Julie Trueblood

I've been wrestling around in my mind with a couple of different ideas for the roundtable. I thought maybe I could either write a brand spanking new piece of short fiction, or I could work on ending some of my unfinished pieces. Like I said in Classical Traditions, I seem to have some trouble with ending things. I feel that I shoud go back to them at some point. Perhaps I could choose a few? I don't know. Or maybe I should just do that short fiction...

Proposal

This semester, I plan on developing a piece of short fiction. At this point, I do not know how long it will be, but I imagine because of time constraints and all, probably 15 pages will suffice. I feel like in some ways I should work on something that is not currently my strong point as a writer. This could be poetry, for example, but honestly, I have no interest in poetry, and I think to try and fake my way through it would only be a waste of my time and the class'. I wouldn't go so far as saying that I am some kind of expert at short fiction either, and I can think of a few things I need to work on to improve that, as well.

The short story that I propose to write might vary a little from what I say here, and part of me hopes that it does. I'm not sure that I really like the idea that it should fit some kind of formula that I have prophesized beforehand. As far as I'm thinking right at this moment though, I'd like to have some kind of historical support for my story, and I haven't quite decided for sure what that will be. I have a few possibilities, and surely, after a few tries at research, I will be able to pare them down to exactly what I need for my story. The first historical possibility involves something like the 1904 World's Fair. Beyond that, I might delve into some of Decatur's history--that is, if I can find it. If nothing is in either of those that I feel I can use, I might broaden my search and do some general research on amusement parks and/or theme parks. I feel that using subject matter that I am wholly interested in will help the story come together nicely without it seeming like really taxing work.

On that same note, I am thinking that my story could be at least a little semi-autobiographical. As I think my amusement park ride phobia is a little quirky in and of itself, and then being sure to add on my queer fascination with amusement park rides--I don't know, I just feel something pretty interesting could come out of all this. I don't know if writing a story about something I fear a lot will help me in some way come to terms with it, but I'm willing to give it a go. After all, I'm writing the story regardless. I'm kind of playing around with the idea that perhaps I could use this medium as kind of a nightmare fantasy. Somewhere in this story, I would imagine the worst possible thing that could happen on a rollercoaster or a Ferris Wheel or whatever it will end up being--depending on the research that I do--and I will enact it within the confines of my story. The main amount of the research I think will show in that, as I feel that a flashback would work the best in conveying any kind of serious injury or ultimately, death.

The main character, for at least part of the story, will be me, or someone who is very very much like me but perhaps just a little thinner, taller, and with better hair. Please forgive me if I start to resemble one of the Sweet Valley twins within the confines of my story. But seriously, there will be at least the main character, and then her friends, and then the relative or old friend of the family involved in the tragedy, and I don't know, I'm sure some others will pop up at some point. Though there will definitely be a tragedy, I feel that there has to be, I also think that a happy ending can still come out of it, and I also have some fresh experiences at Six Flags this past summer that I will happily add to my literary stew. Overall, I think that this story has a real potential to not seem like work, per say, but seem like the labor of love that writing creatively should be.

When I think of some of my favorite books, I naturally think of the works of Richard Peck first and foremost. I don't really understand why, but I suppose it has something to do with the fact that he's been a favorite for the longest period of time. That's only fair, right? As I got older, I felt as if I should write like Richard Peck. For one, he's from Decatur, and secondly, he's published A TON of books. That's enough to give a girl hope for the future.
Though my favorite novel of Peck's is Voices After Midnight, I think the one that may relate the closest to my proposed project is either Dreamland Lake or one of his newest, Fair Weather. One of the biggest things that draws me to Peck's novels automatically, and especially D.L., is that he deals with a lot of historical information in his novels. In D.L., for example, he gives a pretty vivid history of Decatur, IL and our very own Fairview Park, which he renames “Marquette Park” in his novel. I don't think I could refer to myself as any real kind of history buff, but Peck really brings out some really interesting points about Decatur. Reading the book almost makes me proud to live here, although people from San Francisco might just think it's completely make believe. I suppose it's the same kind of pride that a person from Hannibal can take in reading many of Mark Twain's novels. I guess it just comes to the point where one sits there reading and thinks, man, I've been there before. I live right around the corner from that. That is really pretty cool.

