Saturday, December 24, 2016

Short Story: Polite Conversation at a Bus Stop

Welcome to a world of zealous civility...

Polite Conversation at a Bus Stop

Haven Garnett stood at the bus stop, waiting to catch a ride home. It was a cool December evening, threatening to drop below 80°, and he was alone.

A sharp sound drew his attention—the clicking of heels on concrete. A figure, wrapped in a thick coat, with a warm, open face, sat on the bench and pulled out an Easy Polite Communication device. It was sleek and rectangular, and emitted a cheery chime as it booted up.

Haven pulled out his own EzPC and turned it on. Data flashed across the screen—everything he would need to ensure his conversation with his fellow human would be cordial and civilized. It was a mystery to him how anyone managed to communicate before the Conversation Standardization Act of 2042 and formation of the Tolerance Office of Fairness and Respect. His grandfather told him of those dark times—people saying all sorts of things to each other without any consideration to how anyone felt! What unenlightened times those must have been.

The person sitting smiled at him using the Standard Smile—no teeth, only the corners of the mouth turned up—as their devices synced. “Greetings, individual. May I engage you in conversation?”

Haven Standard Smiled back. “Yes, you may. Thank you for your sensitivity.” He glanced at his EzPC. It was unusually slow today, probably those uncultured hackers negatively affecting the system to make polite conversation difficult.

So while he waited, he pulled another greeting out from memory—one of many drilled into him during his schooling, “I call myself Haven Garnett. May I wish you a pleasant near-the-end-of-the-Gregorian-calendar-year holiday celebration of your personal preference, or perhaps a pleasant normal day should you decide not to partake in any specific celebration?”

“You may, Haven Garnett. I appreciate your pleasantry. I call myself Poppy Cater.” Poppy brushed Poppy’s hair back, adjusting the Trigger Guard—a small headband with two plastic disks just above each of Poppy’s ears. It was the same model Haven, and indeed most of the civilized world, wore at almost all times. “And may I also wish you a pleasant near-the-end-of-the-Gregorian-calendar-year holiday celebration of your personal preference, or perhaps a pleasant normal day should you decide not to partake in any specific celebration?”

“You may, Poppy Cater. I appreciate your pleasantry.” A soft bong announced the completion of their EzPC sync. Poppy Cater’s information appeared onscreen.

Identifies as 33-year-old, single, heterosexual female. Preferred pronoun: she/her. Identifies as a Monday Buddhist. Identifies as Greek-French American. Triggers include: dogs, divorce, frowns, cacti, knights, winking, awkward pauses in conversation, Gouda cheese, and the word “hypoallergenic.” Haven was very glad to have filled the silence before. How cruel he would have been had he waited to speak!

Looking up from her screen, Poppy considered him with a Safe Face—her expression carefully blank—and seemed to settle on a topic. “I personally enjoy this weather as it currently is. May I ask your opinion on our current weather?”

Small talk, delightful. Haven welcomed it after the horrible day he’d had. During the midday meal break, a fellow equally-important-worker had so rudely asked how someone was without asking for permission! And oh how everyone squirmed! The askee had answered the equally-important-worker’s question, but the pain still showed in the their eyes. Even though the equally-important-worker apologized for being so insensitive, the scene still made Haven sick.

“You may,” Haven said. “I have a preference for warmer weather, but I respect your decision to enjoy the weather as it is now, Poppy Cater.”

“And I respect your opinion as well, Haven Garnett.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Haven spotted someone approach. The individual appeared male, but his EzPC informed him the human identified as multiple people. “Respectful greetings, collective,” Haven said as the persons passed.

The collective Standard Smiled. “And to you as well,” they paused to check their EzPC, “good sir.”

When the community of one had past, Haven noticed Poppy fidgeting, so he resumed the conversation. “May I ask how your day was, Poppy Cater?”

She looked up at him gratefully. “You may. It was pleasant. I did some cloud watching with one of my employees-of-equal-status. That person was corrected by another individual on the pronunciation of the word ‘encyclopedia,’ so I inquired if that person wanted to leave the negative space…”

Haven raised his hand and waited until Poppy stopped talking and gestured to him with both hands held palm up before her—so that he knew she acknowledged and accepted his desire to speak.

“Thank you for allowing my interruption. I apologize for it, but I express my condolences to you and your employee-of-equal-status for the trauma of experiencing such an event. An event similar to yours occurred with me today. I am still feeling unpleasant from that experience.” He shook his head. “It is my opinion that there is no excuse for such inconsiderate behavior. Was your employee-of-equal-status able to enjoy your shared activity?”

