Back in September, when I was rehearsing La bohème, I got this text from a fellow chorister:

Many of us had been furiously studying our music over the past week, getting ready for staging rehearsals, when we had to be off-book. I had also spent almost the entire month of July memorizing the role of Dame Quickly in Falstaff, so good memorization techniques have been fresh in my mind.

I thought it might be nice to share them here, for those who might be having some difficulty memorizing their own music (or play or test material or whatever…these techniques are fairly universal, although I will mostly be talking about memorizing words and music, since that’s what I do most often).

1. Repetition, Repetition, Repetition.

Usually when people ask me how to memorize something, I tell them to repeat it over and over again. It might sound a little obvious, but it’s the only way that you’re guaranteed to remember something. You know how some television and radio ads repeat a phone number so many times that it is annoying? It’s because they are trying to get you to remember it. In the marketing world, it’s called the Rule of Seven; in the psychology world, it’s called Miller’s Law.

Hold a strand of regular thread between your hands. If you apply a small amount of tension, you can easily break that thread. Now replace that one thread with two threads. It’a a little harder to break, but you can still do it. The more strands you add, the stronger the thread becomes. Your brain is wired much like this: each time you store something into your memory, your brain creates a unique chemical pathway along your neurons. The more times you do it, the more pathways become created, and the stronger and clearer the memory becomes.

The simplest way to accomplish the repetition is this: take one line, and repeat it seven times. If you mess up, you have to start your count over. Once you can successfully repeat your line seven times in a row, that line is memorized. Move on to the next line, and the next, and so on.

2. Make a game plan.

Everybody has their own way of learning things; some people start at the beginning and work their way forward, and others like to start at the end and work backwards.

Me? I look through the entire work and figure out which parts are the hardest to learn, then tackle them first.

In the case of Falstaff, I went completely OCD and put together a spreadsheet, marking out the difficulty level of every single line. I don’t usually go this hardcore, but this was the largest role I had worked on in a long time, and I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything.

The hardest bits took me the longest to learn, but they were also the most solid by the time I got to staging rehearsals. My mouth went on autopilot while my brain was busy figuring out where to go next on stage. I cannot recommend this method highly enough. It’s probably the least appealing — after all, who wants to work on the most difficult stuff first? — but it is, hands down, the most effective way to get it in your brain.

3. Take it in small chunks.

Just like any large project, memorizing an entire piece of music can seem daunting when you have the heavy score right in front of you. Don’t think about the larger picture while you’re memorizing. Give yourself small goals and work towards them.

This is really where my spreadsheet came in handy…each line was a mini-goal. When I was sure I had a line memorized, I would write in “y” in the “Memorized” column, and I wrote an algorithm in the final worksheet that calculated what percentage memorized I was for each scene, act, and the whole work. Seeing the percentages get higher and higher kept me motivated.

4. Go backwards.

Memorization, as I mentioned before, is done through repetition, and a common trap is to start from the beginning and add on as we learn each phrase. That’s all very well and good if you want to make a strong entrance, but that won’t mean anything if you completely forget the middle or the end.

Take the preamble to the U.S. Constitution — remember memorizing this one in grade school? Most of us, if we started reciting it on the spot, might come up with, “We the People of the United States, in order…um…to…er…”

Memorizing it back to front, I would do this:

• for the United States of America.
• this Constitution for the United States of America.
• do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.
• to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.
• (and so on…)

This way, you’re reviewing what you just learned while you are memorizing the new parts. Yay for efficiency!

5. Write it down.

Another way to strengthen those memory cords in your brain is to physically write the words down. The act of writing (and even typing) activates different neural pathways; if one pathway fails, you can still access the memory through a different pathway.

I write the words down several times (remember, repetition is key!). First, I write them out by hand. Then I type them into my computer. If the words are in a different language, I will write out the translation by hand as well.

The last time I write out the words, I input them into a flashcard app that I have on my iPhone (I personally like Study Flash, but there are tons of apps out there, or you can just make regular old-school flashcards). I then use the flash cards to test myself at random times throughout the day.

6. Listen.

As a general rule, I advise against listening to one recording in order to learn a piece of music, because we all have a tendency to mimic the recording instead of making the music our own. However, I do think it’s important to get the full harmonic structure of any piece of music in your head, even if you are only learning one line.

If you can, find two or three good recordings of the work you are memorizing, and put them on “repeat” on your MP3 player/iThing. Listen to them until they become earworms and you are humming it in the shower. Listen while you are driving or on the bus or doing other work, so that they can enter your brain subliminally. The goal of this exercise is for you to become so familiar with the ins and outs of this piece that you don’t need to worry about which part is coming next.

When I was a kid, my mom used to do this all the time to help her with memorization. She would play her music on a tape in the car while driving me to and from school. Because of that, I now can sing the violin solos of Stravinsky’s L’histoire du soldat at the drop of a hat even today.

