have a parachute when you jump out of a plane.”
“Now, now,” Max said calmly. “I think you would enjoy your new home. There's a nice beach. Plenty of shade and peace and quiet. And a hammock.”
“I'd be on my own?” I asked.
“Naturally,” he said. “Except when you see anything that we'd be interested in. And if the situation gets dangerous, we would naturally remove you and transport you to safety. I trust that's clear enough?”
I nodded. “I hope I won't regret this.”
“Of course not,” Max said. “We'll even deliver you to the island by PBY Catalina this evening.”
“Which island is it?” I asked.
“Vella Lavella,” he said. “It's near the northwest end of what the Americans call The Slot. We'll even loan you a rubber boat.”
---------
It was actually after sunset when the PBY Catalina landed just outside an opening through the reef along the northern coast of the island. I climbed out of the seaplane and into a rubber boat. Waves crashed against the reef. The lagoon beyond looked calm enough.
Max stood at the opening in the starboard side of the seaplane. “We'll be airdropping supplies to you once a week,” he called to me. “You should have enough already to tide you over until the first airdrop three days from now. Any questions?”
“If anything goes wrong, can I sue you?” I called back.
“Of course,” he called. “I'll make sure that you have the best solicitor in Port Moresby.”
“You'd better,” I muttered, and started rowing toward the opening in the reef.
The waves gave me helpful pushes toward the beach. When I reached the beach, I looked back. The PBY Catalina was already fading from sight as it headed back to Port Moresby. With any luck, they'd arrive by midnight.
----------
Day 1: Found the coastwatcher's hut on the island about fifty yards from the beach. Inside the hut, there was a map on the wall near the doorway, with an enlargement showing where Vella Lavella was compared to the surrounding islands. Near the map was both a radio set and a poster showing the black outlines of both Japanese planes and ships. A table dominated the center of the hut with a kerosene lamp and binoculars on it. A little refrigerator near the far side of the hut, within reach of the table, had a little amount of food in it. Enough to last me a few days. Right. I guess I'd better make myself some fishing gear; I'm going to need it. Sitting on the hut's front porch minutes later, I ate a canned dinner. Not exactly what I'd call tasty, but at least filling. Nearby was a hammock hanging from where the roof hangs over the front porch. With any luck it won't … then I heard thunder. At least it sounded like thunder. I ran into the hut, grabbed the binoculars from the table, and then ran back out. I pointed the binoculars in the direction of where I'd heard thunder coming from. For a moment, I thought I saw a plane – or maybe two – heading southeast through the darkening sky. Then they disappeared, replaced by falling rain. I took sat at the table and listened to the steady rhythm of the rain on the thatched roof. At least there didn't seem to be any leaks in the roof … yet. I'm going to turn on the kerosene lamp and see if there's anything to read. There's a months-old Stars and Stripes newspaper. Headline on the front page: Japanese Forces Invade the Solomons. You're a little bit late, chap; they're already here. Several books in a milk crate under the sink near the refrigerator: Mutiny on the Bounty, Dracula, The Maltese Falcon, and Shane. I guess they'll have to do. At least the rain has stopped. I'll get in the hammock and start reading “Mutiny”.
Day 2: Bright, sunny morning. I decide to spend the day fishing on the beach. When I return to the hut with half a dozen fish for dinner, the radio is already alive and I can hear Max's voice.
“Ezra? Are you there, Ezra? This is Max.”
“I'm here,” I said. “I was fishing. Dinner should be good. Better than the canned food.”
“Change in plans,” he said. “First airdrop will be today instead of tomorrow. The transport plane should be overhead in about twenty or thirty minutes. Look for parachutes.”
“Anything decent in the airdrop?” I asked.
“If you're expecting alcohol, you're going to be disappointed,” he said.
“Alcohol I can live without,” I said. “How about a better selection of books?”
“You'll likely find something more to read in the airdrop,” Max said. “Oh, and Ezra, have you seen anything yet?”
“Yesterday evening,” I said. “Just before it started raining. A plane or two, heading southeast.”
“Excellent,” he said. “If you could be more prompt about reporting sightings, that would be most useful to us. Those were probably long-range scout planes from Rabaul, designation Emily, heading for Guadalcanal and possibly further than that.”
“I can be as prompt as a bill notice in the post, Max,” I said. “Is that prompt enough?”
“Quite sufficient,” he said. “And I'm afraid we can't use our names from now on.”
“What's wrong with them?” I demanded.
“Too risky,” he said. “We need to call each other something else.”
“I won't be Little Bo Peep,” I said.
“No need,” he said. “You can be Siegfried and I'll be Wotan. Do you know your Wagner operas?”
“Not really,” I said.
“Let's hope the Japanese forces are equally as ignorant,” Max said. “Oh, and thanks again for volunteering.”
“You know what you can do with your thanks?” I asked angrily.
“Ta ta, Siegfried,” he said and hung up.
I slammed the radio receiver down, not caring if it was broken. I was just sitting down to eat dinner when I heard the drone of a plane overhead. Nearby, I heard the sound of boxes landing on the ground. Everything Max had said was in them, along with a case of Australian beer. This could work out after all.
Day 3: Around dinnertime, I was picking up coconuts on the ground near the beach when I heard the sound of a boat or ship. Looking through the binoculars, I didn't see anything at first. Then I saw a Japanese patrol boat come into view from the west. I hid behind a row of bushes as a searchlight beam swept the beach, first to my right, then to my left. Then the beam went dark. In the darkness, I ran back to the hut, with coconuts in my arms. I dumped the coconuts on the table and picked up the radio receiver.
“Wotan? Siegfried here. Patrol boat passed by. They scanned the beach with a searchlight.”
“Which way were they coming from?” Max asked.
“From the west,” I said. “Do you think they're checking each island in the area, to see which ones are inhabited?”
“That would seem most likely,” he said. “Did they see you?”
“I don't think so,” I said.