“I express my condolences for having to experience a similar trauma and agree with your well-thought-out opinion. To answer your inquiry, yes, we both enjoyed our shared activity. We saw some animals that elicited a pleasant state of mind for us both. We saw…” She glanced at the EzPC, likely checking his triggers to avoid causing an incident. When she set the device down, she continued, “We saw a Giraffa camelopardalis. A pod of Delphinus delphis. And a pride of Panthera Leo.”

“That sounds like an enjoyable activity. I am pleased to hear your employee-of-equal-status was able to enjoy their experience after being victimized like that.”

“Yes, I am also pleased. That individual has much courage to keep a polite front after a Civilized Discourse Breach until they were able to find an Expression Room to let out their pain and then to be able to recover after only five hours. I gave that individual a Bravery Medal.”

“That individual deserves it. May I ask who committed the breach?”

Tears formed in Poppy’s eyes as she appeared to recall the traumatic event.

Haven felt awful, he had not meant to trigger her. “I am sorry. I did not mean to cause you distress.”

“It is okay, Haven Garnett. I appreciate your sensitivity. It is still fresh for me.” After pulling a tissue from her purse and dabbing her eyes, Poppy answered his question. “They were an individual-of-greater-life-experience, born in the late 1990s. I understand that sometimes it is difficult for them to communicate sensitively, but that does not excuse their behavior. They should know better, in my opinion. It creates distress in me when they try to hide their rudeness by saying things like, ‘I wasn’t trying to be mean,’ or ‘I was just trying to help.’  It’s like they don’t know what they say is far more important than what they intend to say.”

Although he wanted to do something to alleviate Poppy’s pain, Haven didn’t want her to think he thought she was incapable of taking care of herself. “I hear you and respect your opinion. It is a valid one, which I also agree with. That there are still people out there who think they aren’t doing anything wrong because they aren’t meaning for their words to be hurtful…it speaks to the culture of insensitivity those individuals grew up in.” Haven’s stomach heaved, his voice grew tight. “Excuse me. This subject is triggering me. May we move on?”

“Yes, thank you for voicing your distress. I apologize for having this conversation move into a place you don’t feel safe in. We no longer need to discuss this, should you desire to move on to another topic of your choosing.”

“I appreciate your willingness to help me avoid discomfort.”

Before Haven could find a new topic, he noticed an individual-of-less-life-experience cross the street. His device informed him the person—Hashtag Umscheid—was nine, and identified as male.

When Hashtag sat beside Poppy on the bench, she turned to him and said, “Well hello young-but-still-just-as-important-as-anyone-else individual, may I inquire as to your current state of mind?”

“Happy,” was all he said. He didn’t pass the conversation ball back to Poppy.

This made Haven uneasy, and it appeared to do the same to Poppy. Did this kid have no manners? But he was a child, and, as everyone knew, society needed to ensure such delicate minds were sheltered from discomfort, lest that emotional trauma scar them for the rest of their lives.

As a result, Haven was kind. “And may I inquire as to why you are in a pleasant state of mind?”

The kid looked up at him. Something about his eyes looked mischievous, almost impish. “Well,” he said, tone polite, “because it’s…Christmas.”

Haven and Poppy gasped and leapt back.

A wailing siren pierced the air. Ear covers flipped down from Haven’s and Poppy’s Trigger Guards. From the earpieces, and the speakers mounted on every corner, a polite, androgynous voice called out, “Trigger detected. Please head for the nearest Secure Among Friends Enclosure. A violation of the Public Civility has occurred. You will be informed when the vicinity has been cleansed of triggers.”

Poppy and Haven jogged toward a large sign with glowing, open arms directing them to the closest Enclosure. Tears fell from Poppy’s eyes, her face pale.

It felt as though Haven’s chest were being crushed. It was hard to breathe.

As they stepped into the bunker with dozens of other wide-eyed citizens, Haven took one last look back.

Hashtag was laughing. Then he spotted Haven watching him and hurled something at him before making an obscene gesture.

That one finger was all Haven could take. Something snapped. Tears stung his eyes. He couldn’t stop hyperventilating. He felt lightheaded. His vision narrowed.


As he collapsed, the last thing he saw before losing consciousness was a figurine of rotund, smiling, bearded man dressed in red—and wondered who it was.