If you can’t find a recording of the music you are working on (maybe it’s a world premiere or nobody’s ever bothered to record it), you might want to find a friend to play the music for you on the piano while you record it. There are also accompanists online who will record the accompaniment for you — for a fee, of course. If you can’t find a local accompanist or coach to help you with this part of the system, I see no reason why you shouldn’t outsource it to a talented accompanist far away.

7. Take breaks and reward yourself.

This step is really important. If you work too hard, you’ll burn out, and when you come back to the music the next day, you will have negative associations with the work.

You’ve already set goals in Step #3; when you reach them, give yourself a treat. Don’t cheat and go straight to the treat without doing the work, though! The only person you’ll be hurting is yourself.

Taking frequent breaks is also essential for the memorization process. Your brain needs time to move the information from short-term memory to long-term memory, so make sure you don’t overload it with too much at one time. I like to work in 20-minute chunks, as championed by the Pomodoro Technique, although I just use the timer on my iPhone instead of buying any fancy books or products. Each person is different, though, and only you will be able to gauge what your own time limit on concentration is. The most important thing is that you do take the breaks.

8. Don’t forget the rests!

Unless the work you have to memorize is a continuous drone for 20 minutes, you will most likely have rests in your music. You might be tempted to concentrate only on the music that features you, but beware! If you neglect the rests between your moments of glory, you will constantly be coming in at the wrong time, and very likely stepping on someone else’s part.

If you are performing a play, you not only need to know your own lines, but the ones that come before and after yours, so you know when your lines come in. Making sure you’ve memorized the rests is the same idea.

Here is where Step #6 comes back into play: if you are already comfortable with the work holistically, you will remember that you have to wait until the oboe solo is finished before singing about the birds, or you’ll be able to play with dialogue in an organic manner, instead of rattling off your part line by line. Complicated scenes with multiple characters can fall apart very quickly if even one person comes in early.

9. Avoid distractions.

Memorizing can be a very arduous (dare I say boring?) process. Why not turn the TV on or troll on Facebook, or even watch over your kids while going over your music? After all, we live in a world of multitasking, right?

Wrong.

In order for your brain to absorb the information efficiently, you need to be fully focused on the task at hand. If you take frequent breaks, it’s easy to concentrate on your music for a short period of time, so use that time wisely and don’t divide it among the other 100 things you need to do today. Even if you swear you can study and watch TV at the same time, I guarantee you are not learning that music as quickly as just turning the TV off and memorizing in silence.

The only time multitasking works is in Step #6. Having the music play in the background while you accomplish other tasks helps your brain absorb it subliminally. Bear in mind, however, that music and language are in two different parts of the brain, and just because you can remember the notes easily does not mean you will remember the words. You’ll still need to spend some quality time alone memorizing the words.

10. Review.

Say you’ve just spent Monday and Tuesday memorizing Scene 1, and Wednesday and Thursday memorizing Scene 2. If you don’t take the time to review Scene 1, you’ll have forgotten half of it by Saturday. Those neural pathways in your brain are very fragile, and the more time you can spend strengthening them, the better. The larger the work you have to memorize, the more easily different sections can fall through the cracks, and the important this step becomes.

While you review, try new ways of looking at the music. Practice transitions between sections so you don’t get caught in a memorization rut. And even when you think you are fully memorized, keep practicing your music to maintain a good level of freshness and comfort every time you get on stage. You will naturally be reviewing your work when you are in rehearsal, but what if you have a few days off between shows? Don’t become complacent; take the time to run through all your lines in your head before you return to the stage.

So there you go, folks. These steps have helped me tremendously, and I hope they help you too. Feel free to use my memorization grid as a template for yourself, or at least a jumpoff point for your own study practices. Good luck, and happy memorizing!

Do you have more memory tips? Leave them in the comments.

One morning not too long ago, I was standing in the kitchen of the Folger Guest House in Washington, DC, speaking to one of the founders of the Folger Consort about technology. He was lamenting about how we were all tethered to our electronic devices.

“I do like to play on my iPhone, but I can manage without it,” I bragged. I was old enough to remember the days when we weren’t connected to one another 24/7, after all. “I do enjoy the convenience of technology, but I do actually have the real world skills to get around without it.”

He chuckled. “You can quit any time you want, right?”

“Kind of.” I gave him a wry smile. I never considered myself an addict, but I sure was using an addict’s vocabulary.

The Test
Loki must have heard me, because not one week later, my phone fell out of my back pocket as I was pulling my pants down in the bathroom and landed with a loud pllllunk! in the toilet.

I stared at the underwater phone for a second or two in disbelief. Did I just…? That can’t be…but I didn’t…aaaaghhhh! My preciousssss!

With only a cursory look to make sure the toilet was relatively clean — the water was clean, at least — I plunged my hand into the toilet and fished the phone out. It was still on! I turned it off and wiped it off as best I could.

