Tag Archives: writing

A Meeting

The following is an excerpt from “Peer Review” a play. The setting is a home in Gettysburg Pennsylvania. The 47th president meets the 16th.

THE TALL MAN

We have all noticed your obsession with political enemies. Mr. Nixon has kept a

particularly close watch on this activity.

DJT

Nixon’s dead, and I don’t care. Look if people aren’t nice to me I’m not nice back. They

all think they’re so much smarter than me. Obama, the Clinton’s, that Puerto Rican chick

from New York. All jerks.

THE TALL MAN

Ha. The Army of the Potomac had generals who thought the same of me. (Pauses)That

reminds me of a time when a client came to my Springfield law office and hired me for a

patent case. The fellow paid a retainer, and I began research on the legal particulars.

Oddly enough I never heard another word about it. Later the newspaper said the trial had

been moved to Cincinnati, Ohio.

DJT crosses his arms pouting. The Tall Man

merely smiles.

THE TALL MAN

Well sir, I made the journey by train to attend that proceeding. To my surprise a new lead

attorney sat at the courtroom table, and pointedly ignored me. Later I learned he had

dismissed me as a long-lanked creature in a dirty coat. Of course my feelings were more

than a little wounded. However I remained in Cincinnati and observed the court

proceedings. There is always something to learn. That attorney, Edwin Stanton, made a

fine job of it, and I later made him my Secretary of War.

DJT

What the hell is wrong with you! All you dead guys are morons. Made him a Cabinet

Secretary. I would have made up a name, you know, like Pocahontas or Shifty Schiff and

never stopped hounding him. I’da ruined the guy.

THE TALL MAN

And that would have proven a mistake. Secretary Stanton proved a wise choice for his

management of the Union Army. Besides, in the words of Mr. Lyndon Johnson, again, it

is “Better to have your enemies inside the tent pissing out, than outside the tent pissing

in.”

The Tall Man laughs and slaps his leg.

THE TALL MAN

Stanton merited the post, as did most members of my cabinet, Seward at State, Chase at

Treasury, Blair as Postmaster General. They had been my competitors for the presidency,

and I appointed these men knowing full well they resented my election.

DJT

You’re crazy. I wouldn’t have let them in the White House. I’m still gonna get even with

the scumbags who stood in my way, DeSantis and Nikki Haley. May not be today, but I

will destroy them. I never forget.

THE TALL MAN

I required sound advice in a difficult time, and that these men were the best, except for

Simon Cameron. There was a scandal and he was undone. Deceivers like Cameron and

Floyd undo themselves. You could learn from their errors.

The Tall Man looks again at his writing, as DJT

speaks.

DJT

Who needs a cabinet anyway. Fill it with dopes who will do as I say. I’m in charge now.

THE TALL MAN

Americans are a free thinking people. Never will they all revere you as does a minority at

this particular moment. You, me, all of us have but a brief time in office. The American

people possess a truth beyond momentary and shifting opinions. Beyond a name on a

map America embraces noble ideals and accomplishes great things.

DJT

Just what I thought, a Rino. You liberals are what’s wrong with America.

THE TALL MAN

Ha. You foolish man. The whole idea of America is Liberal. This nation is the product of

the best political thinking of the 18th Century. It is the sovereignty of the people!

The Tall Man taps the pen on the desk top.

Mr. Madison crafted the Constitution and his Bill of Rights upon the rights of free people.

DJT

America doesn’t care about that anymore. Times have changed. I have changed it. They

want a strong man who gets shit done. Blacks, women, immigrants put back in their

place.

THE TALL MAN

You are mistaken. Only the people are the rightful masters . . .

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight,” co-writer of the screenplay, “Dancing On Air” based own those books. She has penned three stage plays on history topics, “Clay” on the life of Senator Henry Clay, “Wolf By The Ears” examining the beginnings of American slavery, and “Peer Review” where 47 is confronted by specters of four past presidents.

