A new short story: 1850-1857

This is a short story I have written exclusively for this blog. I am fond of ghost stories and had a good time writing it and hope you all will enjoy. In a few days I will move the story to the "english writings" sections (where you can already find some other short stories). Enjoy:

This is just brilliant! thought Phoebe sarcastically having already accepted that she would get wet. She had been doing her tax declaration for 3 days and the deadline was tomorrow, so she had to finish it no matter what. Being a freelance musician this was always a pain in the ass. It had been about 1.30 am when she had decided to take a break and get some indian food from the 24 h take away. She had been half way there when it had started pouring like there was no tomorrow. So there she was soaking wet, tired and as she hadn't arrived yet still starving or maybe just hungry but her annoyance made it seem worse. She was about to cross the street, when she noticed that the gate to the cemetery was open. To walk through the graveyard would safe her about 20 minutes of walking in each direction and considering that the rain was getting stronger it seemed like a good idea, but like most people she dreaded cemeteries. She even felt uncomfortable there by day. She rolled her eyes thinking: Don't be a baby this is not a cheap horror movie! Then she walked towards the gate and entered.

The graveyard was rather small and dated about 180 years back. These days people were buried in the new one on the other side of town, that seemed more like a park than a cemetery, which most likely was the intention.

This place had a different quality to it and Phoebe couldn't stop herself from starting to read the headstones: Phillipp Moyers 1878-1902 "beloved son", Carolyn Amber 1853-1910 "I shall never forget you, my eternal pearl. Your husband Michael”. Lily Rose Stone 1850-1857 “our beloved angel your mother and your father will always watch over you”.

Although the rain hadn't stopped Phoebe didn't mind anymore. There was something to these engravings that captivated her. A mixture or warmth and respect that seemed so lost these days. While she approached the gate on the other side she kept reading. The cemetery seemed to have belonged to a rather small community, as the same five family names appeared over and over again. These families seemed to have been wealthy as most of these head stones were delicately decorated and some even bore a portrait of the deceased. The families were: The Moyers, the Sawyers, the O’Riordans, the Stones and the Callums. These names alone, estimated Phoebe, were on about 80 % of the headstones. She made a mental note to google that as she felt intrigued. Maybe these families had been the most generous of the community and donated money to the church.

In any case Phoebe had reached the gate on the other side and couldn’t wait for that “Chicken Vindaloo” she had ordered and some dry clothes. When she tried to push open the heavy gate the only response she got was a loud squeak from the handle but no movement. The gate was locked. Phoebe turned her face upwards, closed her eyes and said to herself: “You have got to be frigging kidding me! It is like I am trapped in some cheap horror movie!” The last part she had almost screamed in frustration so that the low and gentle voice scared her even more: “What is a horror movie?” Phoebe opened her eyes in shock and looked down to a young girl in a simple yellow dress. At least the dress seemed yellow in the dim light. “Oh my god, you scared me! What are you doing here this late?” Phoebe’s voice had a patronizing tone that surprised herself. “I am sorry, I didn’t want to scare you. I was just looking for my parents. I have been looking for them for ages, but cannot find them. Can you help me? I am so tired and if I cannot find them I have to start all over again.” The girl’s eyes filled with tears and Phoebe said: “Of course sweety. What is your name?” “Lily.Lily Rose.” The girl replied trying to smile. “This is a pretty name. I thought that earlier already, when….” Phoebe made a break when she realized what she was about to say and looked at Lily Rose, now realizing that despite the rain she appeared to be perfectly dry. Phoebe stumbled back at her realization, so that Lily finished the sentence for her: “…you read it on my headstone.” Lily eye’s showed even more despair, than when she has been talking about her parents: “Please don’t be scared! I just want to find my parents. I don’t know why everybody is so scared when I talk to them.” “Well Lily, most people get scared when they see a ghost. Wouldn’t you?” Phoebe had to frown herself at this more than weird question. “I was afraid when I was alive, but now I understand it is stupid. I mean I am still me. Just Lily! Nothing has changed, when I was alive nobody was afraid of me, not even the other children…” Her voice broke and she had started sobbing. Phoebe tried to pull herself together. In the simple logic of a child what Lily had said made sense. Why were people afraid of ghosts or paranormal phenomena as they were referred to usually? After all weren’t they us? She made a step towards Lily: “It’s ok. I know you are upset, but we are not used to seeing dead people. I am not afraid of you, but it is scary that I can see you. Do you understand?” She tried to keep her voice steady but it was tough not to freak out over the topic. Lily nodded and started calming down: “I really didn’t mean to scare you. I just want to find my parents. I look every night for them, but I can never find them and then I have to start over again. I miss them so much!” “So you mean you are looking for their graves?” Phoebe asked. “Yes, but I can never remember where I have already been so I have to start again. I cannot read very good so it takes me too long. Can you help me? You look smart!” Phoebe smiled and replied: “Yes I will help you. By the way: My name is Phoebe.” “A pleasure meeting you Phoebe.” said Lily and made a small old fashioned courtesy. “Ok, what were your parents’ names?” “My father’s name was Robert, Robert Stone and my mother was called Felicia.” “Ok very good Lily. Do you know when they were born?” The girl shook her head in response. Phoebe considered for a second: “Did you have older brothers or sisters?” Again Lily shook her head in response. “Well, usually in your time people got married very young so I guess your parents were born between 1820 and 1830. I think I saw some similar dates over there.” said Phoebe and pointed to the left side of the graveyard which was a little shielded from the rain due to the high Oak trees. “Shall we take a look?” “Yes please!” answered Lily and they walked over there. Phoebe felt the urge to take Lily by the hand but since she didn’t know what it would feel like, if she could even take the little girl’s hand she decided against it. The situation was surreal enough just as it was. The rain had in the meantime settled for less aggressive intensity but was still strong.