I knew the first thing I should do was to put the phone in some sort of desiccant (the Internet told me rice or silica gel works well). Unfortunately, I was in the theater getting ready to go on stage, so I had to wait for two whole hours before obtaining a bag of rice and dumping the still-damp device inside.

I then rushed off to Facebook to bemoan my fate. I couldn’t have gotten more sympathy from my friends if I had gotten into a celebrity fender bender…although, to be fair, the iPhone is probably a bigger celebrity than any human I might have bumped into on the street.

So there I was, phoneless in a strange city, and I still had a couple days before I was to head back home. My room did have a land line, but when my husband tried to call me on it, the phone never rang, going straight to voicemail. And I wasn’t planning on returning straight home after my last concert either; I was supposed to go to a friend’s house in Baltimore for dinner, spend the night, then continue back to New Jersey the next morning.

The Journey
I had already boasted that I could survive without my phone; now was my chance to prove it. So I didn’t have a GPS device or a map of DC or Maryland, or directions on how to get to my friend’s house; what I did have was the Internet (at least before I got on the road) and my brain. I grew up in a time before cell phones or GPS, and I had learned how to navigate on my own. Besides, humans have been navigating the globe without electronics for millennia. I could do this.

After my final concert, I packed up my bags, wrote out all the turn-by-turn directions from Google Maps, studied the maps carefully, then got in my car and started driving. I managed to get onto the Baltimore-Washington Parkway just fine, but I missed the first exit on the direction, having stayed in the left lane instead of the right. I had to turn around, but once I turned around, it was almost impossible to get onto the road I wanted. My handwritten directions said “MD-201″ but didn’t indicate north or south, and I was given a choice of two exits. Baltimore is north of DC, I reasoned, so I should go on 201 North.

Boy, was I wrong.

Because I had turned around, I had accidentally gotten onto a different interchange. I was on MD-201 North, for sure, but where my directions told me that it would quickly turn into MD-295 North, that junction had happened a few miles south of where I had gotten onto 201. So I traveled north on 201 for about 40 minutes, driving further and further into a rural area, until 201 abruptly disappeared and the road turned sharply into a residential community. I turned around.

Frantically, I began coming up with solutions to my problem. I was lost, for sure, and the sun had just set. Should I go back the way I came, or go all the way to the beginning? No, I had driven too far. Maybe if I could call — no, I had no phone.

No payphones in sight either. It’s been a long time since there were public payphones around.

What I did have was my laptop. If I could find a place that had a wireless connection, I could log on, figure out where I was, and contact my friend, who I am sure was wondering where I was. What were good places to find wifi? My mind ticked off the well-known internet hangouts: Starbucks. Dunkin Donuts. McDonald’s. I kept my eyes peeled for any of those, as well as any other chains that might look promising.

Ahead on the horizon rose the Golden Arches like a shining beacon. “Thank God for McDonald’s!” I shouted triumphantly, all the while wondering if I would ever utter those words again in my life. I entered the restaurant, ordered a coffee (which, by the way, took five minutes for the clearly confused and apathetic workers to pour for me), and sat down with my laptop. My friend had emailed me directions from I-95, but no matter what I did Google Maps could not figure out my location based on the IP address I was using. It was only when I logged on to FourSquare that I was able to figure out which McDonald’s I had stumbled into.

I knew where I-95 was, since I had passed it twice: once on my way north, and again when I had turned around. Success! Using the simple directions my friend had given me, I was able to make it to her house, where she had a nice glass of wine and delicious dinner waiting for me.

The Moral
It’s been four days now, and my iPhone still has not responded to any of the treatments I’ve administered. Sadly, I think it is time to give up hope, especially since I feel so disconnected without a phone at my side. Have people called me? Have I been getting texts? I have no idea.

It is also time for me to eat a little crow here. I did manage to get around without my iPhone, but only because I happened to have a laptop. So electronics saved the day, rather than merely my brain. And strangely enough, I’m okay with that.

I also know that when the machines take over the world, I will be one of the first in line to serve my robot overlords. Heck, sign me up for a transplant.

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For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Dani gave me this prompt: Celebrity fender bender.

I gave kgwaite this prompt: A crack in the wall.

Although I usually use the Prompt Exchange to write fiction, the only story that came to my mind was what happened to me in real life this week. Plus, I haven’t written any bloggy-type posts for a while, so I decided to switch it up. For those of you who follow my fiction, I hope you take a look at some of my other memoir pieces. For those of you who follow my nonfiction, peruse some of my fantastical stories.

He thought it would make her happy. With a flourish, Kukulcan donned his feather robe and stepped into the circle. He had been working for ages on this long count calendar, and tonight, the first night of the Tzolk’in cycle, he was ready to dedicate it to her. His mother. His lover. His goddess.

He thought it would make things better. Chirakan-Ixmucane had come to him in a dream so long ago and asked for — no, demanded — the calendar. And one does not deny a creator of the world. He had been haunted by her every night since then, to the point of sleeplessness, but he worked through the madness, knowing that his work would be used for the rest of eternity, so that there will never be an end to the world. It would be a relief to dedicate it to her.

