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The progression of Literature: The literature of Outcome: Presentation of a new literary genre

PROGRESSION OF LITERATURE: LITERATURE Of outcome:

INTRODUCTION a new literary genre

Everything you hear, read, say, looks, tastes, feel, remember, and experiences affect our understanding. It is the "truth" as we perceive it. I remember in particular conjures attitudes and emotions associated with "true knowledge" of past events. These experiences affect how they experience and interpret this – especially if an incident past is somehow linked to a present or imminent event. For example, if one had been bitten by a white dog in the past, because the same white dog can give back light an automatic reaction, like fear or aversion, even if the dog now looks easy to others, who can not understand, then his reaction apprehensive. Their perception of reality is different, although you and the others are both presented with identical stimulus and information in the present moment.

In fact, much of what we might believe to be a "new experience" is likely to be based on many past experiences that may or may not be directly related. A beautiful woman, never before seen by a male, can attract, they have no effect on him, or repel, depending on the experience and impressions inexperience. First are often based on experience, subject taught, or instinct: a classic study in the journal Scientific American showed images of the same male face, but with different amounts of hair, respondents. Hair ranged from totally bald with a beard and long hair, mustache. Respondents were asked to put the faces I saw in order, according to their appeal. The shaved face, clean-shaven and with closely cropped hair, was chosen as the most attractive. total hairiness and baldness were lower overall on the list. Furthermore, the presence of a diminished confidence mustache. The faces presented were identical in all other respects. The progression from one stage of the hairs for baldness was seen as a pull factor, but the test subjects did not see the progress of the face in cumulative stages (progression).

Stages of progression in literature (cumulative revelation of facts) is what makes reading enjoyable: we are not sure of the results, and what we think is true may develop in different directions, depending on the information given. In fact, different readers of different reactions warranty. A good novel captures the attention and interest of most readers.

Real world experiences are, in general, as complete as a novel crafted. Modern writers, of course, reflect the chaos of our world emerging as modern, convenience-term, I chaotic literature, literature of white noise, with about deconstruction or minimalist influences. The result is a nuisance for most readers, who must deal with stress in the same real life. Time, for example, is short, and many of the most popular works, such as the works of Stephen King, was eagerly read by a completely different world extends to savor and enjoy, however macabre. Fantasy and science fiction works have loyal supporters, too. In all writing, the 'truth' is important – a guide through the fog, a face in the mirror, or a beacon in the night. However, 'truth' that is perceived through a fog of prejudice that we meet in life experiences over time. Truth 'has an impact: among other potential impact and reactions to disclosure, emotions and thinking can be stimulated or depressed. At any time, which is perceived in the real world as the 'truth' can change suddenly.

Ian FA Bell Tony Tanner describes the approach to this phenomenon in his introduction to American Tanner Mystery:

"Tanner sees the dematerialization of language in American literature, going beyond the structure of binary oppositions, as a continuous process of self-invention. This movement consists of literary strategies of transformation: building the ontological identity, character and modes of representation. As observers Tanner … if life is in "flow" or constant "Metamorphosis", and then in writing must be the same. As Emerson says, "In the beginning of America, not only the word but the contradiction of the word. "

Bell goes on to describe Tanner language analysis of Hawthorne in The Blithedale Romance:

"… The Blithedale Romance not not ask what is the real, much less the Real, as the reality is only "known by the conviction that they do not." As an American romance, however, Hawthorne may be suggesting that knowledge that reality is not real could be the beginning of a real experience. Tanner tracks binaries between reality and fiction, counterfeit and real money as a means of determining the "real" copy, if the "forge" the uncreated conscience of the race or counterfeit money, "both" counterfeiters " the work of making false statements / myths in circulation. "

And finally, in his study of Melville's confidence man, Tanner Bell says what it says about "reversibility" and "exchange"

"Melville's novel about trust and confidence in the new world of America, shows how "reversibility" can be re-issued as interchangeability. This term, Tanner takes borrowed from Thomas Mann, "records the multiplicity and ontologically dubiety pure ego" in a world where identity, as determined by the constructivist nature language, is constantly being reinterpreted. "

If Newspeak, the Orwellian style, or "Spin City", in the case of a story or personal experience, above all, trust in personal experience, and then the voice of authority. Anyone with intelligence, plus a sufficient interest in the case, eventually may recognize the twists and spirals in the official version of Kennedy's assassination. Calling people who discard the theory of the "official version conspiracy "while supporters of the official version called" analysts murder "is an example of the polarization that can occur in the pursuit of "truth."