They walked by the headstones in silence with Phoebe scanning the names Phillipp Callum, Emma O’Riordan, John Callum, Paul Moyers so it went one. Sometimes she stumbled over the name Stone but discarded it due to the time frame until she came to a pretty white marble stone that read: Margaret Stone 1859-1883 “beloved daughter of Robert and Felicia”. Lily looked puzzled when Phoebe read the inscription to her. “Don’t you see? She must have been your sister! We must be getting close.” As she understood Lily’s face brightened. “Great, but we must hurry!” “Why? What is wrong?” “It comes and it pulls me down!” the girl sounded scared. “What comes?” Phoebe felt the panic crawling up her neck, whatever scared a ghost would scare her for sure. “Typhed. My mom called it Typhed. He was there when I died!” Lily grabbed her hand and started to pull her along the way. He hand was cold, but other than that felt quite normal thought Phoebe. They rushed forward Phoebe always scanning the head stones and still thinking about what the girl had said. “You mean Typhoid? Does this mean you died of Typhoid?” “Yes! That is what my mom called it! And he comes back every night, while I am looking for my parents!” and then Phoebe understood. Lily had to have died at night and now she was always looking for her parents and at the time she had died she was sort of pulled away and had to start all over again the next night. That was her curse and as she understood Phoebe was determined to help her! The wind, until that moment barely breeze, gained strength and she knew they were running out of time. She ran along the graves as fast as she could always looking at the names: Alexander, Joshua, Kate, Claudia…until she found them: Here lie Robert Stone 1830-1888 and Felicia Stone 1832-1888 who died in the flames of their house. May they be united with their angels Lily Rose and Margaret for all eternity.

The look on Lily’s face left no doubt that she had in the meantime also read the headstone. “Mother, father! I am home.” she said sobbing but this time it was not out of despair but of happiness. The wind had calmed in the moment they had found the grave and Lily had realized she had found her parents. Phoebe stood there and watched the little girl vanish with tears in her eyes. After that she didn’t mind the rain and went to get her food, knowing she would never again be afraid of ghosts.

The following day after she had handed in her tax records, Phoebe went to a flower shop and got a little bouquet. She found Lily’s grave in no time and left her the bouquet which of course was made of lilies and roses.

Political Correctness and Humor. A contradiction?

Before writing about this sensitive topic I want to state two things about myself.

First of all I am an extremely tolerant person, in my honest opinion as long as the people involved in your actions are consenting adults and nobody gets hurt do as you please. I am proud to have friends with lots of different cultural backgrounds and love to learn about other cultures and their values. I am stating all this so explicitly to make sure that people are aware that hurting someone just because he is different to me is the LAST thing on earth I would do. So if anybody feels offended by the article I am about to write I apologize, as it is in no way my intention to offend or hurt anybody.

The second thing is that I love to laugh! I laugh at many things including myself no matter if the jokes are clever, satiric, sophisticated, goofy, naughty...as long as they are funny I laugh at them and this is where the problem for many people seems to start.

Of course humor is always a matter of taste, what one finds funny the other thinks of as boring and viceversa and when political correctness is involved the line you have to walk gets even thiner. I know we all have some things we are sensitive about but we should ask ourselvesif someone makes a joke about it, the following: Is this person trying to hurt ME or are they just trying to make people laugh and make sure people have a good time? I think in this situation it is important to check from this point of view. Being spanish one joke I often make myself is: "We cannot do proper economy but at least we can do soccer", so why should I be offended if someone else makes the joke hile it is ok if I make it? I also laugh dearly about jokes on the cost of women's parking abilities or our habit of going to the toilet in groups. Girls think about it: We actually GO to the toilet in groups! There are lots of examples for this sort of jokes and if you think about it they have one thing in common. The jokes are not about the actual people but about the clichés regarding some groups of people! In a way a cliché is a "mild predjudice", so if we make fun about a cliché we are making fun of a predjudice.

Political correctness is a good thing don't get me wrong. It was and is important for people to become aware of what minorities might find offensive and to avoid these things, but these days I often get the feeling that we are starting to over-do it.

