Mississippi Pearls and a Car Biding Its Time on the Ice 'til Spring

My grandparents Laura and Walter Arnold lived in Wabasha, MN while I was a child in the 70s. Their house was made of brick and was over a hundred years old. It was huge to my young eyes, with high ceilings and a wide stairway with a wooden banister, which I loved to slide down on my stomach (the steps, not the banister). This house was (still is, actually) located about a block away from the Mississippi River, and I’d often take walks down to the shore and collect agates and other interesting rocks. My favorite finds were always the hole-punched clam shells along the shore, which had been used and long since discarded by button-making factories upriver. In fact, this particular industry only lasted ‘til the 1930s, when plastic buttons became all the rage...or at least cheaper to make. I collected shoe-boxes full of these shells with the neat button-sized holes punched out. Not sure what I ever did with them.

Anyway, it was many years later that I was doing some online research, trying to find if there was info about the source of these discarded shells; what companies had used them, where they were located, etc. I don’t think I found any direct info about them*, but that internet search led me to info about Mississippi pearls. I’d never heard of these before, and had always thought pearls were something that came from the sea. But nope, people used to harvest the freshwater clams of the Great River for the pearls inside them, as well as for the shells.

At about the same time I found out about the Mississippi pearl, I was trying to recall something from childhood. I remembered that there was a lake we’d often drive by in the winter between Lake City and Wabasha, and sitting on top of the ice would be an empty car. People could bet on the date when they felt the vehicle would finally crash through the thawing ice into the water. It was one of those memories where I wasn’t quite sure if it was something real I had seen or had merely dreamt about it. So I called the Wabasha County Historical Society. No one seemed to have heard about this until they put me in touch with an old-timer whose name I can’t recall. He said, yeah, they used to do that on Russian Lake**, and they secured a cable to it so that it would be easy to retrieve come spring.

It was that combination of things – the pearls and the car on ice – that sparked my story Mississippi Pearl. It’s one of my favorite stories, and it won Oceanview Publishing’s first annual short story contest. I also used it as my writing sample for the 2010 MN Artist Initiative Grant which I received in – um – 2010.  It is part mystery, part horror, part family drama, and is also part of my collection Bait & Other Stories. I hope you’ll get a chance to read it sometime.

* Now a Google search leads me to a bunch of sites that talk about the Mississippi pearl button industry. There’s even a museum dedicated to it in Muscatine, Iowa.

** Can’t find any mention of a Russian Lake online, so not sure if the name has since been changed, or it’s too small to bother listing. In my memory the lake was quite small.

One Decade, One Story - or how One Thing Leads to Another

This is the journey of one of my stories and its ripple effect over the last decade. It’s not the story that has earned me the most money (that honor goes to ‘Mississippi Pearl’) but it is one of my favorites.

I wrote “Some Things Don’t Wash Off” back in 2001. It was originally intended to be part of an anthology with a couple other writers I admired and met through the old Dark Tales message boards – the stories were all to be set at this out-in-the-boonies roadhouse full of strange characters and strange goings-on. The project never got off the ground, so I eventually submitted it to a pro-paying (at the time) online horror zine called Gothic.Net. The editor there liked it, but felt it wasn’t quite right for them. He asked me to send something else. Meanwhile, I had decided to attend the 2002 World Horror Conference in Chicago – mainly because it was in driving distance, and also it was a great chance to meet some of the folks I’d met through the Dark Tales boards. The conference was holding a short story contest sponsored by Weird Tales, so I submitted the story there. Long story short, I won the short story contest and won a hundred bucks.

I submitted “The Apple Tree Man” to Gothic.net due to the editor liking “Some Things...” and asking for something else. He accepted this other story and paid $250 for it.

A bit later, Darrel Schweitzer from Weird Tales contacted me and said they’d like to include “Some Things...” in an upcoming issue for which they paid me another $90.

Later that year, I attended the World Fantasy Convention, since it was practically in my backyard (Minneapolis) and there, the legendary George Scithers cornered me and asked why I hadn’t sent anything else yet to Weird Tales. I sorta fibbed and said I was working on something just for them (although the story I soon came up with was eventually rejected by them. But it was still nice to be asked for something from Mr. Scithers!)

In 2006, one of the attendees of WHC2002 remembered me and “Some Things...”, so when he noticed a call for Minnesota writers who had published professionally, he sent me an email about it. I submitted my story “Leave No Wake” to the Resort to Murder antho and it was accepted. I got to appear alongside some bestselling authors like William Kent Krueger and Ellen Hart. We even went on a mini-tour around the Twin Cities, which was much fun and a great experience. I also got on the invite list for the annual Write of Spring shindig hosted by the Once Upon a Crime bookstore in Minneapolis. (I have a story forthcoming in their Writes of Spring antho, which should be out in April). But I wouldn’t have seen that call for stories if it hadn’t been for the bloke who had remembered me and my story from the 2002 WHC.

