Slate and Style

The Magazine of the National Federation of the Blind Writers' Division
Summer, 2018

Editor: Shelley J Alongi
Format Editor: Robert Gardner
Phone: (714)525-9632
Email: S-and-S@nfbnet.org
Alternate email: Queenofbells@outlook.com 

Table of Contents

Editor's Musings, by Shelly J. Alongi 			  Page 2

Notes from the President, by Myrna Duprè Badgerow	  Page 2

The Moldau: In Which I Dream of Vitava,			  Page 3
by Lynda McKinney Lambert

Ten Steps to Developing Your Main Character,		  Page 4
by Jerry Jenkins, Writer Magazine

The Bouquet, by Lynda McKinney Lambert			  Page 9

Praying Drunk by Kyle Minor: The Impact of Minimalism    Page 9
on Exposition, by Bridgitt Kuening-Pollpeter

Gratitude, by Tony Candella					 Page 15

Snowball the Wonder Cat, by Kerry Elizabeth Thompson 	 Page 16

Submission Guidelines For Slate and Style			 Page 23

Join the Division						 Page 24

Note: besides going to a specific page number for a story/article/poem, the beginning can be accessed by searching for ***

***

Editor’s Musings
by Shelley J. Alongi

Summer is making itself seen and felt across country. The early spring winds that blew across the plains of north Texas have given way to the hot, humid stifling temperatures of an early summer. By all accounts this summer will be a hot one with above average temperatures across country and not just here. The dog days of summer will approach, making us do outside work or strenuous activity in the morning, then driving us inside to escape the heat and perhaps pick up a book. We may sneak outside during the long light-filled evenings to play with children, trim back tree branches, barbecue or finish that promised book. 

The summer reading lists are out. The lazy days of baseball and ice-crean lie ahead of us. We may put our books down long enough to make quick forays outside or longer walks with friends and pets. This house is noticeably without pets but not pet memories since my last cat joined her bosom buddy a month ago. Cats are in my future, but till then there are books, books, and more books.

When you pick up this issue to add to your own summer reading list, you will find one book review, an article on how to build characters, several poems about life and dreams. Top this off with a story about a truly magical cat. The cat makes an appearance here, teaching us all something, but maybe more about herself than us. You shall decide. Enjoy and learn and present us with your own reading lists. Enjoy the approaching summer and make the best of the heat with sweet tea or "unsweet" tea as they call it here. Enjoy the hot summer wherever these pages find you. Till we meet again, keep writing and dreaming.

***

Notes from the President
by Myrna Duprè Badgerow

Welcome to our newest edition of Slate and Style! Hard to believe it’s nearly convention time! I want to take this opportunity to thank all the participants in our annual writing contest! Judging time is here and our judges do have their work cut out for them and I thank each of them for their effort! 

I have been busy of late promoting my newest book of poetry, “Whispers From God” which is available through Lulu.com. Writing the poetry for this book was the most joyful experience for me. 

In closing, may you all enjoy your summer and to those attending the convention may you have safe travels and a wonderful convention experience.

***

The Moldau: In Which I Dream of Vitava
by Lynda McKinney Lambert

Always in mid-summer dreams, I amble
Beside warm surging waters in a distant land
City of Spires notices my soul’s passage
Drifting, light-rippling movements
Evoke the flow of the Moldau River
From its source in the forests of Bohemia
Gliding, twisting, turning, singing
Homeland legends return in tact
I’m drawn into patriotic emotions
Juxtaposed over a rural landscape
Kept in rhythm by a recurring melody
Love of Homeland splashes from two
Mountain springs; one warm, one cold
Now joined, become a mighty tributary
Orchestral musings of white water days
Postcards from Prague cannot contain it
Quietly I sip coffee at a café
Regal hymns flood my thoughts
Smetana’s symphonic poems
Telling stories like a recurring theme
Urges the morning to break into dissonance!
Vigorous second movement with a horn melody
Woke up the dreamers bathed in the morning light
X Is a ghost note the Moldau sings in between
Yesterday or tomorrow, where the final two-note chord 
Zig-zagged away from the gentle arpeggio of dawn.

author Notes:
“The Moldau”  (Abecedarian poem, 2016. It appeared in the Indiana Voice Journal, June 2016, Issue #23.

Inspired by Vitava, a symphony by Smetana, a Czech composer.

I combined my journal notes from my numerous yearly visits to the Czech Republic, with historical information on the music, composer, and the landscape I am familiar with.

***

Ten Steps to Developing Your Main Character
by Jerry Jenkins

[This article is taken from the Writer magazine. To sign up for their helpful email newsletter, go to http://www.thewritermag.com.] 

You've settled on the idea for your novel. You've narrowed it to a sentence or two, and you're ready to tackle what seems an insurmountable task -- breathing life into your lead character. If you're an outliner (one who outlines their novel first), it's time for character development, an endeavor not for wimps. Spellbinding stories feature believable characters who feel knowable. Yes, even if your genre is Fantasy or Allegory, or Futuristic. Your character may even be a superhero, but he* must be real and knowable in your premise. [I use male pronouns inclusively here to represent both genders only to avoid the awkward repetition of he/she  or him/her, fully recognizing that many lead characters are female and so are a majority of readers.] 

I'd love to impart some gem that would magically make you an expert in character development, But, sorry, no short cuts. This is as hard as it sounds. Fail at this task and it shows. You cheat your readers when your lead character doesn't develop and grow. No growth, no character arc. No character arc, fewer satisfied readers. 

What about us pansers? Our name comes from the fact that we write from the seat of our pants. No outlines for us. We write by process of discovery. as Stephen King advises, "Put interesting characters in difficult situations and and write to find out what happens."

I identify as a pantser, so I am sympathetic if you can't imagine creating a character and giving him a personal history before starting to write. My characters introduce themselves to me and reveal their history as the story unfolds. 