Christopher Sharrett art book review of Simon, the dangerous knowledge (regarding to truth and imagery in the discussion of the JFK assassination) with some ideas scathing:

"The endless debate … came to constitute a" epistemological crisis, "as each official and unofficial research refuted a previous claim to truth, and the interpretation made a huge swath of Moebius, trapping the body politic and makes truth itself indeterminate but continues to provoke discussion. "

Sharrett notes a lack moral center in these twists and turns of the truth:

"Simon invokes Michel Foucault's observation that" power has its beginning, not so much a person as in a certain concerted distribution of bodies, surfaces, lights, gazes. "convincing this time, obtuse, and the observation of arid is emblematic of much postmodern discourse … Tying the look Foucault power is not the sum and substance of the method of Simon, but hard to put this work in a student exercise, eloquent, but he worked up a true political and moral center. "

Even the official versions may be abandoned when necessary, sufficient time has now passed the Tonkin Gulf incident, which served as an excuse to bomb Hanoi, is no longer presented as "truth real. "Evidence suggests that the incident did not happen, but it's too late to Hanoi, and for many Americans who have not seen the new evidence, American ships were shot in the Gulf of Tonkin. "Truth" for those who have come on account or the new tests differ from those without, and both groups claim to have "the truth". Progression of knowledge of the position of first to second was incomplete. incomplete transmission of "truth" is produced constantly, creating divisions and conflicts. In truth the real-life 'is almost a commodity.

Literature can recover and reach new heights if the principles of progression and collecting the "truth" are well developed by the innovative writer. In the examples presented in the small sample collection of short stories provided in this document, the range of possible progression of the literature (gender also could be called the literature of the outcome) can be breathtaking – I9t amazing and can happen in "real life" too. Movies like Tarantino's Pulp Fiction progression of exposure / outcome qualities. A murderer known to be dead is very alive after his death, with an incredible impact. For customers in a restaurant, terrorized by thieves who never know that one of their "saviors" later died, or that the two men had entered the restaurant to eat after cleaning a car filled with blood and bits of brain. Williams' A Streetcar Named Desire brought the same approach to the stage of the film: little by little we realize that the "truth" will never be fully met Stella, whose passions are manipulated by Stanley, her brutal husband.

Much can be done to fully develop the new genus. The collection of short stories shown below presents the experiences and controversial religious interpretation, as felt or reported by people under very different conditions. The weather can change "reality" and "truth" to the reader or those in the stories, as for more information., the information could be misleading, however, lead to false conclusions, which may or may not alter the perception of others what is "true" or the new information could reveal a "new truth" or unsuspected, or confirm a suspicion. Anything is possible, 'truth' is what is perceived by each individual, or accepted by the voice of authority. Those affected by the "truth" can create or live in worlds totally different depending on the person, not to mention the vicarious experience that the reader or viewer feels (through literature, film, videogames, etc.).

Furthermore, the writer-narrator-the truth can present the "truth" more vivid and more emotional impact, using the arts and sciences, the establishment of the "truth" in the proper ratio of right and wrong, with the potential to carve a moral perspective that a simple count of the dry facts can not, what reveals a social aspect and the interpretation of "truth" that offers a personal weight to the individual. Engels, commenting on the impact of the Comédie humaine de Balzac, Balzac watched delivered "a most wonderfully realistic history of French society … of which, even in the financial details (eg, reorganization of the movable and immovable property after the Revolution) I have learned more than all the historians professional economists and statisticians of the time together. "