He was wrong. As he stepped into the circle, he closed his eyes prepared himself to be blessed with her Divine Presence.
The people around him chanted louder and louder. Suddenly, his eyes flew open as the priests behind him slit his throat and wrists with ebony knives. The blood gushed out of him, but she was not there to receive his tribute. Instead, his spirit floated away from his body as his joints buckled and collapsed onto the stone calendar. He watched the throngs of villagers dissolve into inky darkness.

Too late, he realized the calendar he had created to keep the world eternal had brought about the end of existence.

---

For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Julia Mae gave me this prompt: He thought it would make her happy. He thought it would make things better. He was wrong.

I gave David Wiley this prompt: Underwater symphony.

They were the Weather Men, and they ruled the world.

They showed up on the coldest day of the year, demanding payment for favorable weather in the upcoming year. Everyone dreaded their arrival: the metallic scratching at the door would strike send a shiver down the spine of even the most hardened criminal, and as soon as you could detect even the slightest chill in the air, kings and paupers alike would begin to worry about what the next year’s payment might be.

The Weather Men claimed they were not monsters by reasoning that they only asked for as much as each person could afford. And for as long as Anna could remember, people believed them. But she knew better. All payments were some kind of sacrifice, and more often than not, the only thing that would satisfy the Weather Men were hopes and dreams. Those who could afford the tax prospered with bountiful harvests and beautiful days at market; those who refused to pay were punished with droughts, floods, or worse…but at least they could hold onto their dreams.

Anna stood in the middle of the forest, barefoot and shivering. Over the last ten years, her family had resisted paying the Weather Men, and despite the bad weather, they had persevered. But her parents had starved to death two years ago, and she had lost her husband and her home in a hurricane last month. The villagers no longer offered her help, for fear that her bad fortune would rub off on them. Her only hope lay in the child growing in her belly, and she knew the Weather Men would be coming to claim that in just a few days.

The storm clouds gathered overhead. She looked around, biting her lip nervously. She had never worked an Earth magic spell so close to Tribute Day, and she whispered soft prayers to the trees to shield her. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes as she began to sing.

Over the decade of her resistance, she had learned that the Weather Men could be defeated, but it would not be easy. Only someone channeling elemental magic could be a match for the manufactured wizardry of the Weather Men. And though Anna had mastered a few spells, she knew that no mere human would be able to control the highly unpredictable Earth magic.

No mere human. The child stirred inside her.

Vines twisted and curled around her feet as her song became more complex, and the air around her began to warm. She wiggled her toes in response.

Anna’s pulse began to quicken. If she was successful, she would become a dryad, a creature of the earth, and no longer under the thumb of the Weather Men. But if she faltered, if she made even one small error now, both she and her child would be caught in a hellish eternity of half-human existence: subject to the whims of the Weather Men but unable to die.

She took another breath and continued with her song.

Of their own accord, her toes began to stretch into the ground, searching for the water that would be her new lifeblood. She raised her arms towards the sky, and watched as her fingernails became green and thin, like leaves. Her pulse was slowing now, changing from the nervous movement of human blood to the ebb and flow of tree sap.

The baby kicked in response, fighting the change with its whole being.

Hush, little one, she crooned silently. She still sang, but no longer made noise with her mouth. You shall grow strong with my blood and the magic of the earth. When you are born, you shall emerge as the greatest enemy of the Weather Men and be their downfall.

The baby quieted down and settled into the knot at the base of the tree. The trees in the forest joined her song with creaks and moans, swaying in the wind.

Soon, they whispered.

Soon, she answered.

---

For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, kgwaite gave me this prompt: Vines twisted and curled around her feet..

I gave Talia this prompt: Write something from the point of view of a virus (computer or biological, your choice).

His eyes were shut, his lids and eyebrows squinting with such force that his entire face was contorted.

He knew he should not look directly at it. He had been warned that the sun would burn his eyes and maybe even his brain.

He could not afford to lose his sight; it was his livelihood, his everything. He was never very good at talking to people, and holding down a regular job was difficult for him.

But the one place he could communicate with people was through art. He made paintings that everyone loved. And he was good at it because he saw things, with his eyes, that nobody else saw.

He needed his eyes. He shouldn’t look at the sun, no matter how interesting it might seem.

Today was different, though. Today there was an eclipse, and the sun wouldn’t be as bright because it would be hiding behind the moon.

His face relaxed a bit. He was outside, and he could feel the air getting cooler as the sun disappeared. He wanted to see what an eclipse really looked like, and not just through a pinhole camera.

Maybe he could just peek.

He nodded to himself, knowing that he wouldn’t look at it very long — just a second, really. Enough for him to capture in his mind and paint tomorrow.

Three.

Two.

One.

He opened his eyes wide and focused on the beautiful, dangerous, burning orb in the sky.

And it burned him.

Right through his retina and into his brain.

And that’s when his mind began to slip.

