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- Sage Tyrtle, Moth GrandSLAM winner, on the unique power of surrealism
- Discount codes for our next live workshops (one is this Saturday)
- Submissions open
- Meet our newest instructor, best-selling 13-time novelist, Cerece Murphy
- Read this week's community drabbles—the theme is "vigilance"
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Surreality Beyond Cockroaches
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a) Do not board a ship without an onion.
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b) Never bolt your door with a boiled carrot.
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c) A foolish woman blames her own cabbage.
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Answer: Never bolt your door with a boiled carrot. (Onion is Dutch, cabbage is Danish.)
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I came across this global idioms quiz a couple of years ago and I loved the strangeness of the idioms I’d never heard, and it made me think about how strange the idioms I grew up with must seem to people around the globe. Saying, “I did it by the skin of my teeth!” creates some deeply weird mental images if you’ve never heard it before.
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According to the global idioms quiz, in Punjabi if you want to tell someone to mind their own business, you say “keep your own owl straight”. If you want to say this makes no sense in Myanmar, “It looks like fried calabash fritters.” And in Haiti if you want to tell your kid that great-grandad died, say, “Well, honey, Great-Grandad has gone to the land of no hats.” The images that these wonderful phrases summon are so exciting! Who doesn’t want to write about the devil using your backbone as a ladder to pick apples in the garden of hell?! (Also Irish.)
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So I began running a workshop built around these images, and the surreal stories I especially love. The last time I ran this workshop, one of the people wrote a piece in which “Do not board a ship without an onion” was a law punishable by death. It was one of the most breathtaking pieces I’ve ever read, and it was about an onion on a ship. There’s something about surreality that accesses a part of the brain nothing else can touch.
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When I was a teenager in the 80s, the best librarians could do when I asked for surreal books was Kafka’s Metamorphosis (hot tip: if this happens to you do not then read every Kafka story you can find, because that’s the only playful thing he ever did, and if you’re already a super depressed teenager that’s only going to make it worse) and the plethora of surreal stories out there 40 years later is something I wish I could tell my teenage self about. Hold on, 1986 Sage! They’ll be here soon!
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An amazing example of today’s surreality is Ai Jiang’s story, “Give me English.” The story begins, “I traded my last coffee for a coffee. How ironic. My finger jabbed at the ordering machine. The Langbase implanted in my brain popped up in front of my eyes, and I watched as the word disappeared. A heavy breath escaped my lips. I would have to trade my teas next.”
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What a stunner! In the story’s world, language is commerce. And so often, in our own world, language IS commerce. If I get on a plane and go to a remote village where absolutely no one speaks my language, my ability to find food and shelter is suddenly inextricably linked to my communication skills. My very survival is at stake.
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Jiang says, “I was thinking about the ways that many immigrants and those from various diasporas end up letting go of their mother tongues in favour of the dominant language of the new places they move to, the way that language is weaponized in society and used against others, the way it allows for connection but also divide.”
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I’ve lived in Canada for 20 years, and sometimes I literally forget that I wasn’t born here. Canada feels entirely and irrevocably my home. But I came here from the States, where even in 2004 I found the growing right-wing movement terrifying and I was joyful upon leaving, so I’ve never missed the place I grew up.
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What happens, though, when the language and culture and people are precious to the person who’s left their country? What kind of sacrifices does that person make? What is it like to speak a language few people in the new country speak? What happens if that language begins slipping away? The way Jiang tackles these ideas through language as commerce couldn’t be more effective.
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Another gorgeous example is a story by speculative fiction author Lindz McLeod, “Against the Grain,” which begins:
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“The mammoth crouches behind her desk, which is not as neat as she’d like it to be, and shuffles through papers until she finds a brochure. Pushing it across the table with her trunk, she taps the cover lightly. Muted grey, with a tasteful cream font. ‘You’ll find all our models in here, ma’am.’”
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Now, a story about a mammoth who works at a funeral home could be a children’s book (I mean, a weird one, but still) with silly illustrations. It could be played for cheesy laughs for grown-ups. But McLeod creates a world in which extinct animals have been brought back to life that is not only instantly believable, but filled with characters I care about immensely by the end of the story.
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McLeod says, “The story can be read as a big metaphor for any kind of Othering—sexuality, gender, race, class. I was interested to see what it would have been like to have been ‘created’ for a purpose but then discarded without filling that purpose… I think you can draw easy and clear parallels with how certain groups of people are being treated politically in the media right now; it feels timely but also, when have we be NOT been doing this as a species?”
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There is something about the human brain that is willing to read about sociological terrors if it’s presented this way. The people (like me) who won’t read a nonfiction book about this subject because I’m afraid I will cry non-stop for a year will not only read this story, but read it more than once. And love it. And let it change me. ~~~
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Sage Tyrtle is a professional storyteller who tells stories all over the world, most recently in India. Her stories have been featured on NPR and CBC radio and she is a multiple time Moth StorySLAM winner, one-time Moth GrandSLAM winner, who has also appeared on the PBS tv show Stories From The Stage.
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Take $10 off with coupon code sreal10 at checkout!
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Submissions open courtesy of Scribophile
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Many thanks to Scribophile for curating this week's open submissions. Scribophile is a free welcoming community of writers where you're guaranteed to get solid critiques on your work. You can also get 20% off your first purchase using coupon code APEX20.