To a new writer or an outliner, it may sound exciting and dangerous to wade into a story counting on characters to emerge and take over. Believe me, it's both. Frankly, outliners have some advantages over pantsers here. They know a lot about their lead characters before they start writing. 

Fellow pantsers, don't ignore or discount this training. We must start with some idea who's populating our stories. And when we get stuck, there's no shame in going back and and engaging in this exercise. (I won't tell anyone.???) Regardless which kind of writer you are--character development--character arc--can make or break your novel. 

Consider some of literature's most memorable characters--Jane Eyre, scarlett O'Hara, atticus Finch, Ebenezer Scrooge, Huckleberry Finn, Katniss Everdeen, Harry Potter. Can you name the novels they come from and what they have in common? 

Larger than life, they're also universely human. They see courage not as lack of fear but rather the ability to act in the face of fear. They learn from failure and rise to great moral victories. Compelling characters like these make the differen e between a memorable novel and a forgettable one. So, what are the keys to making a character unforgettable? 

10 Steps to Creating and Developing Your Main Character

1. Introduce him early and by name. The biggest mistake new writers make is introducing their main character too late. as a rule he should be the first person on stage and the reader should be able to associate his name with how they see him. Naming your character can be almost as stressful as naming a newborn. You want interesting and memorable, but not quirky or outrageous. Leave Blaze Starr and Goodnight Robicheaux to the melodramas. (Actually, I wish I'd thought of Goodnight Robicheaux; Ethan Hawke plays him in the Magnificent Seven.) Allegories call for telling names like Prudence and Truth and Pride, but modern ones should be more subtle. I wrote a Christmas parable where the main character was Tom Douten (get it? Doubting Thomas), and his fiancee was Noella (Christmasy, a believer in Santa) Wright (Miss Right). For standard novels, typical names are forgettable. Ethnicity is important. You shouldn't have a  Greek named Bubba Jackson. Your goal is to connect reader and character, so the name should reflect his heritage and and perhaps even hint at his personality. In the Green Mile, Stephen King names a weak, cowardly character Percy Wetmore. Naturally, we treat heroes with more respect. Give naming the time it needs. Search online for baby names of both sexes, and most lists will categorize these by ethnicity. Be sure the name is historically and geographically accurate. You wouldn't have characters named Jaxon and Brandi, for instance, in a story set in Elizabethan England. I often refer to World Almanacs to find names for foreign characters. I'll pair the first name of a current government leader in that country with the last name of one of their historical figures (but not one so famous that the reader wonders if he's related, like Francois Bonaparte). 

2. Give characters a look at him. You want a clear picture of your character in your mind's eye, but don't make the mistake of forcing your reader to see him exactly the way you do. Sure, height, hair and eye color, and physicality (athletic or not) are important. But does it really matter if your reader visualizes your blonde heroine as Gwyneth Paltrow or Charlize Theron? Or your dark-haired hero as George Clooney or Ben Affleck? As I teach regarding descriptions of the sky or the weather and settings, it's important that your description of your main character is not rendered as a separate element. Rather, layer it in what he looks like through dialog and during the action. Hint at just enough to trigger the theater of the reader's mind so he forms his own mental image. Thousands of readers might have thousands of slightly varied images of the character, which is all right, provided you've given him enough information to know whether your hero is big or small, attractive or not, or athletic or not. Whether you're an outliner, (in essence inverviewing your character as if he were sitting right in front of you) or a pantser (getting to know him as he reveals himself to you) the more you know about him, the better you will tell your story.  

How old is he? What is his nationality? Does he have scars? Piercings? Tattoos? Physical imperfections? Deformities? What does his voice sound like? Does he have an accent? Readers often have trouble differentiating one character from another, so if you can give him a tag, in the form of a unique gesture or mannerism, that helps set him apart. You won't come close to using all the information you know about him, but the more you know, the more plot ideas will occur to you. The better aquainted you are with your character, the better your readers will come to know him and care. 

3. Give him a backstory. Backstory is everything that's happened before chapter 1. Dig deep. What has shaped your character into the person he is today? Things you should know whether you include them in your novel or not: Where, when, and to whom he was born? Brothers and sisters, their names and ages. Where he attended high school, college and graduate school; political affiliation, occupation, income, goals, skills and talents, spiritual life, friends, best friend, whether he's single, dating or married; world view, personality type, anger triggers, joys, pleasures, fears, and anything else relative to your story. 

4. Make sure he's human, vulnerable, and flawed. Even superheroes have weaknesses. For Superman there's Kryptonite. For swashbucklers like Indiana Jones there are snakes. A lead character without human qualities is impossible to identify with. But make sure his flaws aren't deal breakers. They should be forgiveable, understandable, identifiable. Be careful not to make your hero irredeemable -- For instance, a wimp, a scaredy cat, a slob, a dunce, or a doofas (like a cop who forgets his gun or his ammunition). You want a character with whom your reader can relate, and to do that, he needs to be vulnerable. Create events that exhibit strength of character and spirit. For example, does your character show respect to a waitress and recognize her by name?Would he treat a cashier the same way he treats his broker? If he's running late, but witnesses an emergency, does he stop and help? These are called pet-the-dog moments, where an otherwise bigger-than-life personality, does something out of character -- something that might be considered beneath him. Readers remember such poignant episodes, and they make the key moments even more dramatic. It was George Bailey's sacrificing his travel-the-world dreams to take over the lowly savings that made his standing up to the villainous Mr. Potter so heroic in the classic movie It's a Wonderful Life. Want to turn your Jimmy Stewart into a George Bailey? Make him real. Give him a pet-the-dog moment. 