“Allied intelligence reported that a troopship convoy left Rabaul this morning,” he went on. “Escorted by several destroyers. Destination likely to be Guadalcanal. If you see them, do notify us.”
“You know I will,” I said. “So far, it's been mostly peaceful and quiet. A man could retire here … once the war ends, that is.”
“Until next time, Siegfried.” Max hung up.
Day 4: Late last night I was sitting on the beach, watching the moonlit waves. I suddenly saw a series of distant lights quickly blinking on and off. They went dark moments later. I hurried back to the hut and grabbed the radio receiver.
“Wotan? Siegfried here. Sorry to wake you up, but those visitors you warned me about are passing by the north side of Vella Lavella.”
“Understood,” Max said. “Heading?”
“Hard to tell in the dark, but I'd guess east-southeast,” I said. “They were sending signal messages back and forth. Sorry I couldn't tell you what they were saying. I don't have a Japanese Navy code book.”
“I'll send you a copy in the next airdrop,” he said. “In the meantime, I need to make an urgent call. Until next time.” He hung up.
I know he's doing his best, just as I am. I just don't like feeling expendable. I want this war over and done with, and my boat back. Preferably tomorrow. Off to bed.
Day 5: Planes overhead. Squadrons. Reported them to Max. In return, he told me that the Cactus Air Force on Guadalcanal is doing what they can. Rather like Faith, Hope, and Charity defending Malta in the Mediterranean. I had to ask who they were, but he explained.
Day 6: Quiet day. I lie on the beach, enjoying the warmth of the sand and the sunlight, while listening to the waves slide up onto the beach and then back into the ocean.
Day 7: Another quiet day. I'm rather enjoying the lack of uninvited visitors.
Day 8: Having breakfast inside the hut while reading another chapter of “Mutiny”. The mutineers have reached Tahiti. Wish I could be there instead of here. Approaching drone of plane engines overhead. I grabbed the binoculars and ran outside. The sky was clear at first, but then I saw a small squadron of twin-engine bombers. At first, I thought they were headed past the island, but then they peeled off and came in low over the island. I heard scattered explosions, some separate, some overlapping. I hid in the hut, covering my head. The hut shook several times, but stayed intact. I reported the attack to Max. He didn't seem as worried as I was, but he wasn't here getting bombed on. I bet that the Japanese know that someone is on one of these islands. Better be more careful now.
Day 9: This morning, while it was still dark, I thought I heard birds arguing in the trees not far from the hut. I grabbed both a rifle and the binoculars. No birds. Instead, I saw shadowy figures keeping low behind the bushes and trees that bordered the beach. Japanese, probably. They'd finally decided to take a closer look. I backed away from the hut, stayed low and hidden. They seemed to be headed for the hut. How did they know it was there?
“Keep quiet and stay close to me,” the woman whispered. “There should be someone inside.”
She was accompanied by two girls. What in the world were they doing here?
I waited until they carefully climbed up the wooden steps to the front porch and looked inside.
“Hey!” I called. “You stay out of there! That's my hut!”
Freezing in place, they looked around and the woman asked, “Who said that?”
“I did,” I said as I approached them. “I'm the only inhabitant on this island. At least I used to be.”
“I'm – I'm sorry, but we came from another island,” she said. “We were told that there was safety on this one. That you might give us shelter.”
The woman had short red hair and was dressed in a brown skirt suit. The two girls looked like sisters. The taller one had shoulder-length black hair and was dressed in a dark button-down shirt and trousers. The shorter one had longer black hair, wore a cap, and was dressed in a similar shirt and shorts. They were all barefooted and tired.
“Who in the world are you?” I asked.
“I am Frances Brabham,” she said. “These girls are Diana and Audrey Larson. Now, if you don't mind, we would like to go inside your hut.”
“Hold on,” I said. “Who told you about all this?”
“An Australian man,” she said. “He said his name was Wotan. He contacted our island while it was being attacked. I spoke briefly with him, explaining what was happening. He told us to head for your island and you would shelter us. If you are the only inhabitant, you must be Mr. Ezra Onslow.”
“That's right,” I said.
“You might want to let him know that we've arrived here safe and sound,” Mrs. Brabham went on.
I made a face, went past them, and grabbed the radio receiver. “Wotan? Siegfried here. Three uninvited guests. Not Japanese.”
“Then they arrived all right,” Max said, sounding relieved.
“You knew?” I asked.
“Of course I did,” he said. “I was the one who told them to go there. The Japanese invaded their island, destroying everything in sight. They were the only survivors.”
“What happened to the coastwatcher there?” I asked.
“Dead,” Max said simply.
“Why here?” I asked.
“It's safer than where they were,” he said. “Unless you'd rather they were captured or dead?”
“No, I wouldn't,” I said irritably, “and you know that. All right. I'll do what I can. But no promises.”
“None expected,” he said. “Oh, and there will be another airdrop this afternoon. Included are clothes for all four of you and additional provisions. Try to stay safe.”
“Do my best,” I said and hung up. I looked at Mrs. Brabham and the two girls; they were standing in the doorway. “I suppose you're all hungry?”
“Starved!” Audrey said.
“I'll show you where the food is, then,” I said.
Day 10: The three ladies are sleeping inside the hut and I'm still in the hammock outside. I can't believe it's been ten days here already. Had my first argument with Mrs. Brabham. I needed something in the hut and they were still in pajamas.
“Mr. Onslow!” Mrs. Brabham said, sounding shocked. “There are ladies in here!”
“So I noticed,” I said. “Now if you don't mind –” I tried to enter.
She blocked me and shook her head. “At least let us get dressed.”
“You are dressed,” I said.
“Not properly,” she said. “If you don't mind?”
I sighed and turned away.
She finally said, “You can turn back around now, Mr. Onslow.”
They were dressed in shirts and pants, including Mrs. Brabham. She went straight to the refrigerator, saw what was inside it, and started removing bottles of beer.
“Hey!” I said. “Leave those alone!”
