WIPs Conversation: Joachim Frank on His Work in Progress

Joachim Frank

Joachim Frank is a German-born scientist and writer who moved in 1975 to Albany, New York and more recently (2008) relocated to New York City. He took writing classes with William Kennedy, Steven Millhauser, Eugene Garber, and Jayne Ann Philipps. His short stories, prose poems and poems have appeared in Lost and Found Times, The Agent, Inkblot, Heidelberg Review, Groundswell, Peer Glass, elimae, 3711 Atlantic, Cezanne’s Carrot, Brilliant, Eclectica, Offcourse, The Noneuclidean Cafe, Ghoti Magazine, Duck and Herring Co. Pocket Field Guide, Raving Dove, Hamilton Stone Review, Bartleby Snopes, Red Ochre Lit, StepAway Magazine, Black&White, and Litbomb. He also wrote three novels, including The Observatory featured here, all still unpublished.

Joachim, the “Downpour” of radioactive rain at the May Day celebration along the Rhine sets a sobering tone for what’s to come. What led you to set the prologue in the wake of Chernobyl and do elements of the Chernobyl disaster continue to resonate throughout The Observatory.

The prologue’s purpose in this novel is to set the stage in Germany, particularly Bonn, where all the action of the main story will take place. The May 1, 1986 event on the banks of the Rhine in Bonn very closely follows historical accounts. I chose it in order to have a plausible reason for the downhill spiral in the marital relationship between Arthur and Eva later on, which leads to their separation. In a way, a relationship is poisoned slowly, in the same way as radioactivity leads to deteriorating health and cancer in the long term. Chernobyl itself as a topic does not recur in the main story; however, its prominence in the prologue serves as an introduction to American readers telling them that the stage is set in post-war Europe with its complicated interconnectedness of East and West. Also, a reminder that Europe is in fact a small theater for events — a cloud coming from the Ukraine reaches Bonn in a few days, the same time as a cloud from coast to coast in the United States.

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Joachim Frank: Downpour (Prologue from The Observatory, a Novel in Progress)

May 1, 1986

The lilacs are in bloom; the air is pregnant with the sweetness of spring. It’s called Frühling here, in German literally a personification of earliness. We think of a young man dressed in a green skin-tight Medieval costume, jumping nimbly through the fields. This is Workers’ Day, a holiday in all of Europe, reserved for parades, solidarity, and consciousness-raising. Bonn has its first afternoon of sultriness in this season, and Arthur’s skin feels sticky.  He doesn’t exactly know what to do with himself, barred from his office by his wife Eva’s dictum that he must spend the day off with his family, “like normal people.”  But his five-year old daughter is at a birthday party for the rest of the afternoon, and Eva spends the day sitting on the balcony, sipping coffee and reading a book. She is expecting, and this is perhaps the reason she has this intense focus on family now. On a day like this, the apartment is oppressive; there is little air circulation. He makes an attempt to sit down at his desk and read his student’s Ph.D. thesis draft.  Christ! This guy can’t even write a single sentence right! Arthur’s shirt has turned damp. Seeking relief, he goes down into the courtyard.

“I’ll read a book, or something,” he says on his way out, loud enough so she can hear him, wherever she is in this spacious, spread-out apartment.

“Sure, see you later, Spatz.” Her cheerful voice comes back from the direction of the bathroom.

When he arrives downstairs, five floors below, he discovers he has forgotten his book. But there is nothing in the world that could force him to walk up again. Besides, more often than not, bringing a book along amounts to nothing but a good intention. As he enters the courtyard, the rabbit hutch emits wafts of intense odor from the droppings.  His daughter is too small to clean it out, but she has promised, with the seriousness of a five-year old, that she will “keep it clean forever” when she is old enough.  He sits down in the shade next to Prince Hirohito’s tree. It’s the tree the later-to-become Emperor Hirohito planted here sometime in the twenties when he was young. A swatch of skin on Arthur’s face itches intensely now; he rubs over it with his flat hand, then gropes with his fingers, and sure enough, he finds a single hair that had attached itself there. He takes his damp shirt off, and stretches out in the grass.  The coolness of the grass brings some relief. Wondering why grass doesn’t have the exact same temperature as everything else around, he dozes off.

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WIPs Conversation: Ben Shaberman on His Work in Progress

Ben Shaberman

Ben Shaberman’s first book, “The Vegan Monologues,” is a collection of humorous essays published by Loyola University of Maryland. It features essays carried by a variety of media including: The Washington Post, Chicago Tribune, VegNews, Vegetarian Times, Clean Sheets Erotica Magazine, and NPR’s Morning Edition.

