I've been working (off and on, regrettably) on a short story for my friend, Drew's American Travels Anthology. When he asked if I were interested in doing a short story for it, I was flattered. I was overwhelmed. I was in over my head. I was ... flummoxed.
I really don't travel that much. I sat and stared at the computer screen for the better part of a day trying to see what ideas may leap to mind.True, in Jan '06 my best mate and I, Nate, packed bags and drove up for 3 days in NYC.
In Jan '07, I took a Greyhound bus from Fredericksburg VA to New London CT and back - by myself.
In Oct '09 I took a bus to NYC and back in a 23 hr period to see a friend's book-signing.
This past spring I flew to LA and back with Mum for her Jeopardy taping.
It all sounds so grand, but, really, I haven't done much real "traveling" suitable for a Travel Antho.Then it hit me, it doesn't hafta be all-true travel, does it? What if it's fiction, or even - G*D forbid - fantasy American travel? This opened things up for me; if I can write it how I want it (and with approval) how do I want to? I still was stuck sitting in front of a computer.
Only this time, I wasn't alone.
Joining me, is an image - a small family in a Winnebago, bickering and stressed by being crammed altogether in a small, ramshackle Winnebago (too few of them by choice). Athena, her lovely black tresses pulled into a ponytail sitting next to her brother Ares, bickering with his selfish-ass, their lame brother Hephaestus occupying the spare bed, offering pointed remarks as he busies himself with his tools.
Their parents, Zeus and Hera, trying to figure out the best-route to their camping grounds in upstate New York - him in anachronistic mash-up clothing, her in a Martha Stewart-inspired wardrobe, not a hair out of place. Zeus grousing about traffic, Hera squaring her shoulders and biting her tongue - she had warned him not to take this stretch of 395.I could see this clear as day.
Of course, the internal conflict was what drew me to tackling the short story (and spawning the idea for at least another, if not several more). But, the external conflict? What sort of Greek Mythological story could I adapt for an American Travels tale? How about a Native American Algonquin Myth - the Wendigo! Wanna see how I did it? Wait for the short-story to come out in print. But, until then, check out this sample - If you would, lemme know what'cha think?
“Quit it!”
“No, you quit it!”
“Da-ad, he’s touching me!”
“No I’m not. She’s poking me with her pen!”
“Am not, your arm’s just in the way!”
“So isn’t; her arm’s on my seat!”
“Is not, that’s my armrest!”
“Nuh uh, is not!”
“Uh huh, is too!”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
“Knock it off right now or so help me I will pull this Winnebago over and incinerate the both of you.”
I may have snickered; after all, when you’re Immortal, that sort of threat doesn’t really hold water.
“I heard that, young lady,” his tone deepened. “I wouldn’t be so cocky; remember, there’s no Aegis with you.” Damn, he’s right. I hate it when he’s right. And he’s almost always right. “You’re not too old for me to take over my knee.” Of course, he’s also sometimes wrong.
“Dad, I was too old for that the day I was born,” I muttered. Which, technically is true … the fact that I’m now about five thousand years old doesn’t really help his argument. I swear, I could hear his eyes rolling at me.
“You tell her, Dad,” my annoying and bratty big brother chimed in, before sticking his tongue out at me – always hoping to score beaucoup brownie points with the parentals. He can be such a namby-pamby prick sometimes. Others? He’s just an outright arse with major bloodlust and a Gods-complex. Before I could resort to effective name-calling (and possibly violence), my mouth open and ready for the words to come out, Dad gave me the look in the rear view mirror.
You know the look. It’s that look your parents give you through their furrowed brows; the look which says ‘one more toe out of line and you are in seriously deep trouble’. Yeah, he gave me that look. Times, maybe, a couple thousand.
Deflated, I slumped back into my seat. Of course, not before resorting to said violence. Placing a well-aimed fist right into my bratty brother’s tender nether zone wiped the smug look off his face and earned me another look and a thunderclap right on my side of the RV. Totally worth it.
Bratty winced in pain, while my other brother – the prince of brooding – snickered at his discomfort, offering me a not-so-silent “Good shot” rumble from back in his bunk. I may have laughed indelicately at this.
“If you three do NOT shut the Tartarus up and behave, I will pull over and drop your sorry Godling butts on the side of the road THIS INSTANT! Do you understand me?”
“Dear, would you mind keeping your eyes on the road? You’re swerving.” Her eyes glued to a copy of Elle, Mum calmly murmers. “And, darling, please do not antagonize your father while he’s driving.” Ooh, we’re onto me now. “Or your brothers for that matter; you know what that does to a road-trip.” You mean, what that does to your magazine reading on a road-trip, don’t you?
Is it just me, or is it blindingly obvious that my brothers are her favorite? Anyone? Nope? Never? Totally can’t tell she favors those two boys over me. Of course, being my step-mother probably doesn’t help sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, I know she loves me and we usually can get along pretty well, but, we’ve been known to fight – and when we do, we do it right.
Prime example; back in the day, when we fought over the Golden Apple we both said some very petty and snide things (the terms ‘shrew’ and ‘frigid bitch’ may have been thrown out). After Gods-know how long of constant bitter fighting we ended up asking that dopey (but oh-so-pretty) shepherd-boy to judge us in a beauty contest. I know, I know – a beauty contest? But, it had Kallistei “For the Most Beautiful” in Greek on the apple, so, we went there. Our divine pride was on the line, here. He really didn’t show good taste, though, picking my scantily-clad cousin (*cough* slut *cough*) over both of us. Although we disagreed with the judgment, it did bring us together: Mum and I teamed up to punish him and scorn her – that’s what family’s built on, right? Mutual animosity and love. Keep that going for a few thousand years and you end up with us.
So, there you have it; we’re a group of five Immortals traveling through the country in a Winnebago. Bickering along the way. What part of that doesn’t scream ‘Greek Gods’?
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