“I am disposing of them,” she said and dumped them outside the hut. The small pile of shattered remains was soon empty of beer. “There. That's better. Alcohol around children. You should be ashamed.”
“There weren't any children here until yesterday,” I pointed out.
“But now there are,” she said.
“Is this how you treated your husband?” I asked.
She gave me a cold look. “My husband, Mr. Onslow, is dead. The Japanese killed him; I saw it with my own two eyes. He was the island's coastwatcher.”
I suddenly remembered what Max said on the phone at his office in Port Moresby. Two coastwatchers dead: Lee … and Brabham.
“I'm very sorry to hear that,” I said, chastened.
“In war, there are no winners,” she said. “Only widows. It's from a Mandarin poem.”
“Very apt,” I said.
“Indeed,” she said. “Now, then. Would anyone care for some lunch?”
The girls and I nodded.
You must sign up or log in to submit a comment.
Just as amazing as you told me. Honestly I imagined the story much different than when I read it. Great job! :)
Reply
I'm glad you liked it.
I was lucky, as it turned out. It didn't need quite as much rewriting as I thought it needed. I had to add some things, of course, but that was minor. I was expecting major rewrites instead. Once I found out - via Google search and Google maps - that a seaplane traveling at about 125 mph could travel about 700 miles in about 6 hours (or so), then I figured that a round-trip flight from Port Moresby to Vella Lavella (I picked a different island, since Kolombangara didn't seem like a good spot for a coastwatcher; also, since in WW2, there were actual coastwatchers on Vella Lavella in 1942) might be plausible. As long as the plane wasn't spotted, attacked, and possibly shot down during its long flight across the Coral Sea. (It was probably safer on the return flight, because that would be mostly in the dark.) I did change some of the dialogue as well. It still feels a little too much like part of the plot in the movie, "Father Goose", but I'm going to be diverging from the movie's plot soon enough (once I start writing the sequel, that is) because there are things I'd like to think about and write about that never happened in the movie. Rachel MacAdams once said that a movie is like a short story; there's only so much you can show and talk about in a movie (this was while she was acting in "The Time Traveler's Wife"). I agree. Sequels to short stories thankfully give more room for an overall story to "spread its wings", so to speak. Like writing Chapter 1 and realizing that you need more chapters to tell the rest of the story.
Reply
Exactly! Sequels do sometimes help you lay out the story in a much more even and a better way. Also, it took you that much time to research? Wow, you put a lot of effort and work into your stories! :)
Reply
When I first submitted a story to this website, I never thought about writing sequels (or "chapters"). I thought each story would stand on its own. But then I saw other writers write sequels, so I thought, "Well, if they can, maybe I can, too."
I do want to have as plausible a foundation as possible for what I write. Especially if takes place in the real world (or a fictional place inspired by the real world, such as the town of Dandridge, which is a mixture of real places that I've either lived in or visited). I don't usually spend days and days doing research for a story, though. Maybe it's because I can type fast. I don't know. But I find that, after an hour or so of research, I usually have the basic information that I need. If I need more details, I'll do more research. But these are short stories, not novels, so I figure that I don't need huge amounts of detail. The background tends to be sketched, not painted in detail (kind of like what you see on-stage during a play; what's important isn't usually in the background; what's happening in the foreground is what's important). If a reader wants to know more, they can do what I did, use Google (or even better, go to a local library). Or, if it's easier, they can ask me questions and I'll do my best to answer them (and if I don't know enough of what they're interested in, I'll point them to Google or a library).
The bulk of the work being done is actually in the editing stage, not in research. It's rare that I only need to do a little bit of editing. I've had stories that I kept coming back to over several days and fixing/rewriting each time. I think it was a bit of a relief when I realized that that particular weekly contest had ended and I could just let go of that story and do something new. It's easy to get trapped in a feedback loop of editing a story over and over again.
Reply
Exactly! Editing is something (a job) which is almost never-ending! Also, people nowadays (when needing any research) always just directly go to Google instead of going to libraries.
Reply
As long as the editing helps create a story that readers enjoy reading (and hopefully rereading), then it's worth the time and effort. I confess, though, in the midst of the editing process, I just want to get it over and done with. Especially if there are difficult problems to solve (plot, setting, character, etc.). I wish I enjoyed editing more than I do, but I think I'll always enjoy writing more than editing.
I wish I could tell all the writers (those still alive and those who have passed on) how much their books have and continue to mean to me. I think they'd be pleased. I don't think of myself as a fan, but as a bookworm who enjoys well-written poems, stories, and books.
If I weren't so lazy these days, I would get a library card at the local library (it's about 5-10 min. from where I live) and happily check out books and DVDs by the dozen. But I've gotten spoiled over the years by having a collection of books and DVDs that I own, that I never have to return to the library. That feeling of happiness that comes over me when I see a pile of books on the counter at a used bookstore and realizing that (after paying for them) they're mine. Not just at that moment, but from then on until either I give them away or I pass on and someone else gets them. Some people like gold, gems, and jewels. I prefer books. Books won't make me wealthy, but I don't think I could live happily without books nearby that I can read and reread whenever I want to.
Reply
I have to ask--will there be a sequel? I enjoy historical fiction, and this one was alternately funny and suspenseful. And the inclusion of the Mandarin saying, "In war, there are no winners, only widows," was a good reminder of the costs of war
Reply
I've been trying to write a sequel to it. I have some basic ideas of what will happen in the next story (but no idea yet what its title will be), but I'm having some trouble writing it. I think I might have to sketch out the different parts (paragraph A about what happens first; paragraph B about what happens next; etc.) and then flesh it out after I've figured out how the story flows and ends. Maybe I didn't choose the right prompt, or maybe I have to wait a bit for a different prompt (maybe when the next set of prompts is posted this coming Friday). I might try to rewrite the rough draft (which is incomplete right now) and see if I can improve it any.