By day, he is a science writer for the Foundation Fighting Blindness, reporting on research for inherited retinal diseases. He also has a master of arts in writing from Johns Hopkins University, and has won awards from the Stonecoast Writers Conference (University of Southern Maine) and the Des Moines National Poetry Festival.

Ben, “Missy” is an intriguing excerpt from Jerry’s Vegan Women. As it turns out, though, Missy is no longer one of Jerry’s women or a vegan by story’s end. Perhaps the ideal Jerry formed of her was better suited for her mother, Claire. At what juncture do Missy and Claire appear in Jerry’s Vegan Women and how does the story excerpted here play into the broader collection?

The book is comprised of ten different stories with each featuring a different woman or girl, though “Missy” is really a story about two women. The book progresses chronologically with Jerry transforming along the way. Some of the women appear in more than one story, but Missy’s one and only appearance is in this chapter. The resolution with the ex-mother-in-law-to-be Claire is revealed toward the end of the book.

“Missy” provides a major turning point for Jerry in which he has the proverbial rug pulled out from under him. Just as he has gotten his vegan life together — gone vegan and become an activist — “meat happens.”

But given that Missy is officially the fourth female in the book, there are six more adventures with vegan women to come.

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Ben Shaberman: Missy–(From Jerry’s Vegan Women, a Collection of Short Stories)

Claire cut the ribbons. Missy tied the ribbons into bows. Jerry attached the bows to the scallop seashells using a glue gun. Missy insisted they make three hundred ornaments — one for each of the two hundred wedding guests plus one hundred extra “just in case.”

“Just in case of what?” Jerry asked. “Someone can’t make it through the reception without just one? They need a yin shell for their yang shell? An Abbott shell for their Costello shell? An Agnew for their Nixon?”

Claire laughed. “Agnew, what a corrupt prick he was. As bad as Nixon. Do you guys even remember Watergate?”

“Don’t encourage him, Mom!” Missy said, glaring at her, then at Jerry. “What if some of the shells break? Or what if someone really likes them and wants two or three?”

“I’m sure that any heterosexual male with a pulse will gladly relinquish his sea shell if one of your girlfriends wants an extra one,” Jerry said in a facetious tone. “Especially if they’ll be used as pasties later in the evening.”

Missy slapped her hands on the table. “That is sick. These will be a nice memento of our wedding. People will love them.”

“Miss, I think you’re shell-shocked. Take a break,” Jerry said, as he glued another bow to a shell and placed it in the small pile of finished ornaments.

“Come on kids. Let’s be nice. Just a few weeks and it will all be over,” Claire said as Missy got up from the table and stomped off into the kitchen.

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WIPs Conversation: Steven Ostrowski on His Work in Progress

Steven Ostrowski

Steven Ostrowski is a fiction writer and poet who teaches at Central Connecticut State University. His work appears in numerous journals, including Raritan, Madison Review, Literary Orphans, Sleet, and Wisconsin Review. He has published chapbooks with Bright Hill Press and Finishing Line Press.

 

Steven, “Welcome to Oblivia,” first chapter from The Last Big Break does a great job of touching upon the details and not-always-savory experiences that go along with playing a gig. At times, the reader is given a musician’s insight into performing when getting into Eliot’s head. How were you able to lend the narrative such authority and authenticity? Do you have a history as a musician as well as a writer?

I appreciate your finding narrative authority and authenticity in Eliot’s performance scene in chapter one. I do play guitar—badly—and sing—really badly—and write songs, some of which I think aren’t so bad. I have played and sung a few times in my life in front of small audiences, but mostly I’ve simply fantasized– in startling detail, mind you– about being this very cool, very enigmatic, slightly physically spastic but powerful singer-songwriter who’s up there all alone on the stage with his guitar in a small cone of light, making people pay attention because some mysterious combination of words and music mesmerizes them, even changes their consciousness. Like I said, it’s a long-running fantasy of mine. Likely to stay that, too.

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Steven Ostrowski: Welcome to Oblivia — (Chapter One from The Last Big Break, a Novel in Progress)

Chapter One

Welcome to Oblivia

Rain throbs in the bones of the hand that carries the guitar case, Eliot Learner’s strumming/picking left hand. Striding down McDougall Street, head bowed to the needle-wet wind, he pictures himself making love to his wife. But the scene comes in like a broadcast from a shaky, handheld camera; as he rounds the corner at Bleeker he concentrates on steadying the picture and nearly plows into a woman whose long, dark hair is plastered to her skull and whose yellow raincoat is open, revealing an advanced pregnancy. Eliot looks up from the woman’s belly to her eyes, which are far away and narrowed, as if she’s trying to see her future through the downpour. “Excuse me,” he mutters, and moves aside for her.

Raising her hand, then dropping it, the woman says vaguely, “Oblivia.”

Eliot watches her waddle away. “Not yet,” he mutters.

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