"One of the most obvious, and best loved, ways of communicating symbolism is through music," said Jack, as he picked up a set of drumsticks.
Percussing on window-frame, chair, desk, wall, and his own knees, Jack rattled the cottage excitedly.
"And somehow, much like the archetypical orchestra, our brains are wired to NOT be confused by it," said Jack, as he spun the drumsticks in place, making small rainbows between his fingers.
With each knock, each treble, each shudder of furniture, a companion rattle rang from the trees; in unison, the forest echoed Jack's percussive expression.
"As a result, well-designed music is layered to match in both holistic expression as well as instrumental selection," said Jack.
Through the window hopped an unusually small rabbit; landing on the window sill, the diminutive bunny looked at Jack and tilted her head.
"And, much like the standard literary trope, selection of instrument, for a writer, can be quite varied," said Jack, as he used the drumsticks on the lampstand.
In unison, the rabbit pulled his whiskers extremely taught and plucked them in time; the companion of the notes from his organic air guitar left the drumming float in the air.
"In fact, with a little ingenuity, nearly anything can be an instrument," said Jack, as he pressed a button on the drumstick. A slot opened to reveal a small rectangular hole.
As Jack played his stick flute, the rabbit played his organic air guitar, and the dormouse hopped onto the window sill and began to hum a companion melody.
"Ultimately, you'll need to consider if the music you include is there for its own sake, to set the mood, or to direct the reader," said Jack.
...
The snare drum rolled down the steps with a bang, ding, bang, clap, ding, ding, scrape, and at the end rolled into an ever tightening circle along the silvery rim.
Beschdel "Leroy" Jenkins galumphed quickly in chase; once she hit the bottom of the stairs, she saw the snare drum.
Inspecting the drum, Jenkins noted a few new dings on the rim.
"Well ... I think it would work better if I gave it a little more spin before I let it go," said Jenkins, as she carried the snare drum back up the stairs.
Quiet cat-like foot-falls up the steps, creaking on every fifth corner-step, and a satisfying sigh of floorboards followed Jenkins to her snare stand.
Resetting the release mechanism, Jenkins went to her computer and started another recording.
"Okay, this is 'snare stories, take fifteen'," said Jenkins, as she configured the spin mechanism to apply more axis promulgation.
Mentally noting the twists and turns of the stairs, Jenkins moved her sheet music marker to the first measure.
Placing her right hand on the sheet, Jenkins placed her left hand on the release button.
"Okay, now!" said Jenkins, as she hit the button and walked her finger along each measure.
The metal fasteners along the drum's edge clicked along at an even pace - and nudged Jenkin's measure finger forward.
Rolling forward, the snare hit the edge of the stairs and paused; Jenkin's finger touched the rest.
Jenkin's left hand raised up in its conductor pose.
'Now!' thought Jenkins, as she moved her left hand in the standard up, down, left, right sequence, matching as the loud traversal of the snare drum.
As the snare drum fifty note percussive path landed at the bottom of the stairs, Jenkins hit the applause button once.
Muted clapping played from the computer.
Jenkins turned off the recording and left to pick up her snare drum.
Marcy yelled into the cone "Cut!"
Various extras and personnel ran to reset furniture and props, update lighting, and ensure other scene needs were met.
"I thought I told you the snare drum was supposed to be off-white," fumed Marcy, "and the sheet music was supposed to visibly show the introductory measures from Vivaldi's Four Seasons!"
The sound of several drums being rolled and placed quickly followed.
"Props!" yelled Marcy, as she stood and looked around.
A squirrelly man hunched over and look at Marcy's shoes.
"Yes, ma'am?" said Vincent.
"Are the mock stairs done yet?" asked Marcy, as she tried to force Vincent to look into her face through force of will. "You said they'd be done several weeks ago."
Sighing, Vincent looked down at his shoes.
"Yes, ma'am." replied Vincent. "But I thought you wanted to add the stairs in post-production with computer modeling. I did finish that and everything is ready for you."