5. Also give him classic, heroic qualities. While striving to make your main character real and human, be sure to also make him heroic or implant within him at least the potential to be heroic. IN the end after he has learned all the lessons he needs to from his failures to get out of the terrible trouble you plunge him into he must rise to the ocasion and score a great moral victory. He can have a weakness for chocolates or a fear of snakes, but he must show up and face the music when the time comes. A well-developed character should be extraordinary , but relatable. Never allow your protagonist to be a victim. It is certainly okay to allow him to face obstacles and challenges, but never portray him as a wimp or a coward. Give your character qualities that captivate and compel the reader to continue. For example: a character with a humble upbringing (an udnerdog) rises to the ocasion. A character with a hidden strength or ability suddenly reveals it early in the story and later uses it in an unusual or extraordinary way. Make him heroic and you'll make him unforgettable. 

6. Emphasize his inner life as well as his surface problems. What physically happens in the novel is one thing. Your hero needs trouble, a problem, a quest, a challenge, something that drives the story. But, just as important is your character's primary internal conflict. This will determine his inner dialog. Growing internally will usually contribute more to your character arc than the surface story. Ask yourself: What keeps him awake at night? What is his blind spot? What are his secrets? What embarrases him? What passion drives him? Mix and match details from people you know -- and yourself -- to create both the inner and outer person. When he faces a life or death situation, you'll know how he should respond. 

7. Draw upon your own experience and character development. The fun of being a novelist is getting to embody the characters we write about. I can be a young girl, an old man, a boy, a father, a grandmother, another race, a villain, of a different political or spiritual persuasion, etc. The list goes on and the possibilities are endless. The best way to develop a character is, too, in essence, become that character. Imagine yourself in every situation he finds himself, face every dilemma, answering every question-- how would you react if you were your character? If your character finds himself in mortal danger, imagine yourself in that predicament. Maybe you've never experienced such a thing, but you can conjure it in your mind. Think back to the last time you felt in danger, multiply by a thousand, and become your character. What ran through your mind when you believed you were home alone and heard footsteps across the floor above? Have you had a child suddenly go missing in a busy store? Have you ever had to muster the courage to finally speak your mind and set somebody straight? There's nothing like personal experience to help you develop characters. 

8. Keep character arc in mind throughout. Whatever message you're trying to convey through your story, it must contain a transformationin the life of your character. A well-written novel which follows a classic story structure plunges its main character into terrible trouble quickly, turns up the heat, and fosters growth and change in the character from the beginning. That's the very definition of character arc. Remember, as I covered above, a perfect character isn't relatable or believable. But every reader can relate to a flawed character who faces obstacles that force him to change. 

How does your character respond to challenges? Does he learn from them or face the same obstacle repeatedly because he fails to recognize his mistakes? 

Every scene should somehow relate to your hero's character arc. 

9. Show, don't tell. You've heard this one before, and you'll hear it again. If there's one cardinal rule of fiction, this is it. It also applies to character development. Give your readers credit by trusting them to deduce character qualities by what they see in your scenes and hear in your dialog. If you have to tell about your character in narrative summary, you've failed your reader. Your reader has a mind, an imagination. Using it is part of the joy of reading. As the life of your character unfolds show who your character is through what he says, his body language, his thoughts and what he does. 

Would rather be told: Fritz was one of those friendly, gregarious types that treated everyone the same from the powerful to the lowly. 

Or be shown this: "How's that grandson doing, Marcy?" Fritz asked the elevator operator. "James, right?" 

"Jimmy's doin' great, thanks. Came home from the hospital, yesterday." 

"Vacation was the tonic, Bud," Fritz told the door man. "You're tanned as a movie star." 

as he settled into the backseat of the car, Fritz said, "Tell me you're name and how long you've been driving Uber..." 

Show and you won't have to tell. For more on this, see my blog post Showing Verses Telling: What you Need to Know.
 
10. Don't skimp on research. Resist the temptation to write on something you haven't experienced before conducting thorough research. Imagination can take you only so far. But you can guess the first time you guess at something, astute readers will call you on it. For instance, I can imagine myself as a woman. I had a mother, I have a wife, I have daughters-in-lawand grand daughters, a female assistant, women colleagues. So I can guess at their feelings and emotions. But I'll always be handicapped by the simple fact that I'm not a woman. I recently ran into an old friend who told me she was homeless. I mentioned to some women friends that I doubted her because she looked put together, as if she'd been to the beauty shop. I said, "If you were living in your car, would you spend money on getting your hair and nails done?" 

Naturally that's the last thing  a man would think about. But women in my orbit said, "Sure, they could see it. Camouflaging your predicament and maintaining a modicum of self-respect would be worth skipping a few meals." Say you're writing about what you'd feel if you lost a child. I hope you would only be guessing about such a horror. But to write about it with such credibility takes thorough research. You'd have to interview someone who has endured such a tragedy, and has had the time to be able to talk about it.

Is your character a teacher, a police officer? A CEO? Or the member of another profession? with which you have no personal experience? Spend time in a classroom, get to know a teacher, arrange a ride-along with a cop, interview a CEO. Don't base your hero on images from movies and TV shows. The last thing you want is a stereotype readers cannot identify with and whom some would see through instantly. You'll find that most people love talking about their lives and professions. The #1 mistake writers make when developing characters is making a hero perfect. What reader can identify with perfect? Potentially heroic, yes! Honorable, sure. With a bent toward doing the right thing, yes! But perfect, no. IN the end your hero will likely rise to the ocasion and win against all odds. But he has to grow into that from a stance of reality, humanity. Render a lead character your reader can identify with, and in your ending he'll see himself with the same potential. That way your character arc also becomes a reader arc. You can do this. Develop a character who feels real, and he could become unforgettable. 

***

The Bouquet
by Lynda McKinney Lambert

The finest bouquet
is a gift of the spirit -
small scraps, bright fabrics,
wild flowers and red butterflies 
spilled  from a yellow tote bag.

Carved pieces of abalone shells
glitter among golden beads -
they dance in a circle
surround a porcelain medallion,
painted with wild roses and sunshine.

