Duende, or "the Devil made me do it."

This week in my Poetry class we talked about duende, that devilish energy that can enliven dance, music, performance, and, if you're lucky, writing. A piece has duende when you throw caution to the wind, cut the restraints you put on yourself and let the devil in you emerge. 
I'm afraid I've done just that in my electronic publishing project. I got it into my head to do this experiment using electronic media to create a communal work of writing and let anyone who desires to add to the text. So far, the resulting story is Amazing. It's the lack of control that is hard to deal with. But, that's the point of the experiment. I don't control the story line; the contributors do. I promote it on Twitter (@catemaire), on this blog, and now on my webpage, but I surrender myself to the communal voice. 
Surely it was duende that made me do it. 
I failed to realize how much we control (or think we control) our own narratives, whether it's our life (education, career, relationships) or a piece of writing. Losing control is acutely uncomfortable, but really, just how much control do we have over our lives?
I look at the news, (a volcano erupting, a hurricane hitting a ravaged island, climate change, cancer research) and I realize that we have very little control over the big picture. It's humbling. And a little scary. But then my duende rises and I say "What the hell ..." and get on with my life. We all do, it's just a little daunting to acknowledge it. Maybe if we acknowledged this truth a bit more often, we would become more carefree and learn to live in the moment, whatever that moment may be.

And the story just gets weird

New twists as of noon on Nov. 5:

But what could be done about it? Nothing.

 Little did she know that he was out on the road, driving with gritted teeth and a half a bottle of lukewarm Cherry Coke next him as his only companion. His tension had formed into little knotted muscles in his back. He missed Therese, but had had to leave before he could properly explain why he had to leave. He felt like crying and vomiting at the same time. But he was too busy dodging the birds walking on the narrow, twisty road to the plant.

Snap out of it he thought, he didn't like his mind dragging him into past's abyss. He thought more of Maria. Maria Maria Maria, perhaps... he then gave himself a mental slap! I need to focus, he was frustrated with himself. These birds these dangblasted birds!!!! He felt that he was about to lose it, he heard a noise off in the clearing not to far into the twisty road, he slowly turned, something weird definately this way comes...

and nearly sideswiped a tree as the procession exited the clearing and began trooping across the road, fronted by a silvery unicorn dressed in bright ribbons and tinsel being led by a rolly-polly figure in pink coveralls and a pointed hat with a short round brim. Next in line were a pair of elephants ridden by winged monkeys. Bringing up the rear was a cartoonish old guy with a broom and push-can. Marching along side were two columns of birds.

Wendell slammed on the brakes, slid to a stop, closed his eyes and shook his head violently. When he peeked again through half-open lids, only the birds remained. They weren't marching anywhere, just standing around looking confused.

"That doctor wasn't kidding, was he..." Wendell thought, and cringed. He took a deep breath. "I've got to get a grip." 
He drove onto the main road, towards the plant. "But, really, what's up with the birds today?"

Add to the story at Cate's Communal Writing Project or in the comments section of this blog. Be sure to check out the discussion page. You can post comments and speculate about where the story should go.

For the life of me, I can't figure out what's going to happen next. That's where you come in. I've already been surprised and delighted by the character and plot development. Wendell is turning out to be quite a character: widower, Greatful Dead fan, feeds the birds (and those birds!?!), drives a pickup, left a job with Maria (hmm...) to work at a nuclear power plant, and now he - what? hallucinates? There's a lot going on here. And it's out of my control and into yours. Have fun. Write happy. 

and the story continues ...

Maria sat down at her desk and picked up the headphones. She opened Pandora, and the "Sultry Blues" channel started up with Lavay Smith whispering "Baby you can use me" in her velvet voice...BadadumpBadump. "You can abuse me" DadadaBump. Then the horns came in and the Red Hot Skillet Lickers blazed off into an up-tempo riff, with Lavay wailing "But just don't refuse me!". So NOT what I need today, she thinks, clicking on the "next" icon. Clang! "I've walked forty-seven miles of barb wire." Clang! "Gotta cobra snake for a necktie"...Maria glares at the screen; "George Thorogood is Sultry Blues? What kind of idiot wrote this program, anyway". Click. Ok, let's try the Grateful Dead Channel. The opening notes of Dark Star creep into her ears. "That's much better", she thinks, picks up a stack of papers, and starts to read. As she reads, Maria's memory drifts to the show in 1993 when Sting actually opened for the Dead.... she shifts to Drums and Space.... then an encore with "Walk me out in the Morning Dew".... when she looked up and he vomited on her shoes... grilled cheese for a buck didn't mix well with the X. They both looked at her shoes. "Is that oatmeal?" "Yeah, late breakfast. Guess I should've skipped the sandwich." They looked at each other. "Hey, sorry about your shoes."