In 2007 I sold “Some Things...” to Pseudopod for $100, and they did a wonderful audio version of it. (Click on the link for a listen!)

In 2009, I used “Some Things...” as my writing sample for the Speculative Literature Foundation’s Gulliver Travel & Research Grant and won. I received $800 for that in 2010. I got the pleasure to help judge the next year’s entries for the grant, and this year I get to help judge for their Older Writer’s Grant.

In 2010, I included “Some Things...” in my short story collection Bait and Other Stories.

“Some Things Don’t Wash Off” has had a nice decade, and has led to some other nice writing gigs. So to you folks who are in the early stages of your writing ventures, remember that if you have a good story, it doesn’t have to just die on the vine of the first publication that accepts it. Sometimes you need to help it back on its feet, blow the dust off, and encourage it to keep on jogging along.

Racing Minnesota-style!

Sure, Minnesota has horse racing at Canterbury Park in Shakopee. But horse racing seems rather bland – just the same-old, same-old – compared to some of Minnesota’s other offerings.

If you’re not doing anything between September 7 & 9, 2012, why not head over to the small town of Minneota for Boxelder Bug Days, where not only do they have Boxelder Bug Races, but also an Xtreme Golf Ball Roll, a Rubber Duck Race, and a Tug the Bug event. What is “Tug the Bug”? I’m not really sure I want to know.

Sometime in June you can head over to Cuyuna, MN’s Woodtick Inn to participate in their Wood Tick Races. But no cheating; a “wood tick vet” will be on hand to check for juicing!

On Tuesdays during the summer, Pelican Rapids holds Minnow Races. I’m not sure what the prizes are, but I’m guessing they allow pari-mutuel baiting. (Ba-doom chick!)

Jasper, MN holds Goat Races in August. Or at least they used to. I couldn’t find any updated info on this. Perhaps it ended when George Clooney stopped one of the goats’ hearts with his psychic ability.

Both Luverne and Wayzata, MN hold a variation of Dachshund Racing – Luverne in July during Hot Dog Night, and Wayzata as part of their James J. Hill Days in September.

 The most popular form of non-horse animal racing in Minnesota, however, seems to be turtle racing. It’s particularly popular in resort towns during the summer – a way to gather vacationers into a small town business district for some fun, frolic, and cash-parting.

Longville has been designated (by the MN State Legislature, no less) as the ‘Turtle Racing Capital of the World’.  My family even attended this event for an article I wrote for American Road Magazine, and it is quite the shindig, with a carnival atmosphere throughout the town’s main street. These are held every Wednesday throughout the summer.

Nisswa, which claims to be the ‘Original’ home of the turtle race, also holds them on Wednesdays throughout the summer. Nisswa is a fun little town near Brainerd, and has a lot of cool little shops up and down its main street, including Turtle Town Books & Gifts (formerly Rainy Day Books.) I used the Nisswa turtle races for a little background in my mystery short story ‘Leave No Wake’ which originally appeared in the Resort to Murder anthology.

Another place to catch Wednesday turtle races (what’s with Wednesdays?) is in Perham – and according to their website, these are ‘International Turtle Races’. I’m not sure if they mean that the turtles are from other countries, or the visitors are.

Battle Lake turns turtle racing on its (well-protected) head by holding their races on Thursdays and Saturdays. I’m guessing this is to capture those turtle racing addicts who can’t get enough of it from the merely once-a-week offerings of the other towns.

The Annual Turtle Derby is held at the Diehl Hall plaza in June at the University of Minnesota to benefit the U of MN Children’s Hospital. This event raises some serious bucks for a good cause, although again – I haven’t found any current info for this, the last being the 2006 article I linked to. Anyway, I’m suddenly jonesing for some turtle soup.

So...if you like your races slow and/or whacky, come on over to Minnesota and place your bets!

This Minnesota Horror Author was a Big Scaredy-Cat

This here Minnesota horror author grew up as quite a scared little kid. I always had to sleep with the hall light on, because in complete darkness my imagination would conjure up the most terrifying explanations for whatever naturally occurring noises happened to reach my young ears. The settling house was a child killer taking one step closer to me. The creak of a bed in another room was some creature cracking its joints in anticipation of devouring me.

I always checked under the bed multiple times, making sure that I could see within every shadow to make sure nothing hid there. My closet door always had to be shut, and one of my parents always had to check inside. I made sure they moved aside the clothes and poked back into the corners sufficiently to allay my fears of something malevolent hiding within. And no, it couldn't be me who checked the closet, because what if something grabbed me while I felt for the back wall and dragged me into some hellish Narnia.

I went through cycles of deciding which was the best way to lie when trying to fall asleep. Some months I would lie facing away from the wall, so that I could best see my attacker. Other months, I thought it best to face the wall; that way, whatever wanted to eat me could just get it done and over with, without me having to suffer through so much anticipation.