A Surreal Landscape

In a scene from Hitchcock’s The Birds locals are gathered in a cafe eating and chatting. An attractive blonde is on the telephone explaining that children at the local school were dive-bombed by attacking crows. An elderly lady in a beret and smoking cigarettes lectures the other diners that crows don’t behave in such an aggressive manner and that there has to be another explanation. The woman identifies herself as an ornithologist and holds forth explaining crows and even seagulls do not do such things. Immediately after her expert testimony all hell breaks loose outside the cafe window, with masses of birds swooping down on passersby. The scene is chaotic and bloody leaving no doubt these attacking birds are in fact lethal. As the nightmare scene ebbs, the camera catches the bird expert, her head bowed in grief and bewilderment, stunned everything she knew and believed no longer applied to any bird in her understanding.

That woman resembles this lifetime American history educator. I’m a fairly decent generalist in subjects ranging from PreColumbian America through today, give or take minutia. But I too, am stunned by the surreal landscape of what I believed about democracy has been easily undone by a vulgar man-child and a compromised and opportunistic Republican Party.

It feels like all my understandings of my country no longer apply. The epic and fraught-filled struggle of forging the Constitution, the furnace of Civil War, the reforms of the Progressive Age, the promise of the New Deal, and Great Society are gone, rapidly destroyed by sinister design. A totalitarian despot has seduced a once noble political party rendering the valiant patriotism of those whom came before moot. Simply writing this lament is difficult, as all I once believed and explored is no longer valid.

An online troll explained it as “no one cares about that anymore.”

That means the principled determination of General Washington to serve our nation doesn’t matter. The misguided genocide of the Five Civilized Tribes upon the Trail of Tears doesn’t matter. With nearly 700,000 deaths, the crucible of Civil War no longer matters. Those brave GI’s on Omaha Beach, (including my own grandfather) and at the Battle of The Bulge no longer matters. Those brave students who occupied lunch counter stools in the face of racial violence did so for nothing. Those boys who perished in the Vietnam War are irrelevant. In point of fact no veteran matters anymore.

American history and all the sacrifice of our forefathers and mothers doesn’t count.

That 47 can fly in a foreign “gift” aircraft with a classified budget is a good thing to do with our tax money. That he remodels a room in the White House in a golden gilt is a good thing. Who really cares if former medicaid recipients suffer.

Suck it up buttercup, these are the new rules of Trump’s America.

That he has done away with investments in the Arts and Humanities is a positive. That he has placed incompetent sycophants from Fox News in high Federal positions is good. Forget he stole top secret intelligence documents. The country elected him anyway. That he has drastically shifted the tax burden onto the middle class and off of the super wealthy is how God wants it, just ask today’s Christians.

That old white men rape girls is a good thing. 

The GOP bows at his feet and gleefully ratifies every stab-wound of domestic legislation is now to be celebrated, so pop a cork. In fact destroying America for profit is now simply wholesome and righteous. 

America’s heroes, like Sergeant Alvin York in the Argonne Forest, or Colonel Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain at Gettysburg endured their generations difficulties so that Trump can plow up Mrs Kennedy’s rose garden for a putting green. Suffragette Alice Paul who went on a hunger strike and endured the torture of forced feeding did so that the current president can manipulate votes is just fine. The murders of JFK, Dr King, Harvey Milk, or the murder of Minnesota State Senator Melissa Hortman is merely a part of the 24/7 news cycle.

Indeed nothing of our past story matters because Mr 47 has disqualified all of it to make money, and more money because that’s all that matters today. Plus of course he is a convicted felon and is terrified of going to jail where he belongs.

So when you see this disoriented American History educator with her forehead in her hand, much like the bird expert in the movie, please understand the gravitational pull of her entire life’s work is today rendered null and void. 

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight,” co-writer of the screenplay, “Dancing On Air” based on those books. She has penned three stage plays on history topics, “Clay” on the life of Senator Henry Clay, “Wolf By The Ears” examining the beginnings of American slavery, and “Peer Review” where 47 is confronted by specters of four past presidents.