A simple example is the progression of revealing how two people meet after years of absence. Evaluate the differences now present, compared with the past. These can be both psychologically and physically. What if s just a person pretending, and not as it seems, maybe not the last person at all, but is merely masquerading as such? It / is / may be the other person will never find out? Maybe, maybe not. outcome for the reader can be exciting, surprising, disappointing, etc., not to mention the reactions that can be created by the writer as the story progresses. The truth becomes an object of herself, her own life, his own story, set in and out of the progression, and can not be 'real' after all. However, the "truth" may be more important than the "reality" for political reasons or social practices. "Truth" eventually ends up being what I think. If our information remains scarce, or even if they accumulate facts, "truth" remains unchanged unless the information comes into conflict that is accepted by the recipient. And what about experiencing conflict just wrong information in the very beginning? We are all familiar with the effects of advertising and propaganda. Therefore, the 'truth' is a hostage to fortune.

The progression might highlight how people change over time – maybe a sinner can really become a saint! However, another type of progression involves the disclosure, where a character develops before the reader through activities, events, and so on, but then unravels or transformed because of what the next learning. There is always the possibility that what we think we know is not real. dialogue – real conversations – could reveal "the truth" – and can be persuasive – if "truth" is fully revealed. What if not? I use the example of a person believed to be a scammer out to be a saint, but view the world in the news, hearing of his suicide (not presented here) as a man with a reputation for frames "is safest." Read the short story itself, and then decide how cruelty that might make the news story reflect the "truth" as the official version we have. There are two saints in the collection of short stories: the progression of the literature tells us much more than it seems.

In the literature of progression as well as in real life, the "truth" is indeed in the eye of the beholder, so I hope you will forgive me for the appropriation of the cliché for the collection of short stories. In the examples of the progression I have chosen to submit, as soon as it is used – but I stress that the goal should not be misleading or deceiving the reader, not necessarily to be brief, for the skillful writer is now a tool of power. I suggest a respectful treatment of original perspectives on the stories of the founding of the literature of progression, and they can relate beautifully in the hands of talent, with the perspective that emerges or is revealed or appreciated later.

1. However, my thesis material including several founding stories in the genre that anchored my ideas for the progression of literature in the field of short stories
2. Think of the consequences of meet a "truth" – unless the dog now he is a friendly way. Where, then, is their "truth" to others?

The literature of progression invokes past events, but could now face a different part of a completely different story, and "you" can be in a different situation: for others, his story of a dog bite may seem meaningless, if this dog is known to be friendly to all. And so on. .

1. Why?
2. Thus, perceptions of the falsity or deception, or misinterpretations can occur before or after supply of 'truth' and that may be able to discern that the experience of version / is "real" despite a history, in this case, involves misperception and conclusions based on misconceptions and experiences that were 'false', but it seemed 'true'.
3. Outcome can not emerge the "truth" because of the many contradictory statements asserting the "truth."

There is an element of the voyeur, or the rascal part in writing the nonfiction novel, in relation to our concerns, where the historical characters are realized fiction to improve or meet a stereotype Originally created to promote an official version that is controversial. Particularly worrisome is when the stereotype advances to the "truth" by the treatment of new fiction. If the writer is actually not familiar with the historical person, then the need relying on what remains of the 'truth' in the official [or other existing] records, the "new truth" may become print definitive and lasting. For example, Libra by Don DeLillo presents an overview of Oswald in cold blood treatment of his wife, on the basis of their reports. sees DeLillo gives us the brutal treatment of his wife Oswald are etched in memory: what Oswald told me about his struggle with his wife has no place in the version of the "truth" DeLillo created.

However, outcome of literature, progressive format, you can grab – even of a work DeLillo – a new perspective and relevant. David Foster Wallace outlines the challenges for a writer of great literature in the world today fast moving, where entertainment is cheap, easy accessible and well designed:

"(There is) a contempt for the reader, an idea that the marginalization of the current literature is not the fault of the reader. The project that is worth trying to [do] … that the reader confront things more to ignore, but to do so it also is nice to read … He has a to do with living in a time where there is so much entertainment and available … find out how fiction is going to play with their territory, in such times. You can try to address what makes fiction magical in a way that other types of art and entertainment are not. And to find out how fiction can engage a reader much of whose sensibility has been shaped by pop culture, without simply becoming more shit in the pop culture machine. It is incredibly difficult and confusing, and scary, but clean. There will be much mass commercial entertainment that is so good and so clever, this is something I do not think any other generation has faced. That's what is to be a writer now. "

Progression of literature can be exciting and relevant. You can do many things turn the reader's perspective in reverse, improving understanding of human nature, restore the truth of history – in the author's intentions and capabilities. "The outcome literature "or" the progression of literature ", in hands more skilled than mine, and could provide a revitalization modern literature, with a new depth and emotion in her inimitable approach to development.