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For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Kurt gave me this prompt: And that’s when his mind began to slip.

I gave Eric Storch this prompt: Welcome to the grey zone.

“Wow, you sure walk fast.”

Adele stopped on the trail and whirled around to look at the man behind her. Sweat ran in rivulets down his red face, and he wiped it away with the edge of his t-shirt. He smiled, trying very hard to hide the fact that he was out of breath.

“I’m sorry, Frank,” she mumbled. “I guess I didn’t realize you were trying to catch up with me.”

“It’s okay. I like a girl who can kick my ass.”

Adele closed her eyes and shook her head. She had known he was following her for the last quarter mile, and had increased her pace in the hopes that he would give up and go back to the house. I’m going to kill Darryl for inviting him, she thought. Just as soon as I kill Momma for inviting Jimmy.

She opened her eyes and studied Frank. He had half-collapsed on a large rock to the side of the trail and was fanning himself with his hand. His t-shirt, now soaked with sweat, had some nerdy cartoon on the front, and his gut hung out slightly over his jeans in an unfortunate muffin top. His Chucks were covered in mud.

“You really didn’t have to follow me.” Adele wanted to be angry with him. She wanted desperately to yell and scream that she didn’t need setting up, that just because she was 35 and single didn’t mean she was going to die alone.

But she didn’t yell. She couldn’t.

Instead, she shrugged her knapsack off her back and pulled out a bottle of water. She tossed it to him. “Don’t drink it too quickly,” she warned as he eagerly twisted the cap off.

He nodded, smiled in thanks, and began to sip.

She sat down on the rock beside him and pointed to a clearing ahead. “When Darryl and I were kids, we used to have picnics up there. It’s got a really nice view of the valley.” We used to go there to get away when things at the house were too crazy. When we had hid all the booze but somehow Momma would find it and call up Jimmy to invite him over. Momma only called Jimmy when she was drunk, because when she was sober, she would swear that she would have nothing to do with him again. Like today. Frickin’ Thanksgiving, of all days. Adele shook her head again.

“Do you want to show me?” Frank handed the empty bottle back to her. His cheeks were still red, but more from the sun than exertion.

“I don’t…” her voice trailed off. Something about the way he was looking at her made her pause. She expected to see pity in his eyes, especially if Darryl had told him what Jimmy had done to her. But there was no pity at all. Just friendly interest. And…something else? She didn’t know. “Um, sure.”

They walked to the clearing in silence. She didn’t know why, but something about Frank made her feel calmer than she had ever felt before. She took a deep breath and smiled.

“I love that too.”

Adele looked at Frank quizzically.

“That smell. After it rains, when it smells like wet leaves and mushrooms. It’s a clean smell.”

Adele nodded. “Like everything will be okay.”

“Yep. Everything will be okay.”

She knew he was going to put his arm around her, and she stiffened in anticipation. But he never did. Instead, they looked out at the red and gold trees blanketing the valley. The houses were so small, and gray smoke arose from almost all of the chimneys. She imagined, just as she did when she was younger, that they were secret smoke signals: there an E, now a V, another E, until they spelled out the confirmation of Frank’s assessment.

EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY.

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For the (slightly late!) Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Eric Storch gave me this prompt: Use this line of dialogue verbatim in your response: “I like a girl who can kick my ass.”

I gave kgwaite this prompt: The peacock and the mouse.

“Dr. Brinkley! Come here!”

Dr. Joshua Brinkley stood up and fanned himself with his hat. Six weeks at this dig, and he still hadn’t gotten used to the heat. By this time next month, he mused, I might have sweated enough to get back to my college weight.

The walkie-talkie crackled again. “Josh! Quickly! I think I’ve found something!”

He sighed, put down his tools, and lumbered towards the examination tent. Every day his assistant would be convinced that she had made an archaeological breakthrough, and every day, Josh would have to explain to her that although finding a piece of pottery or spoon was important, they were only small pieces of a larger puzzle. She just didn’t get it yet.

“Josh!”

He rolled his eyes and pulled the walkie-talkie off his belt. “I’m coming, Belinda!” he snapped into the mouthpiece. “Where are you?”

“In the cave.”

Of course. Belinda hadn’t been able to stay away from the cave, even though all the physical evidence of human activity they had uncovered was at least half a mile away. Josh had pointed out to her that the cave wasn’t really big enough to shelter one person, much less a society, but Belinda was convinced it would be the key to her GREAT DISCOVERY.

Josh grabbed one of the rusty bicycles parked by the tent and climbed on. “I’m too old for this,” he wheezed as he pumped the pedals.

She was waiting for him at the mouth of the cave. “Before you say anything, I need to confess something.”

He scrambled off the bike, out of breath. His clothes were soaked through with sweat. He looked at her and raised one eyebrow.