Glaring at Vincent, Marcy threw the directorial cone at Vincent, missing him and knocking over a small table.
"I distinctly said I wanted real models," said Marcy, "and that we weren't going to be using computer-aided graphics of any kind."
Vincent shifted his weight from one side to another.
"Well," said Marcy, "we're too far into production to worry about it now. We'll just scrap the extra levels."
Turning, Vincent slowly backed away.
"And you're fired," said Marcy, "now get out of here before I personally see you don't work again in this town."
Quietly, Vincent slumped over and walked off set.
"And that's how the scene ends," said Michael, as he looked at the board.
A line of smoke drifted lazily from the cigarette hanging off the woman on the other side of the table.
The nameplate in front of her chair read 'Beschdel (Leroy) Jenkins'.
"Is this some kind of joke," asked Leroy, as she glanced at Michael.
Turning to her left, Leroy said, "Frank, do you think this has any sort of merit?"
Frank turned to Leroy and said, "Well, I do like the interlaced music theme; but it seems very short."
Leroy looked at Michael.
"That is true," said Leroy, "but I'm referring to something simpler."
Michael looked at Frank and then back to Leroy.
"Why is there a character in your piece with my name," asked Leroy.
Raising a hand, Michael explained. "Ah, yes; well, I mentioned that at the beginning."
Leroy raised an eyebrow.
"Yes," said Leroy, "I remember you mentioning that occasionally names were used to represent broader themes."
Nodding, Michael said, "True; but Leroy was actually named after my sister."
Leroy raised her eyebrow again.
"Quite unlikely," said Leroy. "This board has no option but to reject your master's degree thesis idea."
Before Michael could speak again, Frank said "Remember, she's the final vote on the board. Better try harder next time."
"... um," said Michael, "When will you have another opening?"
Briskly checking her phone, Leroy said, "This was an out-of-cycle thesis review. I think I have an opening in ... four months."
"No good," said Frank. "I have two recitals and several classes to teach. How about eight months?"
Michael slumped and began picking up the pieces of his presentation.
"I believe I'm actually available in about ten months. Say April of next year?" asked Leroy.
"Yes," said Frank, "I think I can commit to that."
Quickly responding, Michael said "Great, see you in April! I won't disappoint and will not repeat this again!"
"Quite," said Leroy, as she closed the calendar application, which played the sound of a newly-started Apple computer.
Andrew lifted up the remote control and turned off the screen.
"Sorry about that," said Andrew. "Sometimes those improv shows can be funny; other times they're just weird."
Alice turned toward Andrew.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," said Alice. "But then, so many writers only seem to act like women are badly behaved men."
Alice turned to the other side of the couch.
"What do you think, Angela," asked Alice, "is there some truth to that?"
"There is a line in one of my favorite movies that talks about that," said Angela, "You know the one, with Jack Nicholson as a writer?"
From behind Angela, a voice said, "Yeah, I've seen that movie. I always thought it was too glib to be true."
Andrew said, "Alan - just because something is witty or glib doesn't mean it isn't true."
"That's a great point," said Alice. "I think one of the reasons women aren't well represented is that there aren't enough archetypes."
Angela said, "Um, what are you talking about?"
"Alice and I were talking about this recently," said Alan. "Men have all sorts of heroes to draw from; most villains are male too."
"Right, right," said Alice. "But women generally are only painted as sinner or saint. As if women only come in two flavors."
"Ah, good point," said Andrew, "and I can count on one hand the different kinds of women I've seen in movies."
"But what does it matter how many wosnames ... what did you call it," asked Angela.
"Well," said Alice, "if you're talking to a normal person, and you introduce a few details, people fill in the blank."
"Right ..." said Angela.
"Well the blank they fill comes from a cultural reservoir of templates," said Andrew, "and there are just less female templates."
"Hmm ... only if the reader is American," said Angela. "Most cultures have their own collection of templates."
"Perhaps, then," said Andrew, "it is because so much of the iconography of American culture comes from the Bible."