The thing that has always interested me the most after reading D.L. is knowing that there was once a wooden rollercoaster located right on top of the duck pond. Ever since I first read about it, I kept thinking to myself, this must be made up, this must be made up. But really, there are pictures on our city's newspaper website and these are pictures of a fucking wooden rollercoaster! I know that I never would have guessed in a million years, and it's neat to think back to the book and the ways in which the boys there in “Dunthorpe,” as Peck calls it, are searching for proof that this rollercoaster existed. In looking for the different supports for it, they find themselves deeper and deeper into yet a different mystery--one involving a dead body!

It's a great story, and like the most of Peck's books, one that you can actually learn something from. I know that he puts in a great amount of work in researching all of his novels, but it is mind-boggling to think that in at least one point of Decatur's history, Decatur had something really cool--and not only the rollercoaster, but within the whole of Fairview Park. I know I'm starting to ramble, but this is something I think is pretty unknown and cool, so I can't help myself. The reason why the possibility of this rollercoaster fascinates me is a whole different story. It isn't something that I really understand because I have most terrible phobia of amusement park rides, and yet I have a queer fascination with them, especially rollercoasters.

So, I thought to myself when I was trying to think of something to write about, why not write something about an amusement park. A rollercoaster. A tragedy, perhaps. Perhaps it could be my worst nightmare set in the form of a short story. Maybe by getting it out in print, I would be able to deal with my phobia more realistically instead of having a nervous breakdown at the mere thought of boarding a carnival ride. I'm still a little stuck playing around with a few ideas and/or spins I could take on this, but I am happy to at least have arrived at some kind of conclusion.

I suppose the part of all this that interests me and intimidates me the most is the research factor of it. As I'd like to work a little on the depth of my work, I feel that research is a necessary evil, because otherwise I'm sure it'll come out like my own version of Bridget Jones. That wouldn't necessarily be bad, but it wouldn't be that much different either. I'd like to try something and hopefully have the motivation and be excited to really work at it. So really, it isn't the form of the writing per say and the conventions that I am hoping to in some way imitate, perhaps you could say it is the subject matter?

Peck deals a lot, not just with Decatur's history, but also histories of other places. The reason I mentioned Fair Weather, for instance, is because the novel itself resolves around the 1904 Worlds Fair in Chicago. Though I don't really like Chicago, I will again briefly mention that queer fascination with amusement parks. Incidentally, the World's Fair theme is also something I have revered greatly from viewing Batman: The Animated Series. So, I don't know, it's the kind of thing that I'm really super interested in and it is something that I know that I would really enjoy researching--if, in the event, I had to do research for a short story. I figure by either researching a World's Fair type thing or going further in depth into the cool history of Fairview Park, it will be a worthwhile project, and hopefully from there, the story will easily formulate itself. So, kudos, Mr. Peck, you've done your job well!