I borrowed that Mandarin saying from the movie "Arrival". It actually isn't translated into English via subtitles in the movie. There's a YouTube video where there's an interview and a Q&A with the scriptwriter, Eric Heisserer and he talks about that saying and what it means in English (he says he sort of brutalized the original Mandarin saying, added some alliteration, and made it sound more poetic; which made me curious what the original saying was). If it's still on YouTube, search for: "Arrival - Script to Screen" (without the quotes). It's about 90 or 100 minutes long, and it's worth watching the entire thing. I actually wish it had been longer.
If you want to know what "Conflict of War" was primarily inspired by (and hopefully doesn't sound like I'm plagiarizing it), watch the movie "Father Goose". It came out in 1964, but I think it's on DVD now. It stars Cary Grant, Leslie Caron, and Trevor Howard. You'll see and hear some similarities, but hopefully some differences, too. It's been one of my favorite movies for many years now. I'm trying to make my overall story different enough from the movie's plot, but it isn't to do, because I like the movie's story so much.
Reply
Thanks for the Arrival recommendation. I did think of Father Goose as I was reading it! I've only ever seen a trailer for it, but Cary Grant's chagrin over the arrival of the girls reminded me of your main character's attitude. Especially if you enjoy a movie, borrowed plot points are bound to happen (I've done that with Star Trek, for sure). Still, I'm hoping that the new set of prompts sparks an idea so the story can continue
Reply
You're welcome. I just watched "Arrival" for the third time, and it was even better this time than the first two times were. My only regret is that it wasn't longer than about 110 minutes.
"Father Goose" was the last (or one of the last) movies Cary Grant ever starred in; he was also in "Charade" with Audrey Hepburn a year earlier. The movie-goers in 1964 didn't like seeing a grouchy, grumpy, and bearded curmudgeon instead of the charming, funny, and handsome Cary Grant that they were used to. I liked the fact that he was choosing roles that were different from the ones he'd mostly had since the 1930s. I think he gave up after "Father Goose", which is sad in hindsight. But I can understand that it's easy for Hollywood actors (then and now) to get typecast if they're not careful. Mary Pickford was another one whose fans didn't want to see her grow up and play adult roles. Her fans wanted her to stay a kid, but she just couldn't even if she'd wanted to. Even Hollywood has to deal with reality sometimes. I can only imagine how Shirley Temple's fans reacted when they saw her as a grown-up. What? She wasn't the cute little dancing/singing kid anymore? Nope. She grew up.
Btw, if you want to collaborate on a historical fiction, I'm all ears for any suggestions about the sequel to "Conflict of Interest". I have some ideas which I'd be willing to share with you once we start collaborating. Otherwise, I'll hold onto them and see what I can write on my own.
I just tried to write a sequel to "Exodus" and about halfway through I gave up. Maybe I'm trying too hard and just need to wait until the inspiration comes. It's kind of like waiting for a window or door to open. Once the window or door opens, writing stories gets a lot easier (sometimes almost too easy). But as long as the window or door stays closed, I can struggle all I want and stories just fall apart on me. It's not like writer's block. The ideas still come to me, but putting them into a story that makes sense to me and any other reader and hopefully is enjoyable to read can be difficult sometimes.
I would love to write more sequels (not just to "Conflict of Interest", but also to "Exodus", "Mi Casa, Su Casa," and "Aquatic Ambassador" (as well as the third story in the set that started with "Tea for Two")). If wanting to was all it took to write them, I'd happily write one after the other. After all, each story is only around 3000 words (and about 10 pages) each. I'm a fairly quick typist, so It wouldn't take long to write them (editing, however, might take a bit). Maybe I need the creative equivalent of flint-and-steel to make some sparks. I just wish I knew how to.
Reply
It feels like a game of chance sometimes--either the inspiration comes, or it doesn't. I think that's part of why I like writing sequels--I'll see a prompt and think, "Oh, this character would definitely work in this situation." That way, I already have a base, and don't have to build the whole story from the ground up.
I'm afraid I don't have any ideas about a sequel to "Conflict of Interest." While I enjoy reading it, writing historical fiction (and trying to keep it accurate) can be tough. Since I haven't seen "Father Goose," though, maybe I have a more unbiased angle? I'll think about a collaboration and let you know
Reply
(Still catching up on responses from before mid-January.)
Agreed. Some writers can outline/structure their stories before writing the first word. Others prefer to improvise/wing it and just see what happens. Sometimes, like you, the idea for a character comes to me. But sometimes the story comes first, and then I have to figure out how a character (or characters) could act and interact in it. Why are they where they are? Why are they going somewhere else? As long as I don't write these brainstorming ideas down, it leaves the story free to evolve and go wherever it wants to go (not always where *I* want it to go; sometimes stories remind me of cats; a cat will do as a cat will do).
One idea I have for a germ for a possible sequel to "Conflict of Interest" is that a plane passes overhead and soon after, one or both of the main characters grabs the binoculars and sees someone beneath a parachute. The plane might be Japanese, so maybe the person beneath the parachute is also Japanese. It might turn out that the person is someone that Mrs. Brabham knew before the war, back when she and her parents were living in Japan. That person, though, doesn't know that she's on this island.
Or maybe: a lifeboat is spotted on the beach. There's someone inside it. A Japanese sailor. He isn't a soldier, though; he's a cook. Maybe he's the only survivor of a sunken Japanese ship. First, there's distrust between him and Ezra (more so) and Mrs. Brabham (less so). But she's able to use the Japanese she learned in Japan before the war to speak with the sailor. He learns to trust her and eventually he and Ezra learn to trust each other as well. Ezra reports to Max about the Japanese sailor and Max says to treat the sailor as a prisoner and that as soon as possible they'll send a boat or submarine to take the sailor away from the island (probably to a prison camp somewhere). Ezra and Mrs. Brabham might be opposed to this and try to figure out a way to hide the sailor when the people sent by Max come to get the sailor. There might be arguments between Max and Ezra/Mrs. Brabham. Maybe Max suggests that they should all be removed from the island and taken to Port Moresby. But after the ship or sub or plane arrives, a huge storm (a hurricane, maybe?) hits the area and they're forced to stay on the island until after the hurricane heads away. By which time, Max might've changed his mind about the Japanese sailor and about removing everyone from the island. To me, this idea seems to have more interesting possibilities than the first idea had.