            That was how she met Wendell. And Therese, his wife. Maria smiled. Therese had propped Wendell against a wall and taken Maria to the ladies room, where they used paper towels to mop up the vomit. To no avail. The shoes were ruined, but a lifelong friendship was born. Sometimes it felt like she was destined to inherit Wendell. After two years, she still missed Therese. And now Wendell had fled without explanation.

Add to the story at Cate's Communal Writing Experiment.

Cue the Music

There's music in the story on Cate's Communal Writing Project. Now's your chance to change the channel or even upload an audio file. This can be a multi-media work. Everyone is invited to participate. The more writers the more interesting it will become. And yes, images, audio, and video can add to the piece. Happy experimenting.

The Experiment Text as of 11:37 PM EDT Nov. 2, 2010

Here is what we have written so far (with minimal edits):

Morning seen through the gaps in the curtains. Bittersweet light. Wendell looked out his window, watching sparrows. Particle counters at several nuclear plants on the sunward side of the planet began to trace a slow climb. Meanwhile, Wendell was trying to find a pair of socks that matched. The sparrows were agitated, and he needed to fill the bird feeder. Like many others that day, he was preoccupied with his morning routine. The bird-forms are nearly always the first to respond, anyway. It was too soon for humans to notice. Wendell settled on one navy sock and one black sock. He pulled on his sneakers, grabbed the birdseed and headed outside. Wendell emptied several scoops of seed into the feeder, then stepped back and smiled as he heard chickadees twitter excitedly in nearby trees.

            Across the Atlantic, it was 2PM at the Large Hadron Collider when Dr. Maria Answara returned from lunch. She stretched. She yawned. She looked at her feet. The air was clear and the temperature was warming to a comfortable 17 degrees Celsius. There were tulips in a vase on her desk. Maria walked over to her window to look outside. She had so many things to do today but couldn't help but want to go for a walk and enjoy this beautiful day. The report to the commission was still a work in progress. Why did this have to be so scattered. Wendell's absence was affecting her more than she cared to admit. Why had he left so suddenly? And to take a nothing job as shift supervisor at the Palo Verde nuclear power station, of all things! Maybe it had been a mistake to become involved with Wendell. But, really, wasn't two years long enough to grieve for a dead wife? Maria turned away from the window and looked at the piles of papers on her desk.

            Wendell clicked over to "Good Morning America" as he was eating his daily instant oatmeal chased with a Red Bull. The anchor was in the middle of a report about birds behaving in odd ways. Wendell glanced out the kitchen window at the bird feeder and was shocked to see several turkey buzzards standing near it. "Buzzards in my yard?" he thought "I've never even seen them it town before."

             As he got up to look more closely, his cell phone buzzed on the counter. Wendell sighed as he read the number on the display. For a brief moment he felt a twinge of rebellion and considered not answering. Then he rolled the kinks out of his shoulders and straightened, Hoping the Red Bull was hard at work in his system, preparing him for the day. He pressed the answer button.

            It was the plant calling, of course. He had been hoping (and not hoping, maybe) for a call from Maria, so he could try to explain. But of course she would be tied up now in her research. He had read they were getting ready to start a new series of runs. He answered, rather than letting the call go to his voicemail, although he briefly considered ignoring it. It was Carl, the plant foreman.

            ‎"What do you know about birds?!" was the first thing out of his mouth. As he looked out the window again, he noticed the buzzards were gone. He curiously scratched his head wondering if he imagined them. "Uh, never mind. what's up?" 

Pretty good for one day, yes?

Communal Writing Rocks!

The communal writing experiment is taking off on facebook! We have characters, setting and a "situation." It looks like the piece is going to be a story, but you never know; clever poets may find a way to insert some poetic moments. Since it's a facebook "fan" page, you don't have to be my facebook friend to post a contribution. All you have to do is go to the page and click "Like." Then you can add your own words to the story. We need more! More everything and more anything. Add to the text. I already have contributions from strangers (where do they come from?) No post is too small. Add one word, add two or three or more. It's up to you. Where else are you going to get published at no cost to you, without fear of rejection? Cate's Communal Writing Experiment offers everyone an opportunity to express themselves. Participate. It's free! (and fun) The experiment runs until Nov. 20, 2010, so let the story develop.

Cate's Communal Writing Experiment on Facebook

For your convenience, there is now a facebook page for my writing project. You can become a fan and follow the text in an easier format than Twitter. You can also post contributions on the wall and they will become part of the final project. Write often.