"Maybe," said Alice, "but there are a large number of different sorts of women in the Bible - strong and weak."
"Then I propose a toast," said Alan, as he raised his glass. "To the inclusion of complex male and female characters in all works."
"Quite so," said Andrew, as he lifted his glass. "I agree."
"Of course," said Alice, as she smiled.
"Or at least more realistic women," said Angela, raising her coffee mug. "They don't have to be three dimensional; they just don't need to be two."
And all glasses clinked.
Aaron looked up from his reading.
The sun had just touched the horizon and had begun to bronze everything in sight.
"I think it's time we headed back," said Aaron. "They'll start looking for us if we're going too long."
"Will you read more of your story to us later?" said Ben. "I liked how complicated it was getting."
"Sure," said Aaron. "You're supposed to write what you know; but, I ... feel like I don't know enough."
"Well, maybe next mail call we'll get more books," said Chuck. "I've seen you devour a book when you're interested."
"True enough," said Aaron, "but one thing I have learned is that sometimes you gotta go out and do - reading doesn't have all the answers."
"Easy for you to say," said Dennis. "Ben and I can put draw our letters okay. But you can really write. It's gotta mean somethin'"
"Easy, bud," said Eddie. "Ronny can write, sure - and he probably should do something with it. But that don't mean it has to be something big."
"Maybe we'll get a woman in our company soon," said Chuck. "Headquarters keeps promising it and girls always say what you don't expect."
"Hah - that's true," said Aaron, "except of all the things I don't know, I suspect women are probably highest on the list."
"Oh, they're easy enough," said Eddie. "I'm not sure how you'd write about 'em; but maybe you could start small."
"What ... like with a girl?" asked Aaron.
"No, you idiot," said Dennis. "He means don't try to just dive into it. Ease into it. Start with one woman."
"Right, right," said Ben. "Ya gotta talk about how nice they smell."
"What are you talking about?" said Dennis. "He should talk about how they care about big things, like nature."
"I was thinking more about how women don't compartmentalize," said Eddie. "You and me, we put things in boxes. Women don't always do that."
"I guess," said Aaron. "But there must be some women who do put things in boxes. It seems like they're both stereotypes."
"Where do you think stereotypes come from?" asked Chuck. "Sometimes a hammer is just a hammer."
"I still think you should talk about how they smell," said Ben.
"Will you get off the smell kick?" said Eddie. "You already stink; talking about how girls smell just makes you smell worse."
"I will think about it," said Aaron. "I think you each have pointed out things I need to include - or at least consider."
"Look," said Chuck, "just don't make them helpless. That's usually boring and lazy writing."
"You got it," said Aaron.
...
"The funny thing about music," said Jack, "is that it always seems like it could be more inclusive."
Two opossums, twelve squirrels, a partridge, a duck, a pigeon, a bat, an ape, a penguin, a seagull, and an ibex melodically exited the cottage; the remaining animals sat and tuned their instruments.
"Of course, occasion demands its appropriate musical counterpoint," said Jack, "however, melody, harmony, and their companions, never seem to be unwelcome in diversity."
When the word 'diversity' was spoken by Jack, the entire mongoose quartet stood up and harmonized on a pure E-sharp.
"And, unlike so many other areas, diversity for its own sake is welcome - if done well," said Jack, as the mongoose quartet crawled onto the window sill and jumped out the window.
Uncomfortable twists and twerks from two owls, two birds of paradise, and a cobra filled the cottage with silence; these five instrumentalists left through the window as well.
"However, the compliment is true as well - when the right instruments, the right piece, the right timing, and the right execution work - it becomes worship," said Jack.
The moment the word 'worship' was spoken, every remaining animal in the cottage began to play a quick celebratory piece; the dormouse remained standing on the doorway bobbing his head to the beat.
"Ultimately, it is the heart of the writer that determines what music is offered to the soul of the reader," said Jack. "So make it worth the reader's time."
And as Jack finished speaking, the bunny finally released his whiskers, looked around as if released from a trance, and hopped out into the night.
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