I had such trouble falling asleep. I'd often lay awake in dread for at least an hour before sleep overtook me. And even so, I'd have nightmares, the kind of nightmares where something was behind me, chasing me, breathing down my neck, and I could only move in slow motion. When I tried to scream, only the most pitiful hoarse gasp would escape my lips. Thankfully at some point, I learned to take control of my dreams - to realize I was dreaming and give myself power over my nocturnal torments. But still, even after that, for a long time, I needed the hall light on, the space beneath my bed checked, and the shadows of my closet explored before I allowed myself to shut my eyes.

My daughter, while possessing an amazing imagination, does not let that imagination take her down those same dark roads that I used to travel at night, thank heavens. Sometimes I wonder what exactly caused those fears of mine. I've never been able to figure that out. I guess I was just born a scaredy-cat, my psyche born full of the shadows witnessed within the womb.

Jack the Blob Killer

“Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive or be he dead, I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.”

I remember these lines from the story Jack & the Beanstalk, even though I haven’t heard them for decades, because my mom used to read this story to me a lot as a child. It was one of my favorites. It was a frightening story, yet held the allure of riches. I wanted to climb a beanstalk (even though I couldn’t climb a regular friggin’ tree) and I wanted to be a tiny person in a cloud world of giants, hiding in crevices and behind the legs of enormous tables, while trying to find a bag of gold coins or the goose that laid golden eggs. The harp I could do without, because as I remember the story, she tried to get Jack caught by yelling for the giant when Jack snatched her. At the time, this seemed traitorous. However I now realize that if I were a magical harp and some stranger tried stealing me, I’d put up a fuss as well.

I often attribute my love of horror to things like seeing the Steve McQueen version of The Blob at such a young age – watching it by peaking out from behind a big easy chair – but perhaps it was this story that first inserted its little barbed hooks of horror into my psyche.

“Fee fi fo fum...” – the rhyme that the giant in the story repeated whenever Jack reappeared to steal something was my favorite part, because I knew it by heart and would say it along with my mom, both of us lowering our voices to a growl to be more menacing as we said it. But the imagery it evokes is quite violent. “I smell the blood...” – the giant can actually smell blood? Has he got a taste for it? If he catches you will he rip your head off and drink from your neck? “I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.” Again, not only will he drink your blood, he’ll tear out all your bones, as well. And not just remove them, but grind them. What does the giant do with your skin? Use it as toilet paper after he shits you out?

So Mr. Blob – you may have to relinquish your crown to the giant of Jack & the Beanstalk for the genesis of my love of all things that go bump in the night. But I still love you, anyway.

What Scares You?

Before I sat down to write my novel Northwoods Deep, I’d come to the realization that not much scared me anymore, at least in terms of horror fiction. Don’t get me wrong. I love the genre. Always have and always will. But while horror fiction could thrill and excite me, it rarelyscared me. I hadn’t experienced that goose-bumps-on-the-arm feeling in a long, long time. Why? Had I grown jaded? Too cynical? Was I just not reading the right things?

So as I plotted my novel, I asked myself what scares me? It wasn’t vampires or werewolves or mutant jackrabbits. Sure, those can be vehicles for good scares when handled correctly, just as they can be vehicles for romance or comedy or angsty-teen novels. It wasn’t gore, even though I appreciate a well-written gore scene as much as the next fella.

What scared me?

I wracked my brain and eventually realized that my biggest fear was loss. Loss of family. Loss of my faculties. Loss of the control of my body, of determining my destiny. And what if I’d been responsible for the loss of someone I loved? How would I deal with it? Could I deal with it? That’s where the character of Jack came from; a man responsible for the loss of his mother in a drunk driving accident.

Jack’s sister Carol also suffers from loss; the loss of control amidst the chaos of an abusive ex-husband who refuses to leave her alone no matter what she does.

And Allen, their father, suffers from the loss of not only his wife at the hands of his son, but also suffers from the loss of his ability to cope with reality.

When this family – the Gunderson family – finds something hidden deep in the woods that hints at a new reality, although one merely hallucinatory – how much are they willing to sacrifice for it?

So…loss scares me. And while there is suspense and gore and even an evil entity in Northwoods Deep, these are not what make it a horror novel – at least not to me. These are not the things that really scare me. The thing that really scares me is that simple universal fear of loss, and of things never again being the same.

What scares you? If you want to write an effective horror novel, try to figure that out. Sure, you can use vampires and werewolves and mutant jackrabbits, but remember that they’re merely vehicles through which we can provide the scares – not the scare themselves.

And okay, I lied. Mutant jackrabbits really do scare the crap out of me.


*** This post originally appeared on Keith Blackmore's blog ***

 

http://keithcblackmore.com/guest-author-joel-arnold