I had the pleasure of interviewing Jodi MacArthur about her writing. We talked about her upcoming book, and how her imagination is sparked by the world around her.

 
LT:    When did you first start writing?

 
JM:   I told bedtime stories to my siblings before I ever set pen to paper. If I can summon forest animals with the beauty of my yodeling (they never came) and jump off the old shed with a pair of grandpa’s underwear and fly like Super Woman (it never worked), you can imagine the yarn I used to spin. In 3rd grade, I won a young authors award and a weeklong field trip to Seattle. I learned about the writing process, and met real life authors and poets. Professionally, I started writing two years ago this January. 
 
 
LT:    How do you get ideas for your stories?

 
JM:   Ideas come from anywhere, anything. If one clues in to their senses, so much can fill the imagination! Listen, smell, touch, taste, see - there are worlds and characters in old houses, lilac bushes, ocean waves, bad tuna fish and cranky neighbors. My childhood has had a huge influence as well. It was a chaotic mess of adventures, love, severe abuse, adoption, dealing with death, and finding friendships and happiness in the most unusual places. My family’s history dates back to King Henry VIII (off with her head!).  I’ve a relative that was childhood friends with Billy The Kid, another one was an early Mrs. America, another chased children into closets with knives, another shot his Daddy with a shot gun because he was in love with his brother’s wife, another locked children in the basement for days and weeks on end, some fled to America from Ireland. This alone is enough fodder for a lifetime of stories.
 
 
LT:    Does music fit in to your creative process, and if so, how?

 
JM:   Absolutely!  Music, all creativity really, comes from the same taproot to which we all are connected. Music has its own way of bypassing walls we erect to protect ourselves from the world. Take guitar strings, drums, add lyrics and boom – instant access to the heart of humanity. I steal that lyrical rhythm and let the words move me as I create. Music helps facilitate that stream of consciousness through tone and feeling to my work. It works for me, and I hope it works for my readers. 
 
 
LT:    Tell us about your current project (s).

 
JM:   I decided to dive into novel writing two months ago, and I’m halfway through Devil’s Eye. My approach to novels is the same as it has been with shorts or flashes: finish the story, set it aside, write a new one, set it aside, go back to the previous work. My goal is to have the novel rewritten and polished by the end summer so I can begin querying in the fall. For those who are curious, Devil’s Eye will enchant, entertain, and twist your heart into a hangman’s knot. 
 
 
LT:    Over the past year, what are your three favorite short stories that you wrote?

 
JM:   Tainted Lady caught my imagination the most this year. The story is about a painted lady that runs away from the freak show to join the real world. She is torn between what she is and who she wants to be. Ultimately, the show must go on. The story was just picked up by Side Show 2: Tales Of The Big Top And Bizarre. The anthology is due out in February.
 
Late one December evening, I closed my eyes and saw two scarecrows upon their poles, separated by an ocean of waving corn stalks. Wind carried their whispers of love. I saw a princess in a dark dungeon spinning gold. Spindled Souls was born. It is one of my absolute favorites of the year and I am so happy to have it published here at Flashes In The Dark.
 
My third favorite is a combination of Weeping Stones (Yellow Mama) and Peace On Earth Is At War (Jim Wisneski’s 12 Days Of Christmas anthology). Both these stories contain zombies, but they aren’t about zombies. They go much deeper. I hope my readers catch the true message.
 
 
LT:    Do your friends and family read your stories? Is this a good thing or a bad thing?

 

JM:    There is one special individual here in Texas that reads my work, appreciates my work, and isn’t afraid to tell me it sucks. Invaluable. The rest of my support come from amazing writers and readers I have met through online communities, ezines, and social networks. You all know who you are, and I appreciate you so much. 
 
 
LT:    Do you have a dream project, and what would it be like?

 
JM:   Ha, ha! I dream big, Lori. I dream of the fantastic Amy Brown illustrating a Fairy trilogy I’ve had in my mind for years.
 
I dream of working on a movie script with M. Night Shyamalan, his love and passion for story telling comes through every movie he makes. I love his imagination.
 
Another dream is to work with Stephen King on something – anything! There are so many aspects of his work I adore, study, eat, live, breathe.
 