Judyth Vary Baker Stockholm Sweden (degrees in anthropology (BS), literature, creative writing (MA), and English and Linguistics (ABD) developed gender … UF and U of LA @ Lafayette 1986-1999

References

Tanner, Tony. Mystery of America: American literature from Emerson to DeLillo. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2000.242 pp., ISBN: 0521783747 £ 15.95 (pbk)

 

Sharrett, Christopher. Review: Dangerous Knowledge: The JFK assassination in art and cinema, by Art Simon.

Philadelphia, PA:

Temple University Press, 1996. 257 pp., Illus.

Reviewed by Christopher Sharrett

Vol 22, Cineaste, 01.01.1996, p. 59.

Marx, Karl and Engels, Frederick. On literature and art. Progress Publishers. Moscow, 1976, p 91. (trans. Andy Blunden)

Brown, Charles Brockden. Wieland or the Transformation: An American Tale. Gutenberg Version 2008.

David Foster Wallace. Quote from an interview about his bestselling book, Infinite Jest, by Laura Miller, to table discussion, Internet forum.

================= An example of the progression of fiction:

Evangelista (story # 1)

 

 

The Holy City … a fortress of stone blocks battered gray and brown and white, where two thousand years ago the soldiers Roman Jews marched in the center of the Temple, and killed … where a thousand years ago that the Crusaders had arrived, emblazoned with banners and crosses, announcing "Convert or die! "Muslims, and die themselves up by shouting" Death to the infidels! "And when Jesus, at the incredible patience, hanging of the cross, when one thought he could have spared the indescribable agony … but was love itself, and conquered all these things.

Thus, Jeremiah thought Mosley – face pale, ascetic form, trembling in his own agony because it was exquisite – after great financial sacrifice — in fact own city in Christ – and Christ can come at any moment, like lightning from heaven would be so sudden – Christ separate the sheep from the goats and save believers, and he, Jeremiah, ready for that? He had come to Jerusalem to seek the advice of a saint, to seek, too, a sure sign that it actually been called to become an evangelist – to spread the Word, the Good News – wherever they may be sent by God, the living God, not a fairy tale character, but the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, who had come to him in a dream, and touched his shoulder and said: "I love you.

He had spent much of their savings to get this beautiful room overlooking much of the splendid, if war-ravaged city. The porters had been civilians, even if they had laughed when they saw their battered suitcases and how they kept her head down and just prayed to himself. For them, the young black curly hair was a fanatic of pilgrimage. When he brought the bread and wine into his room as he asked, they were surprised by the size of the tip he gave them. They knew that it was almost everything I had left in the world.

"I'm in your hands," Jeremy whispered, pouring wine into two cups of dark glass. One for Jesus, one for himself. He broke the unleavened bread in half and place the bread broken at the center of the small table with two glasses of wine on each side. The white tablecloth is pure linen. With an explosion of emotion, Jeremiah fell to the ground and whispered fiercely, "Come, come, Lord Jesus! It only takes a sip of wine, I know you hear me, and that you accept me! "

Then waited. The sun goes down, sending tremors, ghostly shadows of the room. Fog blue filled the valley, and red-orange clouds lit up the sky as the sun dipped slightly, down … and still waited. Sweat beaded on his forehead. - On Please! — I must know this is what you want! — It was a small sign that sought, as Gideon overthrew the fleece, asking just a little dew on it, and none on the ground everywhere. a sip of wine when she was not looking …. It was tempting God? … Is a humble request … only take a sip of wine, Lord, excellent! – Please! —

On the windowsill, as the sun set, a white dove flying down it stood for a moment looking into the room with their sad supplication, and then with a little sauce from his beak, and a director of operations low, pulled a pen from his chest and fell in the sill. ivory white on the shaft was a drop of dark blood. The wind whispered away the pen with the wind in the afternoon. The dove with its beak dipped in a courtship gesture, then flew off with a buzz of its soft white wings.