Fresh leafy green salads 
blueberries and salty cashews
conversations and laughter
surrounded our mid-summer table.
We opened the amber glass bottle,
drank sweet Blackberry wine
we raised our glasses –
“Greetings - to the hot summer day. 
Proust!

***

Praying Drunk by Kyle Minor: The Impact of Minimalism on Exposition
By Bridgit Kuenning-Pollpeter

In Praying Drunk by Kyle Minor, exposition is executed succinctly. Throughout the entire book, information is provided in brief segments, often single paragraphs or sentences, but that give the reader necessary background. He does not clutter up his writing with lengthy backstory, bogging down the narration. Instead, he plants exposition in brief statements that do not require more space than a paragraph or sentence can nestle into on the page. The effect is subtle but can be powerful.

He follows Hemingway’s Iceberg theory, which depicts little information on the page, showing only ten percent of the story, as Hemingway would advise. When the prose is strong enough, readers can infer information without it being splayed on the page. There’s a grace to minimalist writing. Minor uses this as a tool to construct his story. He does not always require maximalist prose to illustrate or to provide backstory.

According to LitSpot.com, a website hosted by The University of Wisconsin-Parkside, minimalism is characterized by an economy of words. “The reader is a fly on the wall, of sorts, listening in to the conversations and watching the action unfold,” (Litspot.com). A characters thoughts are usually not shared. Minimalist stories give us pieces of a character’s life. They also tend to be an objective point of view, according to Litspot. Ernest Hemingway and Raymond Carver are two examples commonly used to demonstrate minimalism.

Much like Hemingway, Minor creates scenes and narration with an economical style. Nestled between longer description and internal dialogue and descriptive language, there are minimalist sections that are powerful in their simplicity, driving the impetus with unfettered precision. It’s similar to a camera narrowing in on a close-up of a face—the audience does not require details of setting or situation to discern what is happening based on facial expressions.

Minor relies on this literary device, cutting a path to his point. He gives readers a clear, concise understanding of people and place and situation without overwhelming the text. Simple, brief descriptions suffice. This approach allows the reader to find the truth of the narrative.

In “The Question of Where we Begin,” we are given rapid-fire sentences about the suicide of his uncle. Each sentence stacks another layer of understanding onto the backstory. He starts with, “My uncle takes a pistol and blows his brains out,” moving onto, “The reading of the will,” then, “The woman he wanted to marry. Taking the ring he gave her and putting it on her finger after the death,” and, “Did you know that he was brain damaged when that city dump truck hit him twenty years ago?” (Minor, Ch. The Question of Where we Begin). Each of these sentences gives the reader a clear picture and understanding of the situation without muddying up the text with lengthy exposition.

He does not delve into the history of his uncle in a traditional manner. We could have several pages, or even an entire chapter addressing the uncle, instead, Minor squeezes out his uncle’s history through these simple descriptions. We are given an entire picture with a few strokes of the brush.

First, consider the word choice. Each description could have been written several different ways. Instead of “killing himself,” or, “committing suicide,” Minor bluntly states, “blows his brains out.” This evokes violence and creates a messy image the reader is not to forget soon. Syntax also works to create atmosphere in the sentence. In, “My uncle takes a pistol and blows his brains out,” there’s a retard in the sentence, a moment slowing the action down. It almost creates suspense, so to speak, as we see the uncle grab a pistol then blow his brains out.

Rather than show us his uncle blowing his brains out first, Minor has him reach first for the gun before showing the violent action. He could have created an entire scene around this moment, line-by-line building up to the suicide, but instead, he wraps it up in a single sentence. And yet, by choosing to place “takes a pistol,” before “blows his brains out,” we have a similar effect of suspension without a full scene. 

When you look at the sentence, “Taking the ring he gave her and putting it on her finger after the death,” we see how diction and syntax assist to enhance our understanding along with creating mood. We learn earlier that the uncle had been divorced and later dated a woman he hoped to marry. A reason is never fully given, but the woman is reluctant to marry the uncle. Now, being dead, and having accomplished death in such a violent way, the woman seems regretful.

This sentence is not about the death, but the woman finally placing the ring on her finger. It took death for her to realize she wanted to marry the uncle. For the reader, we sense the sadness and regret, and possibly guilt, she must feel. We move from the ring to it being on her finger to this occurring after his death. Again, more complex scenes could have been created depicting this moment, but we still come away from this sentence understanding the mood.

As Minor addresses the questions of existence and death and what shapes a person, he considers family history to place a magnifying lens on the dialogue. Speaking of his grandparents, he states, “She was a lazy home-body who wore a Mumu in her trailer every day of her life I knew her unless it was beauty shop day. He was a well point foreman who spent his child-raising years as a raging alcoholic who yanked the curtains off the walls,” (Minor, Ch. The Question). Devoid of lengthy description or developing an entire scene, we have a vivid image of what his grandparents were like. There’s no need for more than a sentence to illustrate their character and what they must have been like as human beings.

It is the close-up shot here at work. We understand the grandparents were abusive, likely uneducated, situated lower on the socio-economic status, but it did not take extensive description. We are given an upfront encounter of these people with simple text.

We don’t require the color or fabric of the Mumu to see this grandmother. Nor do we need detailed description of the trailer. Mumu and trailer conjure up vivid details. He writes first that she was lazy instead of beginning with her wearing a Mumu every day. By describing her as lazy first, he’s informing us that she was not a stellar person. We infer she probably did not spend much time with her children or grandchildren. Minor wants us to know upfront that this character is not a traditional, stereotypical mother or grandmother. And same with the grandfather being a “raging alcoholic” and “yanking curtains off the windows.” It does not take a full scene to portray what this man must have been like as a drunk. The details are implicit.

Minor stacks the details building to the violence of this man. A blue-collar, working man by letting us know he was a foreman, but then he adds raging alcoholic, halting us a bit before we stop completely with curtains being yanked from the wall. Minor’s building a moment by placing the words in this order.

