Julie Marino


The Writing Desk


I believe in the transformative power of storytelling. Since humans began to speak, storytelling has been how we discover, how we learn, how we understand, how we create and transcend. It’s how we construct our world and our selves. We remember the stories we tell about our lives; we invent our lives in the remembering. We make the stories. We are the stories. Here’s a sampling of what’s in the works. Other things will appear here from time to time. Or the same things in different forms. You will — if you have the interest and the patience to follow any of this — see evolving versions of these fragments as they grow and change over time. That’s the thing about stories, they tend to take on a life of their own. And they never really end.

:: Works in Progress ::

From the Archives

A Visit to the Manor House

Everything old is new again. It’s our annual refurbishment of the Writing Desk, and this time, we’re switching it up with a selection from the archives. It’s time for a bit of Regency romance and hijinks.

The Scene

The elegant drawing room of a large, well-appointed manor house in the English countryside. The year is 1815. Edwin paces furiously, his heels clacking loudly on the polished wood floor. Marguerite, seated at the piano, watches him silently for a few moments. She opens her mouth to speak, but thinks better of it.

EDWIN
Oh! I cannot abide this insult! That...that...miscreant has exceeded the bounds of decency. He has gone too far, and I swear I will have satisfaction!

MARGUERITE
Edwin, please! No harm was done, I assure you.

EDWIN
No harm, you say? He has committed a most unforgivable affront! He calls himself a gentleman. Gentleman... hah! No true gentleman would behave as he has.

MARGUERITE
Oh Edwin, be reasonable. Geoffrey meant no affront. He was merely feeling... high-spirited.

EDWIN
I invite this...person into my home, offer him my hospitality. And this is how he repays me? He takes advantage of my fiancee!

MARGUERITE
No advantage was taken.

EDWIN
My dear, sweet Marguerite. So innocent, so unworldly. Believe me, my darling, you have no idea of the perfidy such men can sink to.

MARGUERITE
I cannot believe Geoffrey to be capable of any perfidious act.

EDWIN
That is because you have no experience in the world of men. He has besmirched your honor and your good name. I cannot and I shall not accept it.

MARGUERITE
Must you be so hard-headed and resolute? What is to be gained by calling him out? He is a bit reckless perhaps, and could certainly benefit from practicing some restraint, but for pity’s sake, Edwin, he is no monster. Let it be. Prove yourself to be the bigger man.

EDWIN
No. No. It is insuperable. How am I to hold my head up in society, when half the county saw him kiss you?

Marguerite bangs her hands down loudly on the piano keys and stands.

MARGUERITE
Your head? I thought it was my honor and my good name you were worried about.

EDWIN
But, of course it is...

MARGUERITE
Let me tell you something, buster, that one little kiss you saw? Well, there were plenty more you didn’t see. Long, slow, deep ones that curled my toes. You’re just pissed ‘cause he got there before you did. And I can guarantee you he did a better job than you could ever hope to. You want to talk satisfaction? Ohhhh baby! What’s the matter? You look a little pale there, Eddie. Marguerite pats Edwin on the cheek as she glides past him toward the door.

MARGUERITE
Men! Clueless. Absolutely fucking clueless. (she turns to him) Get a life, would you?

She exits.

END OF SCENE

II. Character Studies

BENNIE

I spent all afternoon tryin’ to get this goddam thing to run. Man says “Good as new! Just tweak ‘er a little, she’ll purr like a goddam kitten”. Kitten my ass! Thing sounds more like a goddam lion with laryngitis. An’ it shakes like Uncle Louie when he’s off his meds.

How the hell am I s’posed to go pick up Jolene in this piece o’ shit? She wouldn’t even get in. Hell, she’d hear me comin’ two blocks away and then she’d pretend she didn’t even know me. Turn her back when I drove up, keep talkin’ to her girlfriends like I wasn’t even there. Hell, I wouldn’t get in if I was her. A guy’s gotta have a decent car if he expects to get a decent girl. Like Jolene.

It’s too late to fix it even if I could. Goddam carburetor. Shoulda been taken out an’ run over by a tank. Hell, it prob’ly was. I spent the whole afternoon in this hot, hell-hole of a cat-pee smellin’ garage for nothing. I prob’ly smell like cat pee now too. I’m a total failure as a man. I might as well forget about ever gettin’ a decent girlfriend.

The P. I.

A slug of gin. A slug in the mouth. Either way it’s the same to me.

You wake up in an alley somewhere smelling like the inside of a dumpster, your head pounding like a Sousa march and a sour day-old taste at the back of your throat.

That was me last Thursday…the morning after I crossed paths with Bang Bang Tommy and his little gang of assassins. Did I say assassins? I meant “businessmen”. But if you ever find yourself doing business with them, take my advice: hang up the Gone Fishin’ sign and take yourself on a nice, long vacation.

I didn’t even have to open my eyes to tell where I was. The butt end of Jakarta has a fragrance all its own…a mixture of curry, rotting fish, excrement and broken dreams. I took one whiff and I knew exactly where they’d dumped me.

It really didn’t matter how I got here. The big question was, why was I here at all? Why was I still alive. It’s not like Tommy or his associates to leave something half done. The only reason could be that I was more valuable to them alive. What did I know?

The question nagged at me like a jealous wife as I picked my way between the stagnant pools of sewage and refuse. The remnants of last night’s festivities were playing havoc with my stomach. So I bought a bowl of noodles from a street vendor –– a squirrely little woman with bad teeth and an attitude to match.