I realize these dreams are gigantic, but I believe in fairy dust and hard work. Dreams come true when you are willing to bare them to the world. (Tinker bell is flipping me the finger for stealing her line.)
 
 
LT:    What other authors do you read in your spare time?

 
JM:    Chuck Palahniuk has been my best find this year. I’ve completely immersed myself into his ridiculous, sarcastic, worlds brimming with life truths. I love risk takers – and he’s definitely accomplished this. I try to mix in classics: Poe, Dickens, Shelly, Bradbury. Especially Bradbury.  One can never read enough Bradbury. It’s a good balance.
 
 
LT:    What makes storytelling, in general, such a powerful medium?

 
JM:    An event vividly imagined is as real to the mind as one actually experienced. Storytelling has the power to create a world where you and the storyteller can meet. It’s called the first page. And if the storyteller is good, they will entice you into their world, slip you into their characters shoes, and take you on adventures you would never have dreamed in the real world. I believe storytellers have tremendous power and responsibility to humanity as a whole to keep imagination alive and strong. As long as there is imagination, there is hope. 
 
 
LT:    Since New Year’s has rolled around again, have you made any specific plans for your writing this year?

 
JM:   I’ll be finishing Devil’s Eye, and have it ready to submit by the end of summer. I plan on writing a first draft of a second novel while working rewrites. I’ll keep writing shorts, reading shorts, online, print, and novels. Critiquing for fellow writers keep my mind sharp. I’m particularly interested in Bizzaro right this minute, so I might give my hand at that this year. I’ll continue writing haiku with my haiku group, and reading poetry from the best. I also want to get more serious about my health. A happy mind is a healthy mind.
 
 
LT:    If you could re-write a popular book or movie right now, which one would you chose?

 
JM:   I’d insert zombie cows and more ripped bodices into Pride and Prejudice, and zombies. I’d also throw in Robin Hood and he could hand out hot cocoa and sweaters to those poor cold zombies, maybe even sword fight with Mr. Darcy. That’d be sort of hot.
 
Did I just lose half my readers? Don’t worry. You’ll be back.
 
The new Sherlock Holmes movie. I can’t stand that every classic is being remade into an action movie whether the original story had action or not. A story’s integrity should never be sacrificed for explosions and super cool karate kicks. The new Sherlock Holmes is a good example of this. Ticks me off. I refuse to see it. I am a huge fan of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I believe he’d puff on something else in his pipe if he knew his super sleuth had been turned into a generic action hero. Hiyah! Watch how far I can extend my leg above my head – in Ssslllooowww motion. This peeves me.
 
LT:    Is there anything that you’d like to add?

 
JM:   Yes! Thank you so much for the interview, Lori. I adore what you’ve done with FitD (and your own writing career!). Continuing to publish dreamers and put out good fiction keeps imagination, therefore humanity, alive and strong.

 

©2010 Lori Titus

Jodi MacArthur serves imagination raw on an open flame. Bring your fork to www.jodimacarthur.blogspot.com. Published online and in print, she is currently working on her first novel, Devil’s Eye.

THE WORST OF LOVE  CONTESTANT

Sunlight melted frost from their feet. Wallace watched her blonde strands blow in the autumnal breeze.  Cotton clad her figure, but from this distance it appeared as silk, the way it shone and outlined her curves.

Anne stared back with eyes of coal and the hint of smile he’d fallen in love with.

Ravens collected on her arms worshipping her savage beauty. It had been this way since time began, a sea of cornstalks separated them.
A speckled dove, Anne’s favorite, landed on his outstretched arms, hopped upon his shoulder, and nibbled at his hat. He laughed and hoped the bowing cornstalks would carry it to his blonde beauty across the fields.

The dove finished pecking his hat, nestled his face, and cooed into his ear. Wallace smiled at the message and whispered his own. It stretched it wings and flew. As he watched it fly over the fields, he felt a pang of sadness. They would never be together. Not the way he or she wished.

They were destined to their poles overlooking the earth, caged guardians.

The dove lighted upon Anne’s shoulder. He saw her eyes sparkle in the morning light.