The reader infers information about the characters from brief descriptions. Minimalism provides just enough detail to portray a clear picture. Paraphrasing Hemingway, you give just enough and no more, revealing just the tip of the iceberg of information.

Minor adeptly unfolds his family’s story with these brief descriptions. Returning to the uncle, he continues describing him with sentences like, “Who never felt comfortable in a suit,” and, “The last time we saw him, he was finally turning it around,” and, “In time you could see him becoming a man who didn’t complain about losing the love of his ex-wife and his children every two or three hours,” (The Question). We see a man who struggled for years but is gaining control of his life, moving forward. 

With lengthier description and stating more information, our focus may become lost in the prose. But with this literary minimalism, we concentrate on the subject at hand. The uncle and grandparents are crystal clear, in full view with simple writing. The picture is no less vivid for creating within the confines of this technique.

The purpose of this stripped-down text is to bring a terseness to the story. It’s the difference between trying to focus on a forlorn character in a room full of opulence as opposed to a bare, near-empty room. In the first room, much attention is directed at the adornments, whereas in the second room, focus lands on the subject. The grandparents are in full view despite the lack of abundance of description, providing an understanding. As Minor unfolds narratives about other family members, sharing dysfunction and family drama, we go back to the image of the grandparents and have a sense of why, in some part, his family never fully developed the skills to communicate and deal with the difficulties of life.

Perhaps Minor chose to use minimalism because he did not want to divulge any more about his family history than absolutely necessary. Perhaps he did not want overwrought emotions flooding the text or melodramatic language loosening the effect of the narrative. According to an article in The New York Times in 1986 by John Barth, trauma can be a reason for employing minimalism. When subject matter is difficult to write about, especially if personal, many writers admit to relying on this literary style. Perhaps it was Minor’s way of dealing with difficult subject matter involving his family. But it’s also strategic.

Ultimately, literary minimalism is a style choice. In the New York Times article, it describes the style as, “To strip away the superfluous in order to reveal the necessary, the essential,” (Barth, NewYorkTimes.com). It’s a purging of the text and telling-it-like-it-is. Minor seems to find a clarity by remaining simple. At the same time, he commits to strong verbs and nouns to carry the understanding.

While examining his uncle’s life, he considers the part his grandfather played. He writes, “Maybe if he hadn’t made my uncle sleep in the bathtub almost every night, my uncle might have slept better, been more alert in school, been encouraged by some teacher to go to college, got a white-collar job, missed the dump truck, married a different woman, had different children, earned until he was eighty,” (Minor, Ch. The Question). The nonessentials are left out, allowing the reader to infer. We’ve already seen the grandfather exhibit violent tendencies, so the notion that he made his son sleep in a bath tub is not unusual. It’s more details for us to better understand the uncle and conjecture along with Minor as to the choices he made in life. All this is handed to us in a single, fragmented sentence. The language is clear and sparse. He goes on to say, “If we change a variable here and there, my uncle doesn’t lock the doors, lie down on his bed, stick the pistol in his mouth and blow his brains out,” (Minor, Ch. The Question). With this statement, Minor suggest that had his uncle’s life been different, he would not have killed himself. The succinctness of this sentence is clear and avoids what Hemingway would deem inconsequential details.

In the short story “Glossolalia,” a plot unfolds with no narration, just dialogue. The unessential details are stripped from this story as we only learn about the characters through their conversations. Minimalism is employed here, and the technique is twofold. First, he creates short, realistic dialogue that makes clear what this conversation is about. The speakers do not spiral into diatribes and long sections of dialogue to make their point. It’s concise. And second, by eliminating narration and gestures, the focus remains on the subject matter. We are not caught up in how things are said, or losing focus on scenic description or physical appearance, but on what is being said. 

This minimalist concept stands as we gain information about the two speakers and their life through very small segments of text. The first line of dialogue ask, “’Are you interested in me because I’m a girl, or because I love Jesus?’” (Minor, Ch. Glossolalia). We are given to understand that this speaker is religious. She goes on to describe her past, “’But I use to be a person who didn’t love Jesus. I use to make different choices,’” (Minor, Ch. Glossolalia). These two sentences clue us into their beliefs and view on the world. She ends with hypothesizing that if she didn’t love Jesus, she would be a different person, and therefore, the man with whom she’s speaking with would no longer be interested in her.

With no description of gestures or appearance or action, we begin to form an understanding of this character. Religion is important to her, and she bases her world-view around her beliefs. She believes she’s defined by her beliefs alone.

The man tries to show her that even if she did not believe in Jesus, she would still be the same person in many ways. We learn a lot about her when he says, “’You would still be a ski instructor in the winter. You would still spend the summer here on the beach. You would still run. You would still body surf. You would still be very physically beautiful. You would still be a person who cares about other people,’” (Minor, Ch. Glossolalia). Minor chooses to inform us about this character through dialogue as opposed to doing it in the narration. Witnessing this conversation, we learn about this man and woman.

Later, when asked about their location, the man answers, “’I don’t like the cold. And I don’t like all the soldiers and their uniforms. I don’t like all the military songs. I think I might be a pacifist,’” (Minor, Ch. Glossolalia). We can determine this person is likely liberal, or at the very least, against and uncomfortable with war. We are given a deeper view into him as he speaks. It suggest a person who finds violence and activities that can lead to violence abhorrent. He later shares that he believes people in the military are trained to enjoy killing people. We have a sneak-peek into his views on war and the military and possibly politics.

These passages of dialogue are also demonstrating two differences of opinions. Its two people wanting to reconcile differences in order to be together, but the differences often seem too wide to reach across. Compromise doesn’t seem likely. Concentrating our attention on the words, we realize this information without needing it stated in narration or by having a speaker bluntly point it out. 