“I’ve been doing some extra research on this particular area. According to some ancient manuscripts, this is where the Garden of Eden used to be. Let me finish,” she said quickly when she saw Josh beginning to frown. “I know all about the other people who have searched for Eden. I know this could be a wild goose chase. And I know it’s basically just a creation myth. But there’s something…I can’t explain it. As soon as I heard about this site, I knew it was here.”

Belinda reached into her bag and pulled out a musty tome. “According to the Assyrian Codex–”

Josh snatched the book out of her hands. “Where the hell did you get that? Isn’t that supposed to be in the university library?”

“I borrowed it. That’s what you do with library books, isn’t it?” She took the book back. “Besides, it’s not like it’s an original or anything.”

He raised both eyebrows.

Coloring slightly, she cleared her throat and gingerly leafed through the pages. “If my translation is correct, Eve may have brought the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil with her when she was banished from Eden.”

“Dammit, this isn’t a Dan Brown novel. That’s probably a metaphor.”

“I know, but–”

“And even if it was literal, those fruits would be long gone by now. Organic matter decomposes quickly, as you know.”

“Unless they were preserved.” She grabbed Josh’s hand and led him towards the cave. “Trust me, you’ll want to see this.”

Scowling, Josh followed Belinda into the cave, ducking his head as they squeezed into the entrance. There was hardly enough room for the two of them to fit standing up, but Belinda simply grinned at him as she pulled on one of the rocks jutting out by her head.

There was a click, and a large boulder that had blocked the back of the cave rolled slowly away to reveal a tunnel. Cool, stale air blew past his face.

Josh’s heart began to pound. He opened his mouth, a question on his lips, but she had already started down the cramped passageway on her hands and knees. Swallowing, he turned the miner’s light on his hat on and followed her down.

At least it’s cooler in here, he thought as he made his way through the dank tunnel. When had he gotten so jaded? Twenty years ago, he had wanted to be Indiana Jones. Somewhere along the way, the politics of academia had stripped him of that wonder, leaving him with nothing but cynicism and about six inches of fat around his belly. But now…what if this discovery turned out to be legitimate? His mind whirred with the possibilities.

He coughed. The air was getting even more stale, and the path grew steeper. Belinda kept a running commentary of her research as they traveled, explaining about the legend of the descendants of Eve who wanted to recreate Eden with the fruits she had smuggled from the Garden. Belinda’s excitement was infectious, and Josh found himself becoming impressed with her thoroughness. He was so engrossed with her story that he almost forgot the dark, clammy walls closing in on them both.

The tunnel opened up into a larger cavern, with a ceiling high enough for them both to comfortably stand. He did so, cursing his age once again as his knees creaked in protest. He reached out to the wall to steady himself.

“Welcome to Eden, Dr. Brinkley.” Belinda quickly turned on several lamps she had left in the space.

When his eyes adjusted to the bright LED rays bouncing off the walls of the cave, he saw ancient glyphs carved into the stone all around him. Carved into the floor was a giant eye, and embedded in the center of that eye was largest piece of amber that he had ever seen. His heart beat even faster, and he began to take more shallow breaths.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I believe that’s THE apple. You know, the one Eve ate.” Belinda was aiming her flashlight at the amber, pointing at the objects trapped inside: a partially eaten fruit, several seeds and seed pods.

He was dizzy. Very dizzy. He wanted to congratulate her, to celebrate, and to take every precaution that this cave was not contaminated any more than it already was. He wanted to call all his colleagues and brag about this discovery. He would be famous! They both would be. But he couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe? His legs gave out from under him.

Josh watched in shock as Belinda leaned over him. She was wearing an oxygen mask. “Sorry to do this to you, Dr. Brinkley, but this is my discovery now. I don’t need you anymore.”

The amber eye stared at them both, watching with dispassionate curiosity. These humans weren’t the first to try to unearth the secrets of Eden, and they wouldn’t be the last.

The eye blinked, and the room was once again bathed in darkness.

Belinda screamed. Josh struggled. Then they both were silent.

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For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Eric Misener gave me this prompt: Well, this certainly gives new meaning to the phrase ‘the apple of his eye.’. I gave Jester Queen this prompt: Write a story in which one character is telling a lie.

Today I saw a jellyfish in a tree.

Not the kind of jellyfish that might sting you at first touch, nor the kind of person one might give you cause to think he had no backbone. It was a piece of art, and I thought it adorned the tree quite nicely. “More people should have whimsical things like this on the street,” I mused as I walked into the coffee shop a few doors down.

A few minutes later, I stepped out of the shop, iced coffee in hand, ready to tackle another Falstaff rehearsal. But something about the jellyfish called to me, and I stopped once again to examine it. I noticed a tag fluttering from its tentacles.

“I am heartless,” it declared. “Take me home.”

On the other side, there was a QR code, which, upon scanning, took me to this page explaining that this jellyfish was a part of an interactive art installation. Dozens of jellies were released (with the help of Streets Dept) around Philadelphia a few days ago, each with its own ID number. People are encouraged to take the jellies home, love them, and after a while, release them once again into the wild, with the goal of getting at least one jellyfish to the Pacific Ocean.

