This is number 120 in the blog series, “My Life in Erotica.” I encourage you to join my Patreon community to support my writing.
MY MOTHER was a Methodist preacher back in the days when it was truly unusual to have a woman in the pulpit. One of the first things she did when she was assigned to her first church was establish a ‘children’s story time’ in the middle of the Sunday service. She invited the children in the congregation to the chancel steps, sat down with them, and told a story that had a moral, or that tied in with her theme for the day.
Adults in the congregation loved it! The stories never sounded like she was preaching at them.
I remember a series of stories she told that had birds as characters. I can’t remember the names of all the birds who lived in the little bird town, but they each had a story connected to them. One stuck with me about a very talkative bird who just couldn’t stay quiet during church service. The choir was singing a lovely anthem but this bird just tried to talk louder. Finally, she said to her neighbor, “I wish they wouldn’t sing so loud!”
It happened that her wish was granted before it was spoken. The choir reached a point in the song where there was a dramatic pause in the music and everyone in the congregation could clearly hear the churchbird’s comment. My mother said, “She quickly looked around for a hole in the floor she could crawl into but couldn’t find one small enough. And then the choir sang the last line of the anthem, ‘Be still and know that I am God.’”
I often thought of my mother when I wrote Nathan Everett’s (Wayzgoose on SOL)
Steven George and the Terror and
Steven George and The Dragon. Steven is, by profession, a dragonslayer, but has never actually slain a dragon since he doesn’t know what a dragon looks like, where it lives, or how to kill it. So, he sets off on a quest. On that quest, he exchanges ‘Once upon a time’ stories with the people he meets. Each story leads him closer to his goal: A dragon in the first book and a mysterious terror in the second book.
Many of the stories had dramatic pauses. One, a campfire ghost story concludes when a disembodied hand suddenly lands on Steven’s chest. It doesn’t turn out the way the story teller planned, but there was nowhere to hide.
The
Steven George stories are available on ZBookStore and in paperback from online vendors. Not children’s stories. Topics are often mature though not R-rated.
What does any of this have to do with ‘Four Seasons?’
I’ll get there. First, I want to mention that after my mother’s church service one stalwart of the community and self-appointed guardian of the church approached my mother in the greeting line.
“I think in your story you made a mistake. You said she couldn’t find a hole small enough to crawl into. You must have meant a hole large enough.”
“Oh,” said my mother kindly. “She was a big bird, but she had a very small spirit.”
Miscellaneous things cross my feed each day and I am as susceptible to following dozens of links that have nothing to do with what I’m looking for or interested in as anyone else. Among the things that suddenly popped up when I was watching highlights of a women’s basketball game, was a video of a talented pianist who plays in public places and often has people who ‘happen by’ join him, either playing an instrument, singing, or even dancing.
I’ve watched dozens of his videos and I’ll give you his name if you’d like to look him up online. It’s Julien Cohen. Don’t be surprised to find half a dozen other similar flash artists. I’ve spent hours watching and listening in amazement.
He often plays very difficult music and I count Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons to be among those. Most notably, I’ve enjoyed his rendition of the ‘Summer’ movement. It has an entire story behind it as a summer day is interrupted by a sudden thunderstorm and everyone runs for shelter. It’s amazing. I’ve seen violinists as young as ten years join him in playing the complex piece.
What I’ve also noticed, however, is that when Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons is played (any of the four movements), everyone in the audience—be it a restaurant, an airport, a train station, or a street corner—becomes a conductor. Hands begin waving, fingers tapping, eyes fluttering. It’s a piece that calls out for people to conduct it.
Some are better than others. Some, no matter how much they enjoy the music, just can’t keep the beat, or even keep up. Many have no idea there is a story being played. Some will frown when the pace slows or quickens. Some will simply shake their heads or sit still while the music washes over them.
His work is not without criticism. Some traditionalists have decried his mixing of classical music with viral trends. Some believe he is commercializing the art form. Heaven forfend that a musician should find a way to make money from his art!
All want more when he finishes.
My deep insight: I find that readers are often similar to an audience for a street musician. It helps me understand what happens when I post a story.
First, the audience is attracted by a noise that is out of place for the environment. A piano in a public market? A violin on a rooftop? A voice breaking the silence with Ave Maria? A story description that mentions AI?
Second, they decide how long they will listen. Some simply don’t have time right now. The lunch break is only thirty minutes. Some will ignore the time constraint until it becomes urgent for them to be elsewhere. Some will simply stay until the musician stops playing, will drop folded money in his tip jar, and leave happy.
Third, they judge both the music and the musician in seconds. They don’t like this piece of music, so they don’t like the musician. There was a wrong note, so they judge the musician unworthy of this prestigious stage at the corner of Main and Market.
Finally, as soon as they hear the music, they want to conduct it. They might have no musical ability themselves, but want the musician to follow their random hand waving. They will immediately make a judgment regarding where the music will go and criticize it for not going where they think it should. They will scoff at the jar with its meagre tips.
Yes, these are all things that writers experience at the hands of their readers. And other readers make reading decisions based on a particular reader’s comments. Their own opinion is based on that of others. If that reader didn’t like the first page, it is likely this reader won’t like the book. The die is cast.
The summer in Las Vegas is waning, but the temperature has not yet gotten the message. Temperatures still reach 100º or more each day. It’s inspiring. Next week: ‘When You’re Hot, You’re Hot.’