There are several discussions about religion, specifically her fundamental Christian beliefs, and his lack of spiritual definition. He seems often to ask meaningful questions in order to understand her point of view. He wants a dialogue, sharing his thoughts and opinions. She tends to be defensive though, often assuming he’s trite and mocking. Dialogue is used to build this relationship, displaying its journey.

At one point, the female ask, “’Is it okay with you if I put my hand on your knee while I drive?’” (Minor, Ch. Glossolalia). That they ask permission indicates they are careful about physical contact. It’s an expert way to show us how this person views sex and physical closeness. Several times the topic of touching is addressed, and the female speaker makes it clear they are uncomfortable with physical intimacy.

Eventually, she wants to hold one-another, but only if they remain under separate blankets, no touching underneath them. And, towards the end, the female wants to lie on the bed and cuddle, clearly contrasting earlier behavior. We see a person wrestling with conflicting feelings. She wants to be intimate, but she’s worried about crossing a line. Earlier, she admits to engaging in sexual activity, but that was before she “found Jesus.” Because of her beliefs, she no longer wants to be sexually active. Her actions suggest she’s attracted to the man and cares deeply for him, but she’s concerned they will fall into what she considers sinful behavior. This internal conflict plays throughout the entire story, revealing a woman confused and unsure despite what she says.

Without describing action or expressions, just by simply creating dialogue, we find all the information we need about this couple as it relates to the story. Both are seeking intimacy, both trying to understand the world. They feel drawn to one another, but for some reason, unable to fully lose themselves in the relationship. Most writers would create fuller scenes showing gestures and expressions, perhaps describing objects and setting, but Minor accomplishes everything he intends just with dialogue. We get characterization, bits of background and plot with brief pieces of dialogue. 

Minor sneaks in exposition and information throughout Praying Drunk in these concise, succinct ways. The story does not always require full scenes or long descriptions. It’s like peeking behind a curtain—just a glimpse, but enough of a glimpse to give us a full picture. He demonstrates the subtle power of this concise method throughout. Following practitioners of this technique like Hemingway and Carver, Minor finds literary minimalism an effective tool. It takes a master of the craft to use minimalism effectively, and Minor seems to be a masterful practitioner himself.

Minimalism and maximism are two sides of the same coin. Both have their pros and cons, their beauty and beast. Descriptive sentences can be beautiful, powerful, and often, fuller description is necessary. But minimalist writing has a quiet beauty that can be just as powerful. It pulls a reader into a story with few distractions. It harnesses a simplistic power focusing attention and providing information without divulging everything. As Hemingway would advise, the tip of the iceberg is enough to indicate what is deeper.

Employing minimalism, Minor pitches his stories in Praying Drunk with ethos and pathos. He allows us to focus on details without tripping on an abundance of description and information. It is this simplistic quality creating power in the text. The reader understands characters, knows enough of their history and can create vivid images with this terse, stripped-down text.

Works Cited

Barth, John. “A Few Words on Minimalism.” The New York Times.com, the New York Times. 28 Dec. 1986, late ed.: 1. Web. 23 April 2016.

Litspot.com. University of Wisconsin-Parkside. Web. 23 April 2016.

Minor, Kyle. Praying Drunk: Stories, Questions. Louisville, Ky: SaraBande Books Inc. 2014. Audio book.

***

Gratitude
by Tony R. Candella

[Currently semi-retired, Tony Candela had a 40-year career as a blind rehabilitation specialist. Most recently, he was founding director of the Department of Veterans Affairs Blind Rehabilitation Center in Long Beach, California. Tony worked for the California State VR agency, the American Foundation for the Blind, Lighthouse International, and the New York Commission for the Blind.     

In his spare time, Tony loves movies and sports, is an avid Star Trek fan, and reader of books in most genres. His favorites are sci-fi and historical fiction, but his tastes are eclectic. Tony likes to write prose and the occasional song. He accompanies himself on guitar, with which he dabbles. This is his first submission to Slate and Style as well as his first poem which was inspired by a real-life event while heading to the bank one day.] 

She hovered behind him for just a second and decided that it was too uncomfortable being there.
He trudged slowly, step by step, cane tap by cane tap,
Up a hill fraught with many dangers.
Impatient, she said, “May I be of help? There’s a car up there blocking your path.”
“No thank you. I’ve been through this space many times. I’m OK.”
“OK,” she said, moving past him and disappearing from his senses.
“I know the dangers,” he seemed to imply.
He moved into the space where she had just been.
Her presence was gone; she had moved out of range, but he still felt her mind.
He picked his way around the automobile fearful of stepping too far into
The street down which vehicles barreled almost out of control as they sped.
The hill up which he trod was steep; broken sidewalk, dirt patches, walls, and tree-branches
Accosted him as he came upon them.
The next car parked half in the sidewalk and half in its driveway
Forced him to step gingerly into danger again.
Why did the car stick out so much? Was the driveway simply too short a receptacle?
“Everything in this City seems to be just a bit too short or a bit too tall.”
He stutter-stepped around a bucket in the middle of the sidewalk and almost tripped over a rake.
A man growled from his left: “Cuidado!”
He nodded and gave the man a thumbs-up.
On he trudged, better than Sisyphus, ‘til he reached the top.
Life got easier then.
The woman passed the cars, the bucket, the walls, the hill.
“I should have helped him, but I was in a hurry.“
“I feel guilty”
“Now I am angry. Why did he do this to me?”
“He told me he was OK; maybe he was.”
“So then, why do I feel this way?”
“He knew, didn’t he that I would feel so hot and yet so cold and yet so hot.”
“He absolved me of responsibility; he said he was OK.”
“But I have felt his struggle; we all struggle, don’t we?”
“Can someone struggle and still be OK?”
“Perhaps they can.”
“He absolved me of responsibility; he said he was OK.”
“Thank you, oh sweet man.”
“You spared me the struggle; yet you helped me through it.”

***

Snowball the Wonder Cat
by Kerry Elizabeth Thompson

[Kerry Elizabeth Thompson lives with a multitude of cats and has contributed stories over the years for publication in Slate and Style.]