As I slurped down the soupy mess, the question came back again. What did I know? What did Tommy want with me? I knew that I’d better find the answer pretty damn fast. Or that sorry bowl of gelatinous noodles might just be my last meal.

Leonora

Frankly darling, if you want to know the naked, wretched truth of it, I wake up every morning shocked to find that I’m still here. At all. That I actually managed to make it this far. That I didn’t run off a cliff or burst into flames or just expire from plain old stupidity. And darling let me tell you, in those days there was plenty of stupid to go around. Enough for everybody and then some.

And even though — I’ll be honest — there were more than a few times over the years I thought well why not. Why not just go out in a blaze of glory. Why not make a spectacular end to it all because what in life could possibly top that. And how sad and pathetic would it be to live a lesser life. To become a diminished version of myself.

But for one reason or another I just didn’t and it’s a good thing because here’s another juicy little secret I’ll let you in on — and I’ll tell you, it’s like the biggest in-joke ever. I know it’s hard to believe, but only lately have I come to realize how much more interesting I am now than I ever was back then! I know! Crazy, right? When I think back to how vacuous we were — and I mean that in the nicest possible way — it makes me laugh. Almost makes me cry sometimes.

We were like empty vessels waiting to be filled up. Like those endless of glasses of Veuve Cliquot we used to consume en masse. I still love them, I confess. The bubbles, that is. There’s absolutely nothing a crystal flute of sparkling deliciousness won’t make better. That’s not a bad metaphor, actually, if you’re looking for one, for our lives back then. Like a glass of champagne bubbles — glorious but ephemeral. That really is rather clever, isn’t it?

These days, people use the word ‘diva’ about me. Don’t tut tut, darling! I know they do. Toss it around like a little velvet throw pillow with tassels on the corners. Well, maybe it applies, I don’t know. But honestly, don’t you think the word has worn itself out already? So overused, and on people who absolutely don’t deserve it! Let me tell you, you have to earn that title! It takes years and it takes miles. And I’ve got both. Personally, I prefer ‘doyenne’ myself. But I can’t choose the things people write about me.

And guess what? Now comes the payoff for all those years and all those miles. And all those tears too, darling. Who knew? I’m bigger and better than ever! People keep telling me how amazing I am. A legend! Who could have imagined! I’m telling you darling, it’s the biggest in-joke ever. Of course nobody gets it except me.

III. Reminiscence from Another World

The Ballad of Jackeye Johnny

Jack-Eye Johnny blew into town, riding the solar wind straight in from the event horizon. Nobody remembers exactly when he showed up. Fact is, nobody remembers him actually arriving. He was just not there and then he was there and I swear t’god you couldn’t remember what it was like before.

From then on, nothing happened -- what I mean to say is nothing that meant anything -- that didn’t have Johnny’s stardust all over it. You’d hear someone say yeah Johnny was there or yeah Johnny had this thing going or yeah didn’t you hear Johnny this or Johnny that. He could be across town or twenty miles away or a hundred, didn’t matter. If ever there was a dude who made you sho’ nuff believe in spooky-action-at-a-distance, it was Jack-Eye Johnny.
And didn’t we all feel chosen, didn’t we all feel like the righteous fucking hand o’god reached down and lifted us up to the very crown o’ the universe when Johnny smiled and laughed, slid up and slipped his arms around our shoulders and said come on, let’s light this joint up tonight.
If, to give you a very perfect example of how it was, a guy was to be downtown and see his girlfriend ride by in Johnny’s car...if a guy was to hear that his girlfriend was sleeping in Johnny’s bed, man, that guy was golden. If that guy had the most excellent discerning taste to be going with a girl that Johnny found worthy of his attention, well then...‘nuff said. And once it was over -- because it always was -- she’d come back to that guy better than ever. Her skin would feel like honey and sparkle like fireflies. She’d move like a goddess and glow like the perfect setting sun on the first day of creation.
Everybody had their own favorite Johnny story. I never did, tho’. I mean, at the time, why tell stories when the real thing was just around the corner. Why try and parse the hidden meaning of the fucking universe. Just look over there, pal. Just look over your shoulder. Or don’t even. Just wait a minute and the perfection of Johnny’s aura will pour down upon you. And then, once it was over, once he was gone, I didn’t ever want to think about it again.
Thing about Johnny, he wasn’t easy to pin down. About anything. It was as if he seemed to slide through this plane of existence in a neutral state -- move through matter like a puff of smoke through a goddam screen door. That’s why it was all the more surprising, when push came to shove, that he took a stand...
‘Course, looking back, how could you not know? How could you be drawn into his orbit and not sense that sooner or later -- and probably sooner -- he’d go supernova. Jack-Eye Johnny had an expiry date stamped clear as day across his back; all you had to do was look closely to see it. But until then, the universe could expand as fast and as far as it liked and we didn’t care.
Everybody loved Johnny and Johnny loved everybody. We all said it. And we believed it. Tho’ honestly if you stopped to think about it in a logical manner -- but who would because why would you want to -- you’d pretty soon run up against the inconvenient truth that just the mere existence of Johnny pissed a whole lot of people off. Okay, not pissed off exactly, but let’s say threw out of balance. Okay, not people exactly, but let’s say some forces that are better left unmolested in the grand scheme o’ things. Really, when you come right down to it, in the cold, hard light o’ day, it was matter-antimatter, pure and simple. And we all know how that ends.

Artwork courtesy of the extraordinary David Walls

Contact David by email.