Peer Review Excerpt 2

This post comes from a full stage play titled Peer Review. It was composed during DJT’s first term and serves to illuminate the contrast to earlier presidencies.

SCENE TWO

The stage lightens in a mix of gold and white. A bed and two arm chairs made in the same colors sit center stage, The New York City skyline is projected on the back curtain. The sound of papparazzi and cameras snapping is heard offstage. An elevator dings. After a moment the President enters stage right with two men in suits wearing earpieces. The men walk around the area and bed. The President turns and speaks.

THE PRESIDENT
Call maintenance, that damn elevator shouldn’t stall between floors. That was a good ten minutes, dammit. I’m gone a few weeks and the building goes to hell. There’s nothing in here. Get out.

The men exit. The President removes his jacket, and walks to the dresser. He peers down in a drawer, then finds what he is looking for. A file of yellow and red.

Except this little gem and it’s really something.

He lies on the bed reading and chuckles happily. His cell phone plays “Hail To The Chief.” The President answers.

Where are you? I just got here, great crowd outside. Yeah, I’ll get it done. Hey, I said I’d do it. What do you mean you don’t trust me? Give me a break, That whole Stormy Daniels garbage is . . . No. Don’t hang up. We’ll sit down with the lawyers and renegotiate the whole deal. But then you will join me in DC, and the boy, too. This staying in New York is no good, makes me look bad to the country. Yeah, yeah, I’ll get Reince on it today. Hey, I said I will.

He tosses the phone on the bed and resumes reading.
Huh. Erdogan didn’t tell me this. How does the CIA find this crap out? I need some Putin-Ukraine stuff. Who woul’da thought I’d read something?

He chuckles, and soon grows sleepy. The President drops the open file and closes his eyes. After a moment a spot rises on a figure entering the stage.

He is tall, wearing a 18th Century blue and buff military uniform, knee breeches, white stockings and carries a sheathed saber. His white hair is combed back, and tied with a black ribbon at the nape of his neck. Standing near the bed, he speaks slowly with elegance.

THE GENERAL
I am very fond of New York City. During the War for Independence I maintained camp nearby for much of the duration.

The President sits upright, and reaches for a pillow to shield himself. He squeaks.

THE PRESIDENT

Shit!

THE GENERAL
Congress had directed me to burn Manhattan ahead of invading British Regulars. You see, Congress wished to leave nothing of use for the Redcoats. Destroying the city left me conflicted, and alas, that order I could not obey. As fate would have it, a fire did erupt in the chaos, demolishing vast tracts of the city. A very regrettable situation.

The General poses regally, glancing at the president. He continues.

Sometime later I returned to serve as President here in New York.

He gestures with his saber to the skyline.

Concerning the demands made upon me as I served those first critical years, none resolved easily, nor without great cost. But our fledgling nation teetered on dissolution and we, as the first government under new Constitution, had to stand resolute.

The President lowers his pillow to speak in a forced, but faltering menacing tone.

THE PRESIDENT
I don’t know who you are, or how you got in here, but this is my room, and my 30,000 square foot apartment, in my extremely valuable building. So clear out!

The General appears not to hear, serenely seating himself in an arm chair. He levels his gaze at The President.

THE GENERAL
My colleague said you were tiresome, however, I am staying.

THE PRESIDENT
Who said that? What colleague . . .oh, jeez, him. Well I’m important NOW. So you and that other fossil can beat it back to central casting.

THE GENERAL (Untroubled)

I, too struggled with grandiosity. In my youth I pined for the advantages of wealth and status that surrounded me. Stately mansions dotted the inlets and vast river systems of Tidewater Virginia, the place of my birth. I longed for a life of importance, gentility, and of wealth. I would be an English gentleman residing in elegance upon his landed estate.

THE PRESIDENT
The English are wusses, and you’ve blah blah’d enough. I’m in New York to get away from all that history garbage. That old dump where I have to stay is filled with that crap. So goodbye Rambo.