“Drat it all!" I exclaimed.

Slamming back from the desk, I stared at the computer monitor. It stared back with its enlarged print and enhanced, brightly colored cursor. 

Turning away from its mocking gaze, I moaned.  "I can't. I can't, can't, can't write!"

Snowball looked up from grooming her fluffy tail. "What's the pur-roblem?" she inquired. 

I grabbed at my hair, groaning again. "The problem is that there's nothing I can write about." Snowball made a low, rumbly sort of sound. I sat up and swiveled to look at her where she sat on the sunny windowsill, candy-pink ears perked, large, round, green eyes trained on me attentively. 

“Why do you need to wrur-rite anything?” she asked. “Why not sit in the sunshine instead?”  I couldn’t help smiling just a little. My cat was always practical, by her own lights anyway.

“It’s the Twenty-seventh,” I explained. That was, after all, the only necessary explanation.

“So?” she said. Did her whiskers twitch?  “It’s sunny..” 

“Yes, I know,” I said a little desperately, “But the contests close on the first. That’s only four days away.” I paused. That didn’t sound right. If this was the Twenty-seventh of March, and the deadline was the First of April...

Groggily, I realized that I was in worse shape than I’d supposed. I reached for my water bottle and found it empty. Scowling, I put it down. It fell over with a dull clunk. I stared at it morosely but didn’t touch it again.

I looked at Snowball. She had lain down. The sunlight, falling full on her back, shimmered with iridescent sparks in her soft, white fur. Pretty as it was, I felt too wound up to pay much attention. She radiated expectancy. So, I elaborated on the urgency of the situation, why I had to produce and dispatch something, and fast. It beat facing that monitor again.

“You know how upset I’ve been ever since –“ My voice broke on the last word.

“Evurr since he left.”

“You never liked Kit,” I accused indistinctly. “You were glad we broke up.”

I sniffed and looked up in time to see the tip of her fluffy tail twitch. “He didn’t like me.”

That was true enough, but I didn’t feel like admitting the point. “He might have if you had talked to him,” I wailed.

Snowball sat up and looked at me sternly. I felt quite sure it was sternly. She somehow managed to look like my father when  he scolded me in my childhood. “You know I couldn’t do that, Cassie,” she said. She even sounded like my father, though her voice was about eight octaves higher. “I can talk to you because you are a poet...”

“Some poet,” I muttered. “Can’t write a poem to save my soul.” Absently, I reached for the water bottle again. “Not much of a human being for that matter. Can’t even hold on to my boyfriend... Or make sure there’s water in my bottle.” I put it down in disgust and it toppled onto the floor.. I closed my eyes.

Snowball stretched like a furry rubber band and laid a paw on my knee. I touched the paw lightly with one fingertip before she contracted into normal cat shape and licked where my finger had been. The contact, brief though it was,  eased the tightness in my chest.

“You have an arrrtistic temperament,” she said. “He has no poetry or music or magic in him at all. He couldn’t have hur-red me if I’d tried.”

I thought about this, but not for too long. I had to finish explaining myself to my sometimes unnervingly intelligent and prceptive cat, and then I had to write a prize-winning poem. So I tried again, from a different angle.

“The last time I talked with Rose – You’ve met Rose...”

Snowball shuddered. “And her dog!”

“Pretzel’s a good boy,” I said indulgently, remembering the patient Golden Lab. “Besides, he’s a highly trained guide dog. He didn’t bother you.”

“He didn’t molest me,” she said. “Bothering is a whole diffur-rent dish of water.” I smiled. Smiling was becoming easier. 

“Yes,” I said, “well. Rose is First VP of the Writers Division and editor of the Division’s magazine.”

“I know,” Snowball said complacently. “That’s why you have so much corr-rospondence with her. She publishes a lot of your lovely poems.”

I blushed. “Yes, well,” I said again. “Er...” Opening the desk drawer distractedly, I found a limp half-roll of Wintogreen Lifesavers and extracted one. Its sweet, sharp tang made me cough.

“Anyway,” I went on, “she’s one of the contest judges this year. And I told her my entries would be in by the end of the month. 

“Only,  when I told her that, I hadn’t started anything yet. And then Kit and I had that fight or whatever it was, and I was too upset and confused to write. And then he, he walked out. “

I choked but  no tears came this time. Was that a good sign or a bad one? I had no idea.

“I know,” Snowball said softly. “It was awful to see you like that – not able to eat, or shower or get dressed for days. You’re usually punctual about meals, and so well groomed.”

She had come to rub against me again. Stroking her head I said, “The only thing that’s kept me going is needing to take care of you, Kitty.” She butted her head against me comfortingly. I rubbed her ear.

“Then, I woke up this morning,” I went on. “Well, I guess it was almost 12:30, and looked at the clock –“ I waved vaguely towards the large display digital clock which showed not only the time, but also the date and room temperature. “That’s when I realized the contest deadline was just a few days away. I may be a loser…”

Snowball interjected a dismissive “GRRR!”

“All the same,” I went on, “I take my membership in the Writers’ Division very seriously. Besides, I promised Rose.

“An that’s why you’re complaining about not being able to wrur-rite instead of sitting quietly in the sunshine or taking me for a nice walk?”

“Yes.”

“So,” she said, “wrur-rite something. You’re always wrur-riting something.

“Rur-remember the time you almost stepped on me getting out of the shower,  and you didn’t even put on a towel because you were in such a rur-rush to get to the computer and wrur-rite down a new poem?”

I didn’t . But if Snowball said it happened, it must have happened.

I sighed. "You're supposed to write what you know, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, everything I know – my real or everyday life, my dream life, my fantasy life," I choked and sank my head into my hands. "Even and especially my pain and despair and emptiness life - " Snowball growled. I ignored her commentary on my poor phraseology and went on in a rush. "Everything I know is Kit."