An example is something I heard some time back about spanish grammar. In spanish (for those of you who don't speak it) there are two versions of the pronom "they" one is "ellos" for men and the other one is "ellas" for women, so far so good. If the group you are refering to is of both sexes you use the male "they" ellos. I as a woman have absolutely no problem with that, but apparantly other women have, as now they are changing that and it is now grammatically correct to use "ellas" if the majority in the group consists of  women. In theory this means that before talking about them you should  check if there are more women or men in the group! In my opinion when it comes to these extremes we are absolutely missing the point. Does this seriously matter to someone?

On the other hand it is a reality that usually women earn less money than men for doing the exact same job or people of african descent are not let into clubs simply because of their skin colour. Just to name two examples where there is still "work to be done". Aren't these the things we should be aiming at instead of the political correctness of jokes?

I personally think we should relax, when it comes to humor in the aspects of political correctness and put the focus for political correctness where is belongs, the real world! In humor it is about laughing, preferably at ourselves. It is not the real world, but a place to forget about the real world and just laugh.

Why I write

A lot of people ask me, why I write. At the age of 33 and with a more or less good job, most people are thinking about settling down and spending time with friends and family, while I put a lot of effort and time into writing. So the question is absolutely valid and before writing this I had to ask myself: Why do I write?

First of all I want to clarify that although I have only started about one year ago to publish things (mostly through this blog) and to talk about it, I have been writing since I was about 15 years old. It started as way to sort out my confused teenage thoughts but quickly turned to something more. Writing or story telling is for me a way to experience new things. I guess you could refer to it as "mind travelling", which I hope doesn't sound too spiritual. If you tell a story it is all about empathising into your characters and situations. Sometimes this experience can be quiet intense and that is for me the most amazing thing when I am writing. Some of you might have experienced something like that when reading a good book, thinking "I so can relate to this". In a way the writer binds his emotions when writing and the reader relives them when reading. Take a second to think about how amazing this truely is!

I think what differs me from most writers is that often (not always of course) I simply let the story grow and run its course. Basically I just start writing to see where it leads me (A good example for this is my short story "Kane Mansion" you can find in the english writing section). Often I have a vague idea where I want to get with the story and then its developement surprises me. Most writers have a previous plan, but I prefer to write like this, since the story then seems much more organic to me, instead of doing an unnatural twist just to take it, where I had intended to take it from the beginning on.

Interesting as this has just happened with the entry, while I wanted to write "why" I write I ended up explaining on "how" I write. But in a way there lies this answer already.

Most people might think, that you only are a writer if you do it for a living, but I don't think so. I am a writer because I have to write. It is as essential to me as breathing. There is no other way for me to be happy, but to be writing. That is why I write and I am sure that all artists can relate to this feeling no matter if they are musicians, painters, writers, actors or sculptors. Art is not a choice it is who we are.

This blog entry is especially dedicated to all my artist friends!

Social Networks - Blessing or Curse?

These days being member of at least one social network seems almost as essential as speech. But as with all things we need to ask ourselves are they a blessing or a curse? I am well aware of the irony that I am writing this article on a blog, that is also a sort of social network platform.

Let me start by saying that I am an avid user of social networks. I think they are a wonderful way to stay in touch with people from all over the world and also to meet new people. Many of the people I call friends these days have I met through social networks. It is a great way to organize events, reach people and share things. Why would I write a blog, have a twitter and facebook account if I didn't think so? But I often I cannot but wondering if it really is all blessing.

In our times of Facebook and other social networks the word "friend" has been distorted from its original meaning. For my generation and even more the generation of my parents a "friend" was pretty much someone who knew the worst of you and still loved you. But what is a friend nowadays? In social networks we can get "friends" by a simple mouseklick. Some people even sent friend requests without knowing someone or even adding a message. I often wonder what the background of this is. Some people even told me, there were dating someone they had met on a social network. There is nothing wrong with that you might think, until I tell you they hadn't even met this person in real life. So I find myself wondering, if there is an unhealthy developement happening in society.

In 1995 the movie "The Net", starring Sandra Bullock, seemed surreal, as most of the lead character's life was organized through her computer and she hardly had any personal contact with other people. But if we watch it today our perception of it has changed, as a lot of it is normal these days.

The 2009 movie "Surrogates" with Bruce Willis even takes it one step further. People in the movie  avoid human contact entirely by using remote controlled androids instead of going outside themselves. The thought that when watching this movie in 20 years it could feel less awkward scares me to death!

So let's take social networks as useful tool, nothing more, nothing less. I am glad for having gotten the chance to meet so many wonderful people through it. But it was only through meeting them in person and shared laughs and tears that I really got to know them and came to consider them friends. I hope I will have the chance to meet more people thanks to net working and share at least a cup of coffee and a chat with them or you.

Now I am going out to meet with a friend of mine, whom I have met through a social net work.