I was so touched by this idea that I decided to do just that. I took him home, named him “Squishy” (even though he is very brittle), and this weekend, I shall take him west, to the Shire of Mount Hope. So if you come to the PA Renaissance Faire this weekend, you might just be able to meet him and take part in this game, too! (Plus, you’ll be able to see me and hang out with me while I spin yarn out of milk. You will have to see it to believe it.)

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This summer has gone by much more slowly (and quickly) than I expected. For those of you who have been following my fiction writing, I’ll be getting back into the Scriptic Prompt Exchange fairly soon. In the meantime, I’ve been spending a whole lot of time in the real world, and boy, do I have some stories.

She stood outside the store in the pouring rain, just beyond the awning. The first thing Pablo noticed about her was not the way her long hair fell in thick, wet ropes down her back, nor her blotchy red face, nor her unusually slender frame, outlined by the black cotton sundress, now soaked, that clung to her body, leaving very little to the imagination. No, the first thing he noticed was her eyes, bloodshot and tired, devoid of any hint of happiness.

Pablo recalled stories from his mamá of La Llorona, the weeping woman who had drowned her children for the sake of a man, doomed to roam the earth looking for children to replace her own. Children’s fairy tales — not even good enough to tell my own son, he told himself, and busied himself with the receipts at his station, trying not to look like he was staring at her.

The woman looked around, as if she knew she was being watched. When her eyes met his through the tempered glass of the display windows, Pablo thought her pupils grew larger and larger, until her irises had almost disappeared. He felt a slight chill run down his spine.

The phone at his station rang. Grateful for the distraction, he picked it up. “Macy’s El Paso, Customer Service.”

Silence on the other end.

“Hello?”

Several slow clicks, and then what almost sounded like a sob.

Pablo tried again. “Hello? How can I help you?”

He waited for several more seconds, but then hung up.

He lifted his eyes cautiously towards the window. She was still out there, but now she had fallen to her knees on the sidewalk, frantically searching for something in her handbag.

Someone should help her, Pablo thought, and picked up the receiver to call security.

No dial tone.

Frowning, he tapped the hook several times, then pushed all the “line out” buttons on the phone he could find.

More clicks.

When Pablo was a boy, Mamá had told him that she had encountered La Llorona. A woman in a black dress had been searching for her keys by the river, she had said, and Jose had run over to help. Mamá had been pregnant with Pablo at the time, and she could not catch up to Jose before he tripped and fell head-first into the water and almost drowned. Mamá had begged the woman, who was not even two feet away, to reach out her hand and pull Jose out, but the woman just stood there. Finally, Mamá prayed to the Blessed Virgin to save her boy, and Jose had sputtered and flailed until Mamá was able to reach him. After Mamá had finished her prayer, the woman in black was nowhere to be found, and to Mamá that was proof of the woman’s identity.

The phone rang while the receiver was still in Pablo’s hand. His heart began to pound.

“Macy’s El Paso…”

“My children. Help me find them.” The voice on the other end had a raspy quality, as if she were inhaling the words.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

The voice began to wail, and Pablo pulled the receiver away from his ear. He looked outside, and the woman standing up again, now with her back to the window, talking on a cell phone. The rain was still coming down, but she didn’t make any attempt to shield her electronics from the water. She turned her head slowly and looked straight at him.

A jolt of adrenaline hit his system, and he slammed down the phone. “Enough pranks!” he yelled, and several shoppers looked up in surprise. He strode quickly to the door, and pulled it open.

He squinted as he was hit with a bright flash of reflected sunlight from a car window. The rain had now stopped, and the woman in black was making a hasty exit towards the riverfront on the other side of the store. He ran after her, yelling, “Stop that woman!” at the top of his lungs.

Nobody paid any attention.

Something had drawn a crowd by the waterfront. Pablo thought he saw her by the railing, but when he reached the spot, she had vanished.

Frantic, he looked at each person’s face in the crowd, trying to find one which matched the woman’s. Not one person looked back at him. They were all looking at the water.

He heard his Mamá scream.

Slowly, he turned his head towards the water.

The body of a three-year-old boy — the same age Jose was on that fateful day — floated face-down in the river and bobbed towards Pablo. Someone used a stick to try to pull it out, and the body flipped over, revealing a face that looked almost exactly like his own.

Almost.

It was the face of his only son.

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For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Michael gave me this prompt: A woman is talking on a cell phone outside of a department store. Her eyes and face are red. She is crying. What just happened? I gave Jester Queen this prompt: two turntables and a microphone.

I do have to apologize for the quality of this one…the week got away from me, and I ended up cramming the story in. Not good! Next time I promise I’ll have something more polished for you!!

I see you from across the room. That look in your eyes tells me that you mean to devour me whole…and I have a feeling I won’t mind it one bit.