The General waits, then rises and un-sheaths his blade. The President again grasps his pillow. The General resumes his story.

THE GENERAL
Born the first son of a second family, I fell heir to nothing but my father’s name. Augustine and Lawrence, my older brothers, received all the honors of a gentleman’s life. I loved them, idolized them, especially dear Lawrence, and begrudged him nothing of his inheritance. However, I cannot deny the depth of my anguish as a second class Virginian.

THE PRESIDENT (To himself)

When my Father died I stuck it to my brother. He couldn’t handle money, the guy was a drunk.

THE GENERAL
Another temptation concerned a young matron, the wife of my best friend. Sally was her name, and I loved her very much. Our correspondence, especially while I served in the war against the French was perhaps too forward, and flirtatious. I longed for Sally, but she was not, nor ever could be mine.

The General sighs, deep in thought.

THE PRESIDENT
I never let any marriage license stop me. Mine or any available broad. That’s all they’re good for, arm candy and a roll.

THE GENERAL
We are all too aware of your misogyny, and absence of propriety. Even Mr. Kennedy said he attempted more discretion in his dalliances. I’m reminded of a letter from the Marquis de Lafayette informing me of his wife’s passion for me. Amused, I replied youthful women are inclined to youthful men, not those of graying hair. And still it is so.

The president sits up with his pillow on his lap.

THE PRESIDENT
Younger women love me. They really do. I’ve dated some beauties, too. You should see some of the pageant contestants I’ve bagged-and Playboy bunnies, too.

From the wing a soldier in Continental uniform approaches the General handing him a dispatch. The General reads the parchment, and marks it with a quill pen. The soldier leaves.

THE GENERAL
Sir, I do not believe ‘love’ is quite the term for what you’re describing. unbridled debauchery perhaps is more precise?

THE PRESIDENT

What the hell? How did he . . .?

THE GENERAL
It is the disciplined man who owns his passions. Decorum is what separates us from animals, wouldn’t you agree?

The president sits mouth agape at the soldier. The General continues.

THE GENERAL
Elegant balls were quite popular venues for young people to meet. I don’t mind saying that I may have been one of the finer dancers in the Tidewater. Those evenings were grand; dinners, music, and refinement in abundance. Oh, how I yearned to rise in social rank.

THE PRESIDENT
I hear ya. Those Manhattan snobs, that artsy-fartsy Met crowd, boxed me out. Treat my kids that way, too. Jerks.

THE GENERAL
Envy did little to further my integrity as a gentleman. In the war against the French the royal governor entrusted me to offer land patents to volunteers willing to join the Virginia militia. Over the course of the conflict I made many of those acres my own. You see land was the mark of a gentleman, but I was an imposter. That villainy has troubled me for an eternity. I pray my service to my nation has polished away some of the tarnish.

THE PRESIDENT
Don’t sweat it, business is business. Regulations are a pain in the ass. If you have an opening take it. Never hesitate. I’d a done the same thing.

The soldier-courier again appears on stage carrying more documents and a feather pen. The general agains peruses the contents, and marks the paper. The president raises his hands in a questioning gesture. The courier disappears.

THE PRESIDENT
There is a squadron of Secret Service out in that living room! How does that guy just walk in here?

THE GENERAL
Colonel Hamilton? He is a very clever young man. A great mind, that one. (Pauses) I disagree with your assessment of regulations. Had it not been for the rigor used to organize the army, particularly at Valley Forge, America would not exist. Good order was the key to eventual victory.

THE PRESIDENT
But you were the boss, right? You made the rules. Everyone I brought in has stabbed me in the back, didn’t follow my rules. Bunch of lowlife. Tillerson, Bolton, Mulvaney.

THE GENERAL
Perhaps those staff members possessed standards and realized you were not a leader worth following.

The president stands up outraged, the general stares him back down.