Reply
Here's a new thread that we can start!!
My response to your last reply...
Yes, I think that sounds like a good idea, you can just respond to this reply on my most recent story "How I Found Serendipity" and we can continue our conversation there.
Yeah, my reply button is not working either. Before I realized, I accidentally sent 14 copies of my reply. It still isn't working. I wonder what is going on.
Oh wow, only 16 people in your grade! The lowest I've had is 28, and that didn't feel like a lot. I know a lot of homeschoolers have small classes of three or four sometimes, and I can't imagine it. It sounds like it'd be nice though, especially if you were close friends with your classmates. Did you enjoy it?
Haha, yeah. And fun! I've been on one horse and buggy ride. If you ever want to learn more about Charleston history while also being carried around by a horse, come on down to downtown Charleston! If you're ever walking out and about, you'll see a bunch of them.
I think I can sometimes look at the 1980's like that. But it's also good to know that it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. I think it'd be better with the lack of technology, which I hate, but we can't always wish we were living in the past. AND we can't try so hard to make it be like the past. It's always good to look ahead to avoid mistakes that were made either in the past or haven't been made yet...If that makes any sense. Sometimes I feel like I just ramble.
Ouch, poor car. Thanks for the advice on how to avoid it. I don't think my car has ever hit a speedbump, but when I feel like it's coming, I'll remember that!
They were, and thanks! I know she has some sort of stronger medicine that help with her cramps.
Same, sometimes I have to cry a bunch to feel better. It sucks to have to hold it in at school (which I had to do today...AP classes). It's nice that your female friend tried to make you feel better when you were about to cry. I like friends that do that but I also like when they leave you alone. For me, when people say "Are you okay?" It makes me cry even more.
That is awesome that you like helping people, the world needs people like that. I cannot believe that person took so much money from your father. I would have gotten so angry. It's good that you used to donate to charities too, and even if you cannot afford it anymore, giving what you CAN afford is always nice. It doesn't even have to involve money, a simple gesture will make someones day:)
Oops, haha, I guess that is what I meant. Oh my goodness, that place where you stayed sounds like a dream. I'd love to stay in a garret, and to have a library to browse!
Ouch, that does not sound very pleasant, sorry you had to experience that.
Thanks for the advice. I've heard that a few times, even in some TV shows.
I agree, in DECA, we were just talking about that! There definitely needs to be trust between the customer and the employee. People should never be unfair to customers, it makes the business look so bad.
I like New England accents too. I also think it's pretty cool when people can hide their English accent. Like some of the famous actors will have an english accent and you would never know until you followed them on social media or watched an interview of them. It's pretty easy for me to understand country accents, probably because everyone around me had a bit of one. It's definitely more common in Anderson, though. They're way more southern than down here.
That probably is from growing up in more than one region, you've heard a lot of different dialects and ways of talking in the places that you've lived. I know someone who moved to New England and now they've developed an English accent, when they had nothing of the sort when they lived in America. I guess it just changes when you're around the people and the different culture.
Reply
I'll check out your story, then, as soon as I send this reply to you.
The number of Anthropology majors when I graduated from college (1991) was probably about 20 or so. But that was out of at least 300 or 400 graduates. My middle brother's graduation class (not just his major, Fine Arts, but all the majors put together) was probably around 800 or so, or maybe more. But, then, he graduated from the University of Southern California (Los Angeles campus), and I graduated from George Mason University (Fairfax, VA). My university was definitely smaller than my middle brother's. It was like a sea of people on his graduation day. I remember that the late John Houseman (he was in both the movie and TV series, "The Paper Chase", as well as in the Smith-Barney TV commercials) gave a speech to the Fine Arts majors. He sounded just the same in real life as he did in the movie and on TV. I can still hear him in the TV commercial, "At Smith-Barney, we make money the old-fashioned way. We earrrn it."
11th and 12th grade was at a Montessori private high school (which is an unusual concept; Montessori schools are usually elementary school level and maybe also junior high school level). It had its good times and its not-so-good times. Like in a public high school, some classes are more enjoyable than others, some students are nicer than others. But, since it was private, it definitely wasn't cheap. For the mid-1980s, I think it was about $3500 or so per year (unless you took the school bus, it didn't pay for transportation to/from school; it didn't pay for lunches, from what I recall; but I think almost every else was covered; it wasn't a boarding school, so you lived off-campus). Still, I don't think I would've done as well at a public high school. I needed to be somewhere where I felt more comfortable and less stressed out by large, crowded classrooms, hallways, and cafeterias. And it mostly did the trick.
I don't think I've traveled by anything horse-drawn since I was a little kid (before I turned 5). One of my earliest memories was when we lived in Izmir (we lived there from 1969 to 1972), and our maid, a Turkish woman named Muazzez (we pronounced it "Mahsiz", I think), took me to Kindergarten (or preschool) via horse-drawn taxi. There were regular taxis in Izmir, but for some reason, we went by horse-drawn taxi that day. I can still hear the clip-clop-clip-clop of the horse's hooves in my memory. Or maybe that's the horses-and-buggies that I've seen in Lancaster County, PA. Maybe.
There are some specific years in my past I wouldn't mind visiting. But entire decades? Probably not. Like the 1980s, once was enough.