Jeremiah never was sure he saw it.

================================================

He wore a linen suit two thousand dollars, handmade for him by one of the best custom tailors in the world – had been specified only pure white linen – and brilliant diamonds in his hand showed that the force was thriving with people. Outside his dressing room, as Jeremiah finished preparing his hair must be combed precisely as I could hear the chorus in the streets to end the hymns I had chosen to lift the people from their lethargy in the hope and praise God. His black hair was down and not as curly as it once was, but the implants had been corrected receding hairline: it was perhaps ten years younger than he really was, and hopefully, who had outlive all his critics, by God!

"Pastor Mosley!" came voice of his publicist, "It's Time!"

"Just a minute, Rachel!" He said.

Rachel was so efficient. I needed that. It was a vague, romantic. He almost put his Rolex, but decided against it: it's too flashy. With a spray of cologne from Paris to each wrist, and a quick look in the mirror to make sure the tie was perfect order, Jeremiah paused to look more closely reflected that: — Do you buy a used car from this man? – he asked himself. His critics said they knew better.

They said it was crooked … than robbed people filled their coffers with dollars, and threw their prayer requests. cures that did not happen. May the Holy Spirit was not a holy spirit, only Sly a show calculated to separate the unwary from their money.

I did not know how else to get people to listen, except put on a show to call her attention. If it was so bad, why had twenty thousand people out there waiting to come out and help them transform their lives (as if he could do so!). It was God who did. As always, he was shaking, because he was really, at heart, ultimately, a shy man who had preferred a quiet life in a monastery. Instead, the show must go on. And so on.

– Please God! - She whispered to the image in the mirror. – Please! - Was his only prayer, only a half-strangled gasp of hope, that some people would not have healed, would have changed his life because God's hand moving among them. Ah, the Hand of God! – Jesus! "He managed to say before his throat was closed to terror. To meet all these people again! seen so many come in wheelchairs, then leave, disappointed.

She threw herself against the mirror, on his knees and raised his arms aloft in the air, leaving finally rest in the mirror. "God, God, God," whispered aloud, then with a strangled whisper, he added, aloud: – "Please, God, have mercy on the poor! Take my life, if you like but help their sheep!"

He calmed down, got up from his knees, wiped the talcum powder that clung to his knees where he had played some of the fallen that the white powder scented, their underwear … He wiped his brow with a clean linen handkerchief … deep breath ….

—– Pastor Mosley! - He almost angry voice of Rachel on the other side of the door.

He opened the door I was half blinded by a bank of photographers and their flashing lights.

"What are doing here? "he demanded, pushing past the photographers, and address his anger to his publicist, the woman with black-rimmed glasses who had a walkie-talkie to the ear.

"They say you're being sued by a guy who says he does not heal the eyes, after all," she said.

"He is crazy! "Jeremiah was broken." I do not heal, Jesus does. "He put a brave face and walked down the aisle. It was the man of God, could not allow these people to see any fear. He smiled and walked away, his publicist and two underpastors at his side ..

"But there is some good news, also, the Pastor! Someone has healed, and call it a miracle! Yes, Pastor! – Someone has healed !—" could hear the excitement in his voice, and in the crowd. He hoped it was true.

Deep down, he wondered whether a psychological event occurred that had convinced someone who was cured, or was a set-up, by someone once again trying to prove the "cures" were false? Maybe this time it was real. Happen sometimes despite what his enemies said. You never knew exactly when something miraculous happened, or what to expect from the crowd, it was only the power of their faith into action. He remembered what the Bible says that Jesus visited his hometown of Nazareth, but could do great miracles there, because people had no faith. — A prophet is despised in their own country —

A large number of "miracles" were purely psychological, but even that was something. Rather than despair, helplessness. Someone had to care. And sometimes, there were inexplicable, mysterious changes hat doctors could not explain. He would have liked to have seen any sign from God for your prayers today, but as always, ran the vacuum. The signals were so rare. Enough to prevent drowning in terror. He was doing the right thing? If Jesus could not take his life, he was fine.