Monday, December 19, 2016

Completed Memoir – Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard

Well, readers of my other blog will already know I have completed my cancer survivorship memoir—Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy*, Living is Hard. I have to say, I am so glad to be done with this project. I've never really enjoyed talking about myself, so obviously writing a book about the roughest years of my life was a natural step...not.
*relatively speaking

But, I felt the message important enough to slog through three and a half years of reliving memories I'd just as soon forget. Because this isn't just a book about cancer, it's a book about life after cancer—what is known as survivorship. This is a little-discussed topic compared to the rest of cancer: prevention, diagnosis, and treatment—all of which receive huge amounts of attention, research, and money. Yet, with more than twenty million cancer survivors in the world today, a number growing every year, the issue of post-cancer complications from treatments, the mental and emotional scarring, the physical handicaps, is at least as important as any of the other aspects of cancer.

Survivorship (n): In cancer, survivorship focuses on the health and life of a person with cancer post treatment until the end of life. It covers the physical, psychosocial, and economic issues of cancer, beyond the diagnosis and treatment phases. Survivorship includes issues related to the ability to get health care and follow-up treatment, late effects of treatment, second cancers, and quality of life. Family members, friends, and caregivers are also considered part of the survivorship experience.

This will be a short post, so for a longer update on my life, go to Surviving the Cure.

I leave you with an excerpt from my book.
Ciao




Surviving the Cure: 
Cancer was Easy*, Living is Hard


*relatively speaking




Prologue
Bump

In a way, it was a soothing motion—the gentle rocking back and forth as the uneven wheels rolled across the linoleum floor, surrounded by neutral white walls.
“Watch out for the bump,” the orderly said.
In another time, another place, to another person, it would have been hilarious.
“Watch out!” As if I had some control over whether we would be going over the bump or not. As if anything I did could affect the oncoming obstacle. Some part of me must have laughed, but it didn’t bother sharing the joke with the rest of my numbed body.
In terms of humor, it’s hard to beat a hefty dose of irony doing its best impersonation of a cream pie. Wham! Unavoidable, literally in your face, shocking, instantaneous. The best irony is a cream pie. Today, that cream pie was this orderly, wheeling me to a fate I could never have even begun to imagine, warning me about this little bump when not thirty minutes earlier I’d had the mother of all bombshells dropped on my head. My life and future vaporized so quickly and completely that all that remained were faint shadows where once they stood.
In the rare moments of lucidity during the slow walk—I guess more of a roll—I marveled at how quickly a life could come apart. How fragile and on the verge of collapse we are that the tiniest thing can be enough to topple our body. It’s like you’re a house of cards that believes it’s constructed from steel and concrete and mortar so tough that nothing short of the destruction of the Earth would topple it. That’s why it’s so shocking when you learn the truth—that under the thin veneer of confidence and surety is a wobbly framework ready to implode at the drop of a hat.
A week. That’s all it took for my house of cards to come crashing down. From young adult on the cusp of spreading his wings and embarking on his first flight of independence to a quickly failing mess of malfunctioning cells. From a bright life ahead to an immanent dark death. And all it had taken was one word.
Leukemia.
“Watch out for the bump.” I had as much control over that bump as I did the next few months. Maybe more. I could have gotten out of the chair and stepped over this obstacle. I didn’t, but at least it was an option. My future offered no real options. Chemical warfare or certain death, take your pick. “A very wise choice, sir. We have an excellent selection of noxious chemicals for you today, only the very best vintage for you, young sir!”
For both the bump and my new life, all I could do was hold on tight and pray for the best…and hope that would be enough.
Bump-bump went the wheels.
Bump-bump went my heart.

Bump-bump went my life.

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Divinely Sanctioned Procrastination

To begin, a quick guide:

  • Underlined sentences within the body of text are phrases, sayings, or thingamajigs I've coined*
  • Bolded words are terms of my own devising†
  • Italicized words and/or sentences are real words and phrases I've come across that I find interesting for one reason or another. I will likely include links to the definitions and example pages, define the term next to the word, or offer an explanation in a footnote


It's been a while since that initial post. I've been putting off jotting stuff down in here, and I couldn't even begin to tell you why. It's not my fault though, honest. If God hadn't wanted us to procrastinate, He wouldn't have invented tomorrow.



For the first few posts in this blog I'm going to experiment with format and content to see what the best layout will be. Topics I want to cover in this blog (not just this post) include: crafted words and phrases, real words I find interesting, progress on personal writing projects, snips of my writing, story ideas, observations, tips, and things I've learned that I want to share, among others that I don't want to spend time trying to think of at the moment. For all our sake, I'll only touch on a fraction of these topics in each post, that way you don't end up reading a novella and I don't have to write one.
Your feedback would be much appreciated (see below for more details).