Though, my female best friend one time did say, "Oh, please don't cry." Not out of meanness, but because she was busy getting ready for a train trip (from Seattle to Los Angeles) and she couldn't block me out of her thoughts when she was going through her list of things she needed to bring along. I think what I like is when someone just gives you a hug and lets you cry your heart out. My ex-girlfriend's late mother was like that. She was my teddy bear in human form. Have a bad commute from my place to their house? Her hug would make me feel better. Had a bad week at work? Ditto. When she passed away in 2002, it was hard going through each day without being able to talk with her on the phone or hugging her in-person. I can only imagine how much worse it was for her husband and their two daughters. For me, she was a very good friend; for them, she was a member of the family that they'd grown to love and appreciate over about 30 years. At least she (the mother who died) doesn't have to suffer from epileptic seizures anymore. God be thanked.
But you have to be careful sometimes when people call you and ask for donations. You can't tell if they're the real thing or scammers. It's easier to give money to the Salvation Army, St. Vincent de Paul, Goodwill, etc. because you're there in-person. You know who you're giving it to, and you know that they'll do wonderful things with your money.
When I stayed in that garret at the inn in Coupevile, WA, I remembered when the fictional Anne of Green Gables stayed in a garret. It was sometimes hard to believe that it was the early 21st Century instead of the early 20th Century. But when I got up the next morning, I went down to the kitchen and the inn's owner and his brother were there, cooking for the first breakfast sitting (my cousins were staying in another room at the inn, and we were going to be in the second breakfast sitting). They even let me help set the table and stuff. The inn is the Compass Rose Inn, in case you want to stay there someday. It also has a beautiful garden outside. I took photos of it that morning. There's another inn in Coupeville, the Blue Goose Inn (I think that's the right name), but I haven't stayed there yet. It's supposed to be really good, too.
But sometimes customers can be unfair to businesses. That happened sometimes where I worked part-time when I was studying at George Mason University. It sometimes got bad enough that the supervisor one day said, "I'll handle the customers; you run the photocopying machines." And it worked like a charm. The customers pretty much knew that they couldn't intimidate her or be rude to her (she was built like a football linebacker and wasn't a pushover), and I didn't have to hear what they said to her, because the machines in the photocopying room drowned out the sound from the customers' counter. Machines can be really nice to work with when human egos cause problems. But you can't hug a machine and get a hug back, so humans are nice to work with, too.
You should hear Hugh Jackman's American accent (like in the X-Men movies). I thought he was American at first, but then discovered that he was Australian. But sometimes accents can cause confusion to those who aren't familiar with them. I remember being at a Boxing Day (the day after Christmas) party one year, and an older gentleman and his daughter were visiting from London, England. The gentleman said something polite to me ... and I couldn't understand what he said. I had to quietly ask his daughter what he said. She smiled and said, "Oh, he just said 'Merry Christmas and Happy New Year'." It was like a foreign language to me (more foreign than German, French, Spanish, or Italian), and he was speaking *English*. I can understand Brooklyn accents (maybe from watching lots of episodes of "Welcome Back, Kotter" in the late 1970s). Southern accents aren't too hard to figure out, if there aren't too many twangs and/or dipthongs. For instance, a native of Georgia calls their state "Joh-juh". I've heard Carolinians in North Carolina say "Nawth Carlina." New Orleans has at least three variations: "New Orleens", "New Orlins", and "Nawlins". Then you have Baltimore: "Bawl-imohr", "Bawlmer", and "Bahltimohr". And then you have Washington DC: "Warshington" and "Washington". If you go to Fayetteville, it depends on whether you go to North Carolina ("Fye-et-vill") or Arkansas ("Fayt-vill"). No wonder American English sometimes confuses visitors to America. There's a joke (maybe not that nice of a joke) that also shows the difference in pronunciation in fairly common words. A driver in Tennessee had a broken-down car on the shoulder of a highway. Someone pulled up behind him and offered to help. But they asked, "What are you doing putting flowers around your car?" The driver with the broken down car said, "The manual said you had to put flares around your car and that's what I'm doing." In his part of Tennessee, "flares" and "flowers" were both pronounced "flares". England has its own set of dialects (the northern accents almost sound like Scottish accents sometimes), which can seem difficult to understand sometimes.
Reply
Wow! It's pretty cool that John Houseman said a speech at your brothers graduation and even cooler that he sounded the same in person as in movies.
Oh geez, that is *not* cheap. I don't think I'd be able to go to a private school if it was that much. And since most of ours are in the historic buildings downtown, I bet they'd be even more. That's good that you weren't stressed out in that school. It makes me think of my middle school that I never felt stressed out at. Those types of schools are awesome because you know almost everyone and it's just an overall comfortable environment. Also, when you have to wear a uniform I figure it's easier than choosing an outfit everyday and worrying about that. I had to wear one in middle school but not at my high school now.
Woah! That's pretty cool that you were taken to school on a horse-drawn carriage! I would love that, I think it would make me feel like a princess. Speaking of horses, one of my Christmas presents was equestrian lessons at the horse barn in our neighborhood!
To me, your female best friend sounds like a strong, independent woman. Determined as well. Though, I don't personally know her but from what you have told me, she sounds like it. AW! I love how she was your teddy-bear in human form. People like that are the best. Sorry for your loss. Those are the hardest to get over but I am glad that she had a life of making people feel better, especially you. Epilepsy is horrible. I hate that people have to deal with it:( I have not known anyone personally with it but I have seen how it affects other people who know someone with it.
True, I actually know a club that is held at the Salvation Army here in Charleston and I'm pretty sure they pay Salvation Army for letting them use their building and obviously that money is put to good use!
Thanks for letting me know! I may stay there one day. I'll tell my mom about it tonight! We drive through WA sometimes so if we ever needed a rest on a big road trip, I will remember to recommend this place. It sounds like a nice experience.
I wouldn't be ride to someone that was built like a football linebacker either! I've never worked with a machine before but I bet they are nice to work with because they can't complain or ask questions, but yes, humans are nice to work with sometimes as well. Especially if they are the types that will give you hugs.
I thought Hugh Jackman was American too! Interesting, I wonder why his accent sounded so foreign to you. I've never heard a British accent in person so it may sound foreign to me as well. Just so you know, I read the last paragraph and thought it was pretty funny but we're packing up for class now so I gotta go ahead and send this!