- Seek — Christ had said, – and find .–

Except me, pensó. "I do not doubt that you drink wine with me someday, but is fifteen years has not w —

Now he was walking calmly among the ranks of photographers, journalists, and people asking him to heal. As if he could cure anybody! "Praise Jesus" people said. "It Jesus who will heal you! "- Or You secret, hidden, inaccessible, Lord silence …!–

A drifting sense of peace came over it then. He entered the elevator and the door closed. Blessed silence … and most of the photographers and reporters were cut. Now, across the street … with shepherds to his right and two security guards on your left, Jeremiah crossed the street glove with its masses of people screaming. He entered a large auditorium, it was provided for one minute hiding behind a giant screen while singing backing vocals and organ played great …. the hearing had been worked up about an hour, singing with the choir and see giant screens showing the miracles and events in other crusades.

- Please God! – Gold, once again the usual prayer, looking, looking … stopping in the middle of it – done with his arms folded – to notice that somehow, in her haste, she had lost a gold bracelet solid-Link. "Damn!" He said, the removal of gold cufflinks alone. "Lost another one!"

He put the calf in his pocket.

It was peaceful in the room hotel, the evangelist. A guard sat sleeping in the big bed, ensuring that anyone who came into the room to steal any of the things the pastor to a memory. As half-asleep, two maids entered the room, powder, diapers and a vacuum cleaner to freshen up. In the mirror, where the hands of momentarily famous evangelist had pressed against the glass, white talcum powder was, interestingly, created a pair of white doves. One girl began to clean up the garbage, when, too late, the other with the eyes, paused. They knelt down and began to pray, mourn, but Jeremiah never saw anything like that, or the guard sleep.

Story # 2 ======= ===============

Appearances (Story # 2)

by Judyth Vary Baker

There she was, lying on the unmade bed, reduced evening light. I could see the legs extended to the window with curtains of plum and green stripes, moving beyond the trees. There was an ocher glow in the sky as the sun, with crimson clouds Bath edge of darkness. Their legs look thin, too thin, but then she was a model with the desired thinness apparel manufacturers and designers. She wanted to eat, but dared the outside, he saw birds flying in black punctuation points against the red clouds, thought they could eat as they wished, without thinking about appearances: they were all soft, soft, diffuse light and fluffy. Fat, perhaps, according to garment manufacturers and designers.

There were flashes little of raindrops on the windows, because with the final light came down quick shower of rain, against the deep blue sky deepening. Yellow and gold rays the last sun went out with a soft glow tangerine, noting the tall buildings and skyscrapers that rose on the horizon. She wiggled her toes, stretched wide, he thought, have prehensile toes! She could pick up anything with them – a talent so that nobody would pay a penny. He saw how the bones of the knee took longer than it should, thighs began behind the knee-bone, very thin, very thin. But there was no remedy. She knew they were going to put the makeup to hide dark circles hunger that made him great, dark, bright eyes seem even more mysterious, and she walked the red carpet on the arm of Max Taylor, Movie Star, smiling and waving to the adoring crowd, the picture of her broke, said simply lovely dress, with hair found suitable for the occasion. Max was gay and liked being with him, being usually too tired for sex: he became a good pair.