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- 🦸🏼♀️ Where Legends Walk is a forthcoming anthology of superhero stories. Submit short fiction (original worlds only) between 2,000 and 5,000 words before April 30th. No submissions fee! 💰Paying market!💰
- 📰 Merganser Magazine is open to submissions of short stories and poems of up to 2,000 words. No submissions fee! 💰Paying market!💰
- 🍺 The Turning Leaf Tavern is the focus of a forthcoming fantasy anthology. They’re looking for short stories between 2,500 and 6,000 words featuring this tavern, as well as accompanying recipes. Submit before the closing date of April 30th. No submissions fee! 💰Paying market!💰
- ⚔️ DragonBlade Publishing is open to submissions of full-length historical romance novels. Send them a query letter and the first three chapters. No submissions fee! 💰Paying market!💰
- 📚 Holand Press is open to submissions of adult and YA novels in a range of genres. Send them a synopsis and full manuscript. Note that they publish primarily in digital form, as well as print on demand. No submissions fee! 💰Paying market!💰
- 🦉 City Owl Press is open to submissions of speculative and romance novels. Send them a completed query form and the first five pages. No submissions fee! 💰Paying market!💰
- ⚰️ Burial Books is open to submissions of full-length horror novels. Send them a query letter and the first 20 pages. No submissions fee! 💰Paying market!💰
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Meet Our Newest Instructor
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We're incredibly honored to have Cerece Rennie Murphy join Reach Your Apex as an instructor.
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Cerece is the national bestselling and award-winning author of 13 novels, children’s books, and short stories. She's also the founder of Virtuous Con, an online science fiction and comic culture convention that celebrates the excellence of BIPOC creators in speculative fiction, across the mediums of fiction, comics, film, and visual arts.
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Ms. Murphy is the recipient of Black Pearls Magazine’s Author of the Year Award for Children’s Literature, the National Best Sellers designation from the African American Literature Book Club (AALBC), and the Science Fiction Writers of America (SFWA)’s Kate Wilhelm Solstice Award for significant contributions to the science fiction, fantasy, and related genres community. Created in 2008, Ms. Murphy joins the ranks of distinguished previous Solstice Award winners, including Petra Mayer, Carl Sagan, Octavia Butler, and Gardner Dozois.
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Cerece lives and writes just outside her hometown of Washington, DC with her family.
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Introducing Our First Ever Community Drabbles
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A middling department store. Not cheap, not fancy. My idealism: Maybe I’ll find something beautiful in this shop. Reality: Harsh lighting, dull music, lost hope, socks.
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Leaving, I spot the entrance mat, its edge curled under itself, a snare for an oblivious foot. Some shoppers see it, but step around it. I hook my foot under the curl, flattening the mat to the floor again with a satisfying slap.
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An unexpected voice, warm with gratitude: “Thank you.”
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The security guard, in his discreet booth, smiling.
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I smile back. I feel useful.
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My response: “You’re welcome.”
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I leave. I’ll remember this.
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When Justice Is Not Blind
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Jao’s artificial eyes were miraculous. But he wished he could unsee too.
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”No witnesses.” Hagar growled. His skin was spotted leopard-like; one tattoo for every fellow inmate slaughtered.
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Heart pounding, Jao slept, one artificial eye open.
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But Hagar cornered him in the showers, his massive executioner’s hands squeezing Jao’s windpipe. “Those eyes might warn death’s approaching. But they won’t stop it.”
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Jao’s eyes detected a wall crack expanding. Imminent structural failure. The knowledge that Hagar would be sucked into the vacuum first, made death somehow more acceptable. Even satisfying.
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“You’re right. I DO see death coming.”
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Three Hours 'til Midnight
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Jack and Jill crouched behind the recliner fixated on the milk and cookies–their eyes grainy and heavy.
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Their mother stifled a yawn. “Time for bed.”
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Their mother shrugged, “Stay up too late and he won’t come,” and shuffled off to bed.
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Soon, Jack slumped against the wall and closed his eyes.
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Jill punched his shoulder.
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“Ow.” Jack rubbed his shoulder. “What’d you do that for?”
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“Why do you think? Now shut up and keep an eye out.”
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They took turns jostling one another awake. Hours and hours passed.
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Too many hours. Perhaps mother was right.
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The hill rears up and roars. Gravel, rocks, and boulders avalanche amidst billowing clouds of dust.
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“Everyone back! Get back!” I shout.
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Glittering prismatic wings thrust hundreds of feet into the air, then unfurl like twin rainbows. Mansion-sized eyes open and scan the surrounding hills.
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The dragon rumbles and looks down upon me. In the clarion voice of the wood thrush I hear, “Your vigilance allows us safe slumber. Our thanks to you all.”
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I raise an open palm. “We swear no prospectors or miners shall ever harm you. What would the world be without the agate dragons?”
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With Nothing Left to Lose
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The alleys swallow the screams of fear. Every night new victims take the wrong turn, they get lost, hurt, or worse. Evil wraps its greedy hands around innocence.
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I was innocent once. Ignorant and careless.
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With nothing left to lose, I did what no sane person would. I became something else, something dangerous.
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Now I have eyes and ears everywhere. The dark alleyways are my home and I hear every scream and every step that evil makes. Before it can act, I strike first. With teeth and claws, the many parts of me protect the innocent.
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