Reply
I don't think anyone famous spoke at my college graduation in 1991. The ceremony was at a nearby concert hall (the Patriot Center in Fairfax, VA), and there really didn't seem to be much to do after the handing out of diplomas (mine was blank, because I still had two classes to complete; once I finished those, I got the real diploma). Mainly a reception where people chatted and drank non-alcoholic drinks.
College (except if you're an in-state student at a community college) can be quite a bit more expensive than that private school was. I think my three years at George Mason University (when I was an in-state student) were about $5000 each (and that didn't count textbooks, course material, etc.). That was just the tuition. My middle brother's yearly tuition at USC in Los Angeles was about $8000, I think (and that was even after he became an in-state student). Which is still cheap compared to Ivy League universities, which can cost well over $15,000 per year (I think some are over $20,000 per year). It's definitely an investment, which might or might not help you out after you graduate from college and go job-hunting. Some high school graduates these days are having to decide whether the cost of college is worth it. The colleges are worried that more and more high school graduates are skipping college and getting a job instead. I sympathize with the graduates; they don't want to go deep in debt if it turns out not to be an advantage after all.
Thankfully, I've almost never had to wear a school uniform. 1) when I was in Phys. Ed. class in 9th grade, I had to wear a t-shirt and gym shorts;, and 2) when I was in JROTC in 10th grade, when I had to wear a uniform like the US Army wears. But nothing since then, except of course for suit-and-tie at office jobs. I was happier, though, when I didn't have to dress up for work. I'm not a big fan of dressing up (though my two older brothers seem to enjoy dressing up).
I'm not sure if there are any horse-drawn cabs in Izmir anymore. When I've looked online at modern-day photos of Izmir (it's a city on the west coast of Turkey), I barely recognize most of it. I have to search for older photos (ones from the late '60s to around 1970) and then things look more familiar. Granted, I was only 5 years old when we moved from Izmir, Turkey, to Fort Bragg, North Carolina, so what memories I have of Turkey aren't that detailed (and sometimes it's like looking at an incomplete jigsaw puzzle; you can see where the missing pieces are, and sometimes there are a few missing pieces, and sometimes a lot of missing pieces).
My female best friend certainly is as you described her. Maybe a little too much so at times. I wish she could be gentle and kind more often. I think she's a little too much like her father, and not as much like her late mother (who died in May 2009). Then again, her mother did tell me in a letter back in August 1992 that I'd chosen a difficult person to love. True. But I'm probably not always that easy to deal with, either. I try to be more adaptable, flexible, and open-minded than I used to be. Sometimes I get the feeling that I'm doing more than my fair share of adapting. I know what Queenie meant when she said to Newt in the first "Fascinating Beasts and Where to Find Them" movie: "She's a taker. What you need is a giver." It's one thing to give (because you enjoy giving), but it's another thing to be the only one in a relationship who gives. A relationship (casual or romantic) should be like a two-way street when it comes to giving.
The woman who was my huggable teddy bear wasn't my female best friend (that's someone else). She was my ex-girlfriend's mother and I was happy that I could be really good friends with her. Because I worked 4 to midnight, I sometimes drove over to her house and we would go out for lunch and/or just wander around the county. I think she was just happy to get outside sometimes, because she spent so much time at home (one of the drawbacks of having epilepsy is you never know when the next seizure will happen). I'd ask her she wanted to go, and she'd say, "Wherever you want to go." I really did want to take her where *she* wanted to go, rather than just where I wanted to go. But I think she meant: you get me outside the house; it doesn't really matter to me where we go; you pick the place or places and let's go there. I also used to take her to some of her doctor's appointments. Her epilepsy actually got so bad in her last few years on Earth that she burned her fingers once while cooking in the kitchen and so, to keep it from happening again, she wasn't allowed to cook anymore. Which probably wasn't a pleasant experience for her (she liked to cook).
Well, some customers *did* try to "push" her around. It didn't work. She was also the mother of a friend I knew in 9th grade, so I had met her before. I just didn't expect to be working for her part-time when I was studying at George Mason University. I remember once she asked, "Why do you let those customers walk all over you?" I pointed at her list of things to be aware of, and one line said, "The customer is always right." As I've learned over the years (as a customer and working behind the counter), the customer *isn't* always right. But you try to help them as best you can anyway. So when I'm a customer, I try to be nice to the employees behind the counter and they seem to appreciate it.
Some actors are very good at imitating foreign accents. My middle brother used to do a very good imitation of the Australian accent. I've been told that I can do a pretty good Jewish New York accent (aka Brooklyn accent), as well as a Lawn Gisland (aka Long Island) accent. I can imitate the late Jimmy Stewart's accent (I think Rich Little, the comedian, does it far better than I do it). But sometimes that imitation bumps into my imitation of the late Sean Connery's accent and the two imitated accents get mixed together.
Hope you weren't late for class.
Reply
I don't think anyone famous will comes to our graduation ceremony either. If they did, it would be a huge surprise. We've only had a few famous people come to our school. Two were from a show called Outer Banks that is filmed in Charleston and the other was the person who sings the Whip and Nae Nae. I wasn't there for him though, I think his rapper name is Silento. Glad they gave you a diploma when you walked across the stage. I've heard of people who didn't get one and had to wait until they finished their classes to get one.
Yeah, college is extremely expensive. Hopefully I'll be able to pay for it. I want to go to Anderson University, SC and I know that it's a lot of money, especially since it's a private Christian school. Geez! Los Angeles is expensive! Ivy Leagues are especially the worst of all of them. I don't think I'd ever go to one unless I got a scholarship...which would be a very slight chance.
I'm not a big fan of dressing up either...except there are sometimes that I wish I could be a princess and they for sure have to dress up, or used to.