THE GENERAL
Those of my staff earned positions through merit. Tallmadge, Knox, and Hamilton, here, were gentlemen I trusted with my life. The hangers-on, the men who conspired for my command eventually revealed their ineptitude, and villainy. Those characters fell by the wayside.

THE PRESIDENT
A lot of people don’t realize this, but I don’t know American history. How did you win that war?

THE GENERAL
I never confronted the Regulars unless I had an advantage, like at Trenton, though I detested avoiding any fight. (Pauses) I kept the Continental Army together, and out of British hands. I knew the King could not fight forever. And I knew history was watching our every move, and we owed the future to never give up.

THE PRESIDENT
What the hell does that even mean? History watching! I could care less what happened before me, or when I go out.

THE GENERAL
And I am sorry for that, as will be your grandchildren. The family name is disgraced for all time. The rest of us, those whom I am representing, all understand this. Each chief executive found inspiration in taking part in something greater than ourselves. This, (he gestures toward the window) the United States of America has never been attempted before, a people’s government. The world is housed with predictable despots stealing from, and brutalizing the powerless.

THE PRESIDENT
Oh, come on, give me a break, everybody cheats and steals. Especially here in America.

THE GENERAL
Indeed. But we try to be better. We all have tried. President Chester Arthur felt you ought to know that he, too, served the monied interest. But once president, Mr. Arthur left the grift behind. Like the rest of us he found humility understanding all citizens, for all time would weigh his executive stewardship. He treasured America more than money and power.

The president slumps into a chair. He jabs a finger at the general, changes his mind and lowers his hand.

THE PRESIDENT
I didn’t take a salary. My people liked that, makes me look like a good guy.

THE GENERAL
All the while, behind the scenes, you pilfer on a grand scale. (The General glares) The Continental Army did not suffer want and cold at Valley Forge and Morristown for you to overcharge the federal government for lodging Secret Service at your resorts. Nor did they starve so guests at your Washington hotel could be egregiously overcharged.

The general continues to glare for a long moment and slowly cools down.

THE GENERAL
After Yorktown, and the surrender of Lord Cornwallis, hostilities slowly began to quiet. Royal ships, loaded with Redcoats set sail for England and our land stood liberated. Many difficulties remained such as discharging soldiers, and securing their long overdue pay for services nobly rendered.

The general again looks out at the New York skyline.

THE GENERAL
Word arrived that officers, also unpaid, had set into motion a plot to overthrow the slow-moving Congress and make me king. The ring leaders, encamped north of here in Newburg, awaited my arrival to complete the conspiracy.

THE PRESIDENT

King, huh? I like the sound of that.

THE GENERAL
As I had hoped the plot came to nothing, and that is when I resigned my commission and returned home to Mount Vernon.

THE PRESIDENT
Resigned? Went home! What is wrong with you? You had the whole deal on a plate!

THE GENERAL
Why? Because I am an American. We have no need of kings here, and I longed for home, longed for my wife and family. I’d been away for seven years and I yearned for my farm.

THE PRESIDENT
You could’a had the whole country at your feet and you went home to your farm? Gave up power for cowpies and dirt?

THE GENERAL
“’Tis not in mortals to command success. But we’ll do more, Sempronius, we’ll deserve it. When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway, the post of honor is a private station.”

The general sits down on the edge of the bed. The president, in his bed again clutches his pillow closer.

THE GENERAL
It’s a quote from my favorite stage play, Addison’s “Cato.” As Julius Caesar amassed growing power in the Roman empire, Cato the Younger, a lover of Republican virtue, stood in opposition to Caesar’s tyrannical grasp. When Cato could not accept life under extravagance and corruption he took his own life rather than submit to depravity.

The president stifles a yawn, shakes his head to clear it then speaks.

THE PRESIDENT

I liked the musical, “Cats.”