A waiter crosses between us, and you duck out of view. What a tease you are! I glance around the crowd, wondering if anyone else has seen me. I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life, but I suspect not many people are aware that tonight is my big debut.

There you are again, coming closer, with a glass of deep red wine in your hand. Is that a Cabernet Sauvignon? I hope so, because I know you will want those particular notes hanging on your tongue as you bring me to your lips.

I’ll bet that wine has been maturing in its bottle longer than I’ve been alive. Like that wine, I have grown more and more complex with each passing year.

When I was only several months old, I dreamed of making it into some gourmet chef’s mac and cheese recipe. After three years, I saw some of my comrades on the shelf leave to become stars of their very own fondues. It took five years for me to mature, but now I have reached the pinnacle: I am here at this party, with you.

You look at me, and then you look away. Who is that blonde you are speaking with? You’re looking at her the way you were looking at me before…I admit, I’m a little bit jealous.

Ah, now you are pointing to me. So you want to share me with her? I suppose I won’t mind, as long as you get to taste me first. Yes, pop that fig into her mouth. Oh, you’ve got me right where you want me, don’t you?

You are pushing that knife through my rind with such mastery. I know I’ve hardened with age, but you’ll find I’ve become much sweeter as well. You know as well as I that you don’t need any crackers or bread to appreciate my favors. I come to you naked and unassuming, taking all my enjoyment from the smile that plays across your lips.

You consume me, and my pleasure is complete.

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For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, lisa gave me this prompt: Write a story about anything you’d like, but write it from a 5 year old’s perspective, and I gave Jester Queen this prompt: Don’t touch it; it’s evil!

It was coming. I could neither see nor hear it, but I knew it was approaching. Slowly, deliberately, it was coming for me.

I waited, suspended and bound, in a prison of my own making. The wind brushed past me, whispering a warning.

I shivered.

When I had first arrived, I thought I was being conscientious and careful. I had put a lot of thought into creating armor that would be both strong and fearsome to my enemies. When it was finally finished, I climbed inside and was immediately encompassed with a deep sense of peace. I felt neither hunger nor thirst. I thought I was safe.

But then…

I could feel something happening to me, even by the end of that first day, and I struggled against my golden bonds. No use: I had constructed the walls to be foolproof, even against a fool like me.

It was coming. Exactly what, I did not know, but something terrible and awesome and powerful.

I heard the birds chattering above me. “Freak!” they cawed. “Monster!” The tree branch shook as they flew away in unison, wings beating a frantic tattoo against the air.

Monster? What kind of monster? My heart beat a little more quickly, imagining the horrors outside. I shifted my body a bit and made a rude noise to frighten off any possible enemies in the vicinity. If there was a monster around here, I would do my damnedest not to allow it into this sanctum.

As I moved about, though, I got a brief glimpse of my body. My legs were no longer smooth, but hairy…and there were fewer of them! I was colored differently, too: what once was white had turned into a deep black. I jerked my head back in surprise and disgust and saw that even my mouth, my beautiful mouth with all its lovely teeth, had morphed into a long, thin tube with an equally long tongue.

I vomited.

This must have been the trap all along: it had already come for me, while I had slumbered peacefully. It had insidiously entered my body to create something new.

A frog below croaked out one syllable, long and loud: “Chaaaaaaange.”

I gasped, recognizing the name of the thing I feared most. I knew in my heart of hearts that I could not escape it, and yet I fought it with every fiber of my being. Who — or what — was I now? I screamed and kicked in terror. Vomit and spittle coated the inner edge of the walls surrounding me, burning a hole in my strong, shiny armor. My new, long legs broke through and finally found purchase on the outside of the shell. Change might have found me, but I was not going to let it kill me.

I grunted and pushed and pulled with all my might until my head emerged from my prison. I took a deep breath and flexed my back muscles, breaking the already weakened armor in half.

There was something on my back. Something heavy and wet and moving.

My heart skipped a beat. Oh God, what was it? Had change taken corporeal form and become the monster of my nightmares? I turned my head slowly, fearful but also with a twisted curiosity.

What I found was not some demon or ghost come to take my soul, but the newest part of my anatomy: brightly-colored wings, still wet from my own spittle.

The monster had arrived, and it was me.

I clung to the outer edge of my former prison and nearly wept in relief. The sun shone brightly, filling me with an energy that I had never felt before. I flapped my wings experimentally. They worked! I might be a monster or a freak, but now I had extraordinary powers of flight.

The wind blew past me again, softly but insistently. I could smell new things now: the sweet aroma of flowers floated on the breeze, and suddenly my grotesquely long mouth and tongue were aching for a taste.

I didn’t know how or why, but I knew exactly what needed to be done.

I took a deep breath, flapped my wings a few more times…

And let go.

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For the Scriptic.org prompt exchange this week, lisa gave me this prompt: Write a story about the scariest thing you can imagine. Be as descriptive as possible; see if you can scare us too. and I gave kgwaite this prompt: standing on the crossroads at midnight, waiting for the devil to appear.