Snowball sneezed. 

“You were much too wrur-rapped up in that guy,” she said. “All he talked about was computer pur-rograms and computer games. I don’t know what you saw in him.”

“He’s the only guy who ever asked me out, except for Tommy Ruggles in Tenth Grade. And Tommy only asked me out because he figured not seeing well, I’d be easy to hit on. He was so mad when I wouldn’t let him unbutton my blouse... Kit never insisted that we have sex.”

I thought a bit. “Of course, that might have been because he doesn’t know what sex is. He sure never mastered the art of kissing. It’s a pity Tommy turned out to be such a creep; he was a pretty good kisser. 

“And there was Steve Wright my first year in college. He was a great kisser, the skunk!”

“Skunk? “Snowball asked with interest.

“Yeah. It slipped his mind to mention that he already had a girlfriend. Fortunately, she believed me that I didn’t know. Guess she realized my shock and disgust were genuine.  He ended up without any girlfriend after that.”

“Serve him rur-right,” Snowball said approvingly.

“I suppose. But I also ended up without a boyfriend, until Kit. He was nice to me.” I sniffed. “He didn’t trick me or expect a lot of me. And he introduced me to his friends...”

“Who were all computer geeks and their wimpy gur-ril-fur-rends.”

“Well,” I conceded.

I remembered something Snowball had said. “They all know about magic though. They play Dungeons and Dragons...”

“That’s not magic,” she said scornfully. “That’s just a silly game. Magic is sur-rious and real, like me. Not everybody can recognize it. Only special people like you.”

“I’m special?” I asked doubtfully.

“Yes.”

“And unemployed,” I reminded her, “and subsisting on Disability and a meager writing income.” 

She waved a dismissive paw. “That isn’t what matters. “

“Not to you,” I agreed gloomily, “or really to me either. But that sort of thing matters to most people.” I paused.

“Kit didn’t care...”

There was silence between us while she vigorously scratched the side of her head with a back paw and I crunched my Lifesaver disconsolately. When she could return her attention to me, she rumbled thoughtfully. 

“He is what’s in your mind. So, wrur-rite about him.”

I startled myself by making a funny little sound somewhere between a squeal and a sob.

“Why not?”

I cleared my throat. “I, I can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

Panic rose in my chest. I looked around wildly for someplace to hide. There was no place, except the bathroom; and Snowball would follow me in there. I drew a long breath, held and released it. That didn’t help. Finally, I had to answer her. “I just can’t!”

"Don't humans write about their most intimate ex-purr-iences in autobiographies, and memoirs, and those novels with the Fur-rench name?"

*"Roman à clef? Yes. And, most first novels are largely autobiographical as well."

She sat up and began washing her paws. "So," she inquired again with a delicate redirection of emphasis, "what's the pur-roblem?"

"I find that sort of stuff distasteful enough to read, let alone to write."

"Wrur-riting about one's life and everyday ex-purr-ience, you mean?"

"Yes."

She began washing her face, giving her complete attention to this important business for several minutes, then going on to wash the top of her head. I watched in amusement. When she finished, she blinked. "Is evurrything in your life distasteful?"

It was my turn to blink. "Well, no, I suppose not. But…"

"Is evurrything in your life too intensely purr-sonal to talk about?" she pursued, stretching her front paws.

"Well, no; but…" I stared at her. She stared back, sublimely unconcerned. She yawned.

"Is there anything, or purr-haps anybody in your life that is noteworthy other than him?" she asked with a fine show of indifference.

I began to grin. And, as the grin grew broader, I felt the writer's block disperse, like a thick fog stirred by a breeze. I missed Kit something awful. The bewilderment, the pain of that final betrayal, the resounding, wall-rattling slam of the apartment door remained, a tangible presence like a stone in my chest.  But, just as water flows around an obstacle, my life could go on, thanks to Snowball. for now at least, I had something to do. 

"I'll write about you," I said, leaning forward to rub Snowball's head. "I'll be sure to win First Prize in the Fiction contest."

I laughed for the first time in days as she reared up, the image of a lion rampant. "What do you mean the Fiction contest?" she growled.

I smoothed the ruffled fur on her back. "Well, after all," I said. "No one would accept a story about a talking cat as nonfiction."

Snowball hissed. Ignoring her, I stood up and stretched. "Man, I'm hungry! I'm gonna have a nice, big breakfast, or brunch, or whatever and then, thanks to you, Kitty, I can get to work."

She jumped down to follow me into the kitchen. I poured her a saucer of milk as a special treat, and then bustled about distractedly. I only just avoided putting the Canadian bacon in the toaster and the frozen French toast in the microwave in my excitement.

"What should I call the story?" I mused while setting the table. "Something snappy. Cat On A Hot Tin Roof? Na, that's been used. Hmm. The Cat Who Came In From The Cold? Long Cat's Journey Into Night?"

Snowball jumped onto my chair and sniffed at my plate as I set it down. "Are you going to drown that in maple surr-up?" she asked disapprovingly, pointing at the Canadian bacon with her nose.

"Yep." Picking her up, I moved her to the other chair. Then, I sat down and began extravagantly buttering the French toast. "How about All's Cat That Ends Cat?" Snowball sneezed. I looked up in concern. "Are you getting a cold, Kitty?"

"No," she said testily. Climbing up, she sat on the far edge of the table and glared at me. I could tell she was glaring because her eyes had changed from green to yellow. I watched her warily. If they turned orange, I was really in trouble.

"I think," she said, "and since I'm the subject of this so-called 'story' my opinion ought to be taken into consideration – I think you should call it Snowball The Wonder Cat."

I choked on a bite of French toast. "W’wonder cat?"

She crossed her paws in front of her chest and glared still more intensely, orange eyes glowing. "Wonder Cat," she repeated grimly. "After all, how many talking cats do you know?”

[Editor's note: Stay tuned for more from the wonder cat.]

***

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