THE GENERAL
This work had a deep impact upon me and upon my generation. Patrick Henry’s “Give me liberty” quote reflects lines from the play, as does poor Nathan Hale’s last words regretting to have “only one life to give for his country.” During our miserable winter camp at Valley Forge I saw to it the play was performed for the men. We too, were confronting an extravagant and tyrannical empire.

The general rises and returns to the window.

THE GENERAL
And that is why I returned home. My duty had been fulfilled, and my services were no longer required.

The courier returns, this time in civilian garb, the general removes his hat, pistol, and sword. He examines the paperwork, scribbles, and the courier departs. The president stands, holding his pillow, watching the courier, then shrugs. He moves back to his bed.

THE PRESIDENT
Now just hold on. You, I mean, you’re the guy who became president, right? The first one?

THE GENERAL

Yes.

THE PRESIDENT
You should’a just grabbed power in the first place. People wouldn’t have cared. I can say or do anything, and my people love me for it. They’re a sad bunch of losers, really.

THE GENERAL
America did not, and does not now, need a king. I only returned to the public arena because my country called. An uprising in Western Massachusetts pitted war veterans against the state legislature in Boston. Vessels exchanged gunfire on rivers over navigation rights-Americans were battling Americans, again.

The general approaches the president who places his pillow over his face.

THE GENERAL
In Philadelphia a convention was set by Mr. Madison, and Colonel Hamilton to strengthen the national government. Though I was weary, short of funds, and reluctant to leave Mount Vernon, I eventually consented to join the assemblage.

The president lowers his pillow and speaks.

THE PRESIDENT

That sounds boring. But farming sounds boring, too.

THE GENERAL
America’s future rested upon what you term as boring. (He pauses) Though stifling hot that Philadelphia summer, with tempers running high, all members resolved to see the convention through. Unrest across this new country lent a sense of urgency, and we could not fail.

The president appears to not listen, fusses with his hair, staring at the ceiling.

THE GENERAL
Listen when I am speaking. Incorrigible halfwit. Leadership requires listening.

THE PRESIDENT
I’m listening. I give myself an A+ on listening. By the way, do you put powder or something on your hair? I worry mine doesn’t look natural in some light.

THE GENERAL
Addle pated oaf! Colonel Roosevelt cautioned me of your conceit. But I will not depart until I have spoken my piece. The Constitutional Convention labored from May, 1787 until September, and in all those sessions only one day concerned the role of the president, Article Two to be precise. And the reason so little time was allocated to this subject? Because I was, whether I wished it or not, the model for the chief executive.

THE PRESIDENT

One day?

THE GENERAL

One day.

The general pauses, then steps over to the bed. He leans over the intimidated president.

Delegates determined the age requirement, the rule for candidates being native born, with four year terms.

THE PRESIDENT

One day, huh. How come so short?

THE GENERAL
Please listen the first time! Because the office was designed for me. I gave up rank, and returned to civilian life, I could be trusted with power. My successor, later wrote, “May none but Honest and Wise Men ever rule under This Roof.” Since that blessing, with one exception, men of political restraint have served as Commander In Chief. Until you. A greedy, self-deluded dunce. Your infamy will never be forgotten, becoming instead a catchphrase for colossal incompetence.

The general rises, adjusts his hat, retrieves his gun and sword, then turns to the president.

THE GENERAL

When my dearest Martha died after my own passing, she was interred beside me, not in a New Jersey sporting green for a tax deduction.

As the general steps offstage an elevator ding is heard again, then a knock on the president’s door. A voice calls out.

SECRECT SERVICEMAN

The elevator issue is fixed, sir. We can go now.

The president adjusts his hair, and straightens his tie. He rushes off stage. A moment later a spotlight catches him hurrying back, picking up the security file, and placing it under his jacket, and again scurries offstage.

The stage goes dark.

END OF SCENE

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two part memoir River of January, and River of January: Figure Eight. She has also authored three stage plays, Clay, Wolf By The Ears, and Peer Review. Chumbley is the co-writer of Dancing On Air a screenplay based on her River books.