I can hardly remember my life from when I was five so it's impressive that you can remember it. Mine was probably much less significant with yours, with all of the cool places you've visited. I've noticed that I remember small moments like the time I was going down a slide and my grandma tried to catch me but she scraped me with her acrylic fingernails. I cried all the way home and that's what I can remember.
That's good that you try to be open-minded and flexible. That's especially good for when you know people like your best friend. And I agree completely with you on how a relationship needs to be two-way and it won't work when just one person gives. That's very true.
That was very nice of you to take her outside, I bet she enjoyed that very much. It's sad that she suffered from epilepsy so bad, I hate that for her and her family. Hopefully they are doing fine without her and her hugs. I bet they wish for them sometimes, and you.
That's good that you try to be nice to the customers. And yes, the customer is not always right, the employee is the one who knows what is going on but no matter what, I've learned that you have to deal with the customer correctly because bad customer service could lose business. That's what I've learned from DECA so far.
My favorite accent to do is probably a country accent. Mostly because I faked one for about seven years while we lived in Anderson. Everyone else had one so I pretended to have one for a few years, and then it just became normal for me. But ever since we've moved to Charleston, I sound less country and just more southern. You can probably catch me saying "y'all" about one-hundred times a day. I got over saying "a'int" because that was just so grammatically incorrect. I remember one time I was in third grade, our teacher was trying to get everyone to stop saying "a'int" and at the end of the class she said "So what'd we learn today?" And my classmate Sarabeth goes "A'int a'int a word!" and everyone laughed.
I wasn't late! It was actually the end of the day so I was getting ready to run to my car and go home;)
Reply
I wish I could've come to the graduation ceremony that Neil Gaiman spoke at (his speech is called "Make Good Art" -- you can find the text for it in his nonfiction collection, "The View from the Cheap Seats" -- apparently it's also in video form (I haven't seen the video yet; I've just read the text version)). I think I would be way too nervous to give a speech to any large audience. Kudos to him for enjoying himself while he gave his speech.
I have little sympathy for those who choose to go to an Ivy League university but can't afford the tuition (much less, the living expenses and textbooks). They could've gone to a less expensive university, but I think they wanted something really impressive to put on their post-university job resume. I haven't heard any complaints about my going to George Mason University. Only one recurring question: "If you work with computers, why did you major in Anthropology?" I'd answer, "Because you need Intro to Calculus as a prerequisite for a Computer Science degree. I would've flunked it. So I had to decide what else was worth getting a degree in. Anthropology seemed the best choice of the lot."
Hmm. I don't think I'd look that good as a princess. Maybe I should try to look like a prince instead.
I don't think I've ever seen anyone I know dressed up like a princess. Most of the girls and women I've known and still know were tomboys. But the few times they wore dresses or blouses and skirts, I thought that they looked really pretty or even beautiful in them.
My earliest memory is from when I was 4 years old, I think. We were visiting Heidelberg, Germany. I remember driving through the town and making a right turn at a square with a statue of the Virgin Mary in it (southern Germany is more Catholic; northern German is more Lutheran). Then we went to a guest-house, where my brothers and I stayed in one room and on the floor above my parents stayed in another room. I thought maybe that this was from a photo or something my brothers or parents told me. But apparently not. It was a real memory. That square in Heidelberg did have that particular statue in it. My memories from then until about age 6 tend to be fragmentary. But they get more solid from age 6 onward. I wish I could say that the more solid memories are mostly happy ones, but that wouldn't be true. It seems that I tend to remember unhappy times more than happy ones.
I've also been criticized for not being flexible enough. "You really get stuck in a rut sometimes," as my female best friend has told me. And then, sometimes, I'm too flexible and people wish I were more structured. Kind of like Goldilocks: it's not always easy finding the happy medium, the balance between extremes.
I think everyone who knew that woman who had epilepsy misses her (especially her husband, their daughters, and me). She really had a strong effect on people. Some people even thought of her as if she was an angel in human form. I thought of her as motherly (an alma mater -- "other mother") and teddy-bear-like during a time when my mother and I weren't that close.
One customer, though, was always a pain to deal with. I don't think it was her fault, though. I think it was the man she worked for. He would always give her something that was really hard to do and wanted it finished the day after it was asked for. One time she came in about 3 pm and needed about 100 copies of a 120-page document (or maybe it was 120 copies of a 100-page document), needed each copy spiral-bound (we had a machine that did that), and it had to be ready by 9 or 10 am the next morning. We got it done in time (without using overtime) ... and she didn't pick it up until about 1 pm (3-4 hours *after* she had asked for it). *HEAVY SIGH*
Y'all kin towk lack ya wanta, but lawda mercy, are they gonna be able to know what y'all are sayin'? They's gonna say, "Speak English!" an' y'all will say, "We is, we is!" (It's hard to do a southern accent in text form; for me, anyway.) I remember once my mother's sister said "Y'all", then looked embarrassed and said, "Please don't tell me I just said 'y'all'." And we said, "You did." One of my cousins has a pretty strong southern accent and asked my stepdad once, "Where can I say it?" And he got confused. He asked, "Say it?" She meant, "Where can I sit?" And I had a school friend in Alabama whose mother called him "Kee-in." Turns out his name was "Ken". I spent 10th grade in Alabama and took 2nd year German there. German in an Alabama accent really made me sigh and rolls my eyes. I wonder what French or Spanish would sound like in an Alabama accent. No, I'd better not wonder. I'd probably cringe or wince trying to emulate it.
If you read my story "Breaking with Tradition", there will be one mention (or maybe two mentions) of "ain't" in it. I think that was when I knew how to start that story (though that line of dialogue wasn't at the beginning of the final draft; it was moved to a little bit later than the beginning). Sometimes when I write, it's almost as if I can hear the characters actually speaking (to me or to each other). Like I'm inside the story, writing down what I see and hear.
Oh good. I try not to answer long responses when I need to do something else first. But once I get the more important thing done, I use long responses as a reward. It's more enjoyable that way.
Reply