Project Progress


Currently, my main project is my memoir (see my Surviving the Cure for more details about my life). I am now nearing the end of my fourth draft, which began as soon as I got the manuscript back from my editor. I skipped the beginning section, since it needed to be heavily redone to speed it up and cut details that weren't pertinent to the story anymore. Hopefully I'll have that done within the next couple weeks and can then start working on marketing and the fifth draft. My goal, as of last week, is to get the memoir published before the start of August, although based on past experience with self-assigned deadlines, I've got my work cut out for me.

Crafted Words and Phrases

One of my favorite things to do is to create new words. Most of the time they're done jokingly, as part of a bad pun or as a result of somebody's comment or slip of the tongue. Mispronunciations are really fun as well, and I try to incorporate them into my writing (when appropriate) for dialogue to add an air of authenticity to the character or person's speech. I also like to make up my own phrases, sayings, and metaphors, for similar reasons as the ones above (such as the one at the start of this post). So I'll post and define one or two new words in these posts (I still haven't decided whether to do it every post or not). Feel free to use the word(s) if you would like, I'd consider it an honor. I only ask that you mention this blog or me when you use that word, but it is not a compulsory thing, it's more like a favor I'm asking. Once again, thank you in advance.

Phoment (n):

  1. A moment one is only partially immersed in as a result of using a phone.
  2. A missed moment caused by being completely absorbed in activity on a phone.
  3. The amount of time it takes to quickly finish up a conversation or activity on the phone.

Example sentences:
  • After a phoment of trying to listen to both his voicemail and his wife, he realized he couldn't remember the details of the message or his wife's sobbing story about...whatever it was.
  • He didn't see his daughter's first steps because he'd been checking his texts at that phoment. 
  • Hold on, honey. I'm just ending my call with Bob, I'll be there in a phoment.

Snips

Before I offload this snip, let me take a moment to explain what a snip is. It's the personal term I use for very short segments of my writing. (Being a personal term, it's really only something I use when talking to people about writing, not in my actual stories.) Examples would be a few lines a dialogue, a couple paragraphs from a larger story, or even a very short story on its own (which I call SnipFic, but is known by everyone else as Flash Fiction). What I'm including today is a SnipFic.


Most Sacred


“Hear me out, my love. I hold you most sacred in my heart. Above all else! I would never do something as profane as simple intercourse to something so beautiful! That is a base act I only perform on those I care nothing for. It would be a travesty to defile-“
Nancy held up her hand to silence him. He obeyed, sincere passion hammered into every feature. “Nice try, Hank. Sacred, pah. Get the hell out.”

Hank’s features soured. “Fine. Worth a shot.” He beat a sulking retreat to his car and drove off to the next woman's house. The daggers of Nancy's glare followed him the whole way.


Feedback and Comments

That shall be it for today. Feedback on anything mentioned in the blog is extremely helpful and will guide my hand in giving this blog more definition and tighter focus as time goes on. What did you like about this post? What do you think could be improved? Is there something you think should have been included? Something that you would have liked to see more of? Feel free to give as much or little feedback as you like, this isn't a dictatorship (yet). I'd also be delighted if anybody wants to comment on just about anything related to either my blog or writing in general. Use the comment board in whatever way you wish, as long as it's kept civil and free from ugly arguments and harassment. Otherwise, I look forward to see what all y'all have to say!

Thank you for taking the time to read this, have a marvelous (insert time of day/night),
~Andrew



* It is entirely possible that others have used these phrases before, but anything I claim to be "original" has been thought up without prior knowledge of the sentence either in writing or spoken out loud. But really, I'm not sure it's possible to have a single thought anymore that has never been used by, or occurred to, anyone else. I will do my best to give credit to whoever came up with a term or phrase when applicable.
† Similar to the above footnote, but with word(s) instead of sentences, phrases, and sayings. I will give credit to the author/creator of bolded word(s) when applicable. 

Monday, February 15, 2016

Where to Start?

At the beginning, obviously. For those of you tuning in from Surviving the Cure, this blog is going to be (almost) exclusively dealing with my writing and writing in general. Updates involving non-writing aspects of my life can be found back at Surviving the Cure, although that will also have some updates on projects and writing-related topics as well. But for a more comprehensive look at my works and works-in-progress, this is the happening place. 

At some point I'll probably work on this site in earnest. I'm just getting it set up and prepped for later, when I'll be using it more frequently. Until then, please keep an eye on Surviving the Cure (man, it's really sticking out that I've mentioned StC three times in two measly paragraphs) for more broad updates on my progress and life, as well as progress in life, but definitely not progress out of life (because I think if that happens, you won't be getting updates from me anymore). 

Well, I think we're good here and whatsuch. Thanks for taking a gander (and not a goose) and keep an eye out for further posts both here and at StC.

~Andrew Bundy