If interested in developing any of these pieces reach out at chumbleg.blog

Days of Future Past

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Mont Chumbley with Eastern Airlines Chair, Captain Eddie Rickenbacker

Let the countdown begin! Eighteen days until the release of “River of January: Figure Eight.” Watch for book talks in your area! Visit www.river-of-january.com.

The River Runs in November

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My friends, book two, “River of January: Figure Eight,” is on it’s way. The book will officially launch November 1st, with public presentations in Idaho and Washington.

Catch “Figure Eight”in the following locations . . .

November 2, 2016: The McCall Library in McCall, Idaho, 218 E Park St, McCall, ID · (208) 634-5522 at 7pm

November 3, 2016: Aunties Book Store, 402 W. Main Ave. Spokane, WA 99201. (509)838-0206, 7pm

November 13, 2016: Garden Valley Library, 85 Old Crouch Rd. Garden Valley, ID 83622  (208)462-3317, 3:30pm

November 15, 2016: Eagle Public Library, 100 N Stierman Way, Eagle, Idaho 8361 (208) 939-6814, 7pm

Get ready to complete the saga of Helen and Chum in “River of January: Figure Eight.”

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Gail Chumbley is the author of the two volume, “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight,” out in November.

Volume one is available at www.river-of-january.com and on Kindle

The Last Flight

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Chum returned to uniform by August 1941. Luckily he had worked for Eastern Air Lines exactly one year, vesting his employment, ensuring a job when he returned from the war. But that raises an interesting question, what war? There was no American war. Six more months transpired until the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. The answer to this intriguing question reads something like this; President Roosevelt instituted the preparations he could–Cash and Carry,The Destroyer Deal, quickly followed by the Lend Lease Act in 1941. America’s first peacetime draft had already been activated the year before, in 1940. Everybody knew what was coming, except for the bulk of the American population. They found out the hard way, later, across the Pacific, on a mild Hawaiian Sabbath.

Gail Chumbley is the author of the memoir, River of January, and the forthcoming sequel, River of January: The Figure Eight.

River of January is also available on Kindle.

River of January, Boise Library Edition

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Thursday, May 12th River of January meets the Boise Public Library.

Join Gail for a lively, multimedia look at the archive that became the memoir,

River of January

The program begins at 7pm in the third floor’s Marion Bingham Room.

“This history could be lost” had she not known the story. Janet Juroch~The Idaho World

The Laundry Room

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Initially this post was supposed to discuss what a slob I’ve become since I began writing. I planned on stressing how my story, told in River of January has consumed my days and has trumped any other daily concern–in particular bothering to cook meals or even getting dressed each morning. Then I happened to catch Tina Fey in an interview on Inside the Actors Studio. I like Tina Fey. She reveals her honest opinions with no airs or pretense, openly laughing at her own shortcomings. This particular episode was clearly a rerun, with James Lipton discussing and sharing a clip from her newest film “Admission,” released back in 2013.

This taped exchange between Lipton and Fey eventually transitioned from her many successes on the big and small screens to authoring her first book, Miss Bossy Pants. She confessed that the writing process was surprisingly more difficult and caused her more discomfort than any screen play. Fey shared that she found time to work on the book during breaks on 30 Rock, and in spare moments on various movie sets. While at home, her husband tended their children while she hid in her laundry room to continue her manuscript. And Fey further admitted that publishing Bossy Pants left her profoundly vulnerable and solitary. She said, and I quote, “You really put yourself out there.”

This accomplished, brilliant writer-comedian used her laundry room for writing, and felt vulnerable about her work! Now, I certainly don’t pretend that I anything near her immense talent, but I, too, wrote a lot of River of January in my laundry room! Tina Fey and I both wrote books in our laundry rooms! In my case I busted out my laptop on that cluttered floor because our washer’s timing mechanism was on the fritz. I had to keep a constant vigil so the machine would finish a full cycle. Easily I passed a good two to three hours a session, leaning against the litter box, as the churning rotation of the washer and dryer rendered that little space the best spot in the house to concentrate.