“His name is Dr. Kay,” Rachel said excitedly.
“Really.” I must admit, I wasn’t too comfortable talking about this.
“Yeah, he’s really good.”
“Huh.”
“He’s a friendly guy, Jill. You should be fine with him as your gynecologist,” she reassured me.
“Yeah, I don’t know, Rachel.” Why were we even discussing this?
“I know you’re nervous, Jill, but you should go. He’s got a soft touch, he really does. You won’t even know he’s down there!” It was obvious that Rachel was all for this doctor guy.
“Right. Well, I’ll know. Anything that fiddles around “down there” is definitely noticeable. Maybe, if it happened as often to me as it did to you--then you would be able to realistically give me advice on how it feels.” Yeah, I certainly told her.
“That hurts, Jill. It really stings,” she replied slowly.
“Yeah, whatever. We both know that you’re a friendly girl, Rachel. Don’t lie to yourself.” What was the big deal here, why was she being all Miss Sourpuss right now? Geez, she really looked like she was going to cry. Guess that one hit a little too close to home. She remained silent, and her bottom lip trembled furiously. “Rachel, come on, don’t cry.” As if it was that was the cue, she began to sob. “Come on, you know I’m just playing with you.” Granted, Rachel was a slut, but obviously she didn’t like to come to terms with it.
“I don’t mean to be.” She was really crying now. I felt that if I didn’t turn the waterworks off soon, they were going to flood the room. I wanted to slap her, and yell, Jesus, woman, pull yourself together!
“Sure you don’t.” I didn’t know what to say to her. “Oh, come on Rachel. Come here.” I embraced her as she shook, and hiccuped, and sobbed. I kept thinking, maybe, if she didn’t want to keep going through this kind of thing, she should just stop giving so goddamn much head.
“I make them,” hiccup, “so happy,” hiccup, “when I give them,” hiccup, “head,” she managed to squeak out. I stopped for a second and looked at her skeptically. What, was she reading my mind?
“Yeah, but does it make you happy?” I asked, still a little spooked, I must admit.
“Well,” she had to think a little, “yeah.” Boy, Rachel sounded a little unsure about that particular statement.
“Really.” I wasn’t buying her crap for a second.
“Oh, GOD!” she exclaimed as she gripped me even tighter, smacking her forehead against my shoulder, and in turn almost knocking me down. I was disgusted that my t-shirt was beginning to stick to my left shoulder because of her annoying crying shit.
“But, I’m not a whore,” she stated, very steadily. I shook my head, thinking that it would reassure her and possibly make her STOP CRYING! “Or am I?” Christ, she was causing herself to cry now! Cry, cry, cry---I swear, that’s all this girl knew how to do other than suck guys’ cocks. Believe me, my eyes would roll back into my head if I could get away with it right now. What a lame-ass....
“Rachel.” She continued to weep, glued to me in the same manner that my t-shirt presently was. “Rachel, look at me!” I demanded. I shook her hard.
“Okay,” she said, sounding like a little kid who was facing some kind of horrible punishment for stealing from the cookie jar. She started to chew on the ends of a fist-full of her shiny boob-length auburn hair. And I repeat, lame-ass.
“Think about it this way. You like guys, and you like giving blow jobs.”” Obviously. In fact, I think she likes it a little too much, if you ask me. Kind of reminds me of all those urban legends you hear about the head cheerleader who ends up with a pound of the football and basketball teams’ gizz being pumped out of her stomach. Well, let’s just say, it wouldn’t surprise me at ALL. Anyway, back to the situation at hand.
“Guys like you, and why? Because they like receiving blow jobs.” Well, duh. “So, why don’t you find a guy that likes you. A guy that you like, not just because of the way that you can make him squirm---although that is fun...” I rambled on. I was rationalizing. I was trying to make her behavior seem okay, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t normal. I was utterly confused. It didn’t help that Rachel was looking at me like she was in suspense of whatever positively brilliant thing came out of my mouth. Have I mentioned that this girl is a lame-ass?
“Fuck, Rachel, I don’t know.” I let go of her like she had the plague. “Do whatever the fuck you want. It’s your reputation, not mine.” Cue piercing glare. Well, at least she stopped crying, right?
“God, you’re a BITCH!” Yeah, tell me about it. I could really give a crap.
“Oh yeah?” I asked. “Well, at least I’m not a WHORE!” I laughed a little, really I just couldn’t help myself. God, I am a bitch. Oh well. And on that note, I turned and walked off towards more interesting things. Now that I think of it, I never really liked Rachel Adams anyway.
Eh, who needs friends?