A bark of voices drew his attention. Two men led horse and carriage. They laughed and joked not minding the stalks they strode over.
A murder of crows flew from Wallace’s feet as the carriage approached, halted. One of the men hauled a ladder. “Yep, it’s a pity for the young princess. I don’t know what kind of magic they’s up against, but we’ve done run outta straw. The princess insisted on more.”

He placed the ladder against Wallace’s pole. “Yeah? Well, I heard that they’s are also trying to figure out names and comin’ up with weird one’s they are!”

Wallace heard twine snip. The upper half of his body fell forward.
“I hear,” said the man holding the horse. “That some evil gnome is trying to kidnap the baby.”

Another snip of twine and Wallace fell like a rag doll.

Wallace! Anne’s voice called for him. Ravens and grackles cawed.

So this is it, he thought, it’s the end.

The man tossed him into the carriage; Wallace’s face hit the wooden side.

Moans and weeping sifted up from the pile beneath him. Others? He thought, how many others?

Wallace! Anne’s voice cried out again. The doves mourned.

He couldn’t hear the men above the rumble of the carriage and the mass of weeping beneath him. Wallace thought of Anne. Her blonde straw contrasted to her white form, her dark eyes, and teasing smile. He would never see her again. Never.

The cart stopped. They were lifted and tossed into a wheelbarrow, then wheeled into the castle. Wallace watched in amazement as they rolled through a labyrinth of stone walls and candlelight. Finally, they entered a tiny room. A spindle stood in the middle. A candle licked the darkness beside it. 

Lifted and tossed, Wallace landed with his back propped against the wall. He saw two piles on the floor, the lesser a heap of straw bodies, the larger spun gold. It pooled into golden chains cascading across the dirty floor.

Murder! Murder! cried the voices of  the straw folk. The room reeked of screams and silent accusations.

Wallace closed his eyes to their screams and horror of the sharp spindle’s needle. The door slammed shut, bolted. He thought of Anne. Her soft kisses blown across the fields.

A clank of bolts echoed and the door opened. Another wheelbarrow came in.

“It’s the last of ‘em,” said a gruff voice.

Something soft was tossed on his lap. It wept. Its cry pricked his ears. The door shut.

“Wallace,” her voice whispered above the cries.

He opened his eyes, and there in his lap laid Anne. The glow of candlelight illuminated those coal eyes.

“Anne,” he whispered. Willing all his power and muscles he’d never used, he raised his arm and placed his straw hand upon her brow, touching the blonde strands he’d dreamed about.

Their eyes met. It was enough that they touched, felt, needed.
Again the door opened. Soft footsteps crept in.

A sniff and a gentle, “Thank you,” caused Wallace and Anne to pause and turn to the female who entered the room. She wore a golden crown, red hair spilled down her violet dress. The princess took the fragile creature in a bundle of cream blankets. They could hear the easy breathing of the baby. 

“I love you, my son,” she whispered, then handed him back to the guard. “Take him. Hide him where we spoke.”

“Yes, my lady.”

They heard the princess’s breath catch as the guard’s footsteps whisked away, and she closed the door once more.

She lifted the candle from the chair and set it upon the floor, then pulled a straw body from a nearby pile. Her foot tapped the pedal. The wheel spun. She grasped a handful of straw and began to work. The straw man’s scream filled the room.

The princess focused on her task, oblivious.

Wallace and Anne watched mesmerized as the sparkle of golden chains spooled from the spindle.

The princess pulled straw from the bodies one by one, until the candle burned low and the shadows grew long on the wall.

Anne and Wallace looked into each other’s eyes, each speaking the thoughts and murmurs of lovers as their time approached.

We will die, said Anne.

Wallace shook his head and smiled. No, we shall be spun together, my love, two threads of gold woven into one. We shall live forever.

Anne smiled at this, and when the princess’s bleeding fingers reached for them, he saw in Anne’s eyes that she was unafraid.

The princess mixed their life’s straw together upon her lap, and the wheel began to spin. Their souls and straw merged into stardust of magic and gold.

©2009 Jodi MacArthur

Jodi MacArthur serves imagination raw on an open flame. Bring your fork to www.jodimacarthur.blogspot.com. Published online and in print, she is currently working on her first novel, Devil’s Eye.

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