Writing a book is hard, and has frequently forced me to reassess my value as a person. I believed real writers, like Tina Fey, sat behind elegant desks; keyboards illuminated by brass halogen lamps, genteel mugs of hot tea within reach, assistants scurrying in and out of the room conveying edited sheets of type to publishers. That scenario bears no resemblance to this middle aged woman, clad in flannel shirts and sweat pants, continually switching off the pause button on a faulty washing machine.

The most reassuring part of that TV interview was how anxious Fey felt over her book’s public reception, saying something to the effect of how she girded herself for literary failure. Again, another bingo. I’d like to count my writing meltdowns, and vows to never write again, but I only have so many toes and fingers. Any remarks readers have written or spoken regarding my book, River, is indelibly carved into my psyche–forever.

So the truth remains that my writing is mine alone. The words generated, the story those words tell, are between me and my computer. Still, aside from that solitary angle, plus the risk and intimidation in publishing River, I somehow feel less alone. Oh, that washing machine is now working fine.

Gail Chumbley is the author of River of January, available on Kindle.

Visit www.river-of-january.com

 

What I Heard

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Ken Burns has done it again–hit another historical piece of film over the wall. I’ve enjoyed Burns work for decades, beginning with “The Civil War,” through “Baseball,” to “Jazz.” He has consistently combined solid historical research with the subtle beauty of an artist. But in his new “Mark Twain” biography I made a discovery I once believed impossible. I watched the film without any historical analysis or comment.

For the first time since publishing “River of January,” I watched simply from a writer’s perspective. In the film, scholars discussed how Clemens didn’t find his unique American voice until well after “The Innocence Abroad,” and “The Prince and the Pauper” were published. Twain’s masterpiece, “Huckleberry Finn,” came after years of hesitation until that singular voice could no longer be kept tethered.  The author reached deeply from his childhood–a bigoted world of ignorance, poor grammar, and slang with a twang. He defaulted to what he knew best, his inner core and colorful life.

That resonated with me in my own struggle for voice. I have come to realize that a personal truth has to come off the page to remain in the manuscript. If the story line, or flow of dialog doesn’t resonate, it has to go. There must be a truth to tell. The obstruction of a badly worded sentence, or contrived  idea hangs uneasily in my psyche. I have to write what I know to be authentic. It’s a weird dynamic too, and takes concentration to pull off. I put myself in the scene–whether it’s a cockpit, or a dressing room. From that bit of time travel I can survey the setting, describing it both physically and emotionally. I understand the importance of familiarity.

In another tidbit from the documentary, Ken Burns examined Clemens daily writing regimen.

At his home in Hartford (I’ve been there, it’s so cool) Twain worked in an upstairs room, away from everyone, committing his tales to paper. Each evening Clemens gathered his family and friends to listen to  his day’s bounty. I found that intriguing–not as a historian, but as a writer. (Twain had many notables among his friends, President Ulysses Grant for one.)

Samuel Clemens made writing his day-job, and used his household as an audience. Something I find I am unable to follow. However, my ears were carefully adhering to that writing schedule revelation, contemplating his patterns.

I too, need quiet and solitude, but don’t produce the same way. My engine needs to rev up before any writing session. I think and think and think (like Winne the Pooh) then inspired fire up the old laptop. The historic record can spark my thought processes, and the Chumbley archives also can prompt a productive writing session. All in all, a “fits and starts” style best describes my method. Both “River of January” and the new one “Figure Eight,” have come to life through my haphazard style.

Mark Twain can stand alone as a historic figure, apart from his brilliance as a man of letters. He belonged to a political group known as the “Anti Imperialist League,” opposing unrestrained immigration, especially from China and the Philippines. He disapproved of  John D. Rockefeller and other greedy Robber Barons, making no friends among the elite. All that I all ready know, and taught for years. The astounding thing is I watched the program hearing only the literary journey of an American lion.