Well, she was fourteen hours before it was to be ready for morning appearance at the Oscars. Fourteen hours, returned phone calls, and room service upbringing in one hour, dinner, consisting of a cup of soup, a chicken wing, and a lettuce leaf, vitamin capsules. She wanted to swim after that, but wondered if it was strong. Remain in bed, for he was so cold, it was better: the nails have not chipped in that way. Why turn on the TV? Why not see the drops of gather rain as the wind was blowing sideways on the glass, see how they merged and became fatter, then dribbled through the panel of course, fall into oblivion …

He looked at the alarm clock: forty-five minutes for dinner. There was a slight tingling along the blankets that crossed her flat stomach, and looked to see what caused it, but there was nothing. The white hotel sheets, hotel white blanket, white hotel mattress, with its plum lines were, as all hotels in all parts: a formal luxury, their common destiny in the hotel after hotel. Carpet and elegant cut and polished wood lamps with glass: hotel pamphlets, brochures and signs listing cabarets and caffe lattes. A hotel, as other, filled with antiques or rigid with bright golden lace and flowers carved balustrades, modern or sterile, is not good Norwegian Wood?

What was life about?, he asked.'ll strut my stuff a hundred times more, then what? I wish I could believe in God.

Incredibly, electrical contact was in her belly again and again looked down, beyond his hunger-shriveled breasts naked on the blanket and twisted leaves above their average in the form of a white cross, red striped plum making a big "X", as if blocking her womb empty the rest of your body. As you breathe, the "X" went up and down, up and down … and as the night sky dark for Deep Purple, thought he saw the "X" to hesitate, and move sideways. As it did well, the itching returned. This time, drew the sheet and blanket to her chin, covering herself. I'm cold all the time, she thought to herself. How good it feels the hot soup! I looked at her watch in fifteen minutes, they'd bring dinner. Remembered, like a child saying grace over a meal of bacon, eggs, toast and jam, hot chocolate in hand, and how his sister and his brother took over the last pieces of toast, but was happy to let them go for it, had more than enough to eat. Donny was dead, now, just like Mom and Dad, in the car crash so suddenly that took their lives. As for Donna, her sister, she had not seen for several years: Donna was heavy, having children … ashamed of her stretch marks and after her thighs.

. I'm going to say grace over chicken broth and wing and lettuce, he thought same. Jesus! I wish you'd think! But things did not really happen, right? It was always a mere legend.

Then it happened.

The broth had been cooled. The lettuce has not been reached. They forgot the chicken wings, but never mind. She was dragged by the heat and heat lavished with it …. He lay stretched out, arms wide, his eyes wet with tears. Rolled off the bed, drawing sheet and a blanket with her and the quilt had twisted to make the "X" too. On her knees, she whispered, Thanks! Thanks! Thank you!

 

"But things are hallucinations," he said, as he looked askance eating a meal of normal size. "What about your contract?" she asked anxiously. "If you change sizes, was shot in Victoria's Secret, and the rest will follow." And what Henri said, if you leave out with him? He always tries to make good movie. "

"I'm rich" he said. "I do not need Victoria's Secret more. And I do not need Henry, either. ""

"Well, I'm not rich!" I said heatedly. And you have a contract with me for being responsible. You've had a god-damned hallucination. As your agent, I insist that you see a psychiatrist. "

"You do not have that right," he said.

"Absolutely. I'll sue you if you do not go. Then see how rich it be."

There she was, lying on the unmade bed, reduced evening light. He could see his legs straight out the window with curtains striped plum and green, moving beyond the trees. There was an ocher glow in the sky as the sun, with crimson-edged clouds abuse darkness. Their legs look thin, too thin, but then she was a model with the desired thinness apparel manufacturers and designers. She wanted to eat, but dared the outside, where they see birds flying in black punctuation points against the red clouds, he thought how he could eat anything they wanted, without thinking about appearances.

Henri would be for tonight, to sleep with her. It was powerful senator. They met around the world: it's photo shoots were all lucrative businesses. Some of they were actual photo shoots … After all, she was so thin that his wife, Bernice, who was trying to get pregnant. Models in fun they were much more to be with, and contracts and magazine covers that were made to her hotel and meals and the dreams keep coming.

=============== Story # 3 =====

REVIEW (Story # 3)

 

By Judyth Vary Baker

 

"Henri Ballantyne was very shortsighted, and middle-aged, but he still had a crash attractive blonde, and had the body of an athlete. The fact that his wife had died, she became one of the most eligible bachelors in America, though he was still avoiding appointments. Henri career as a U.S. senator was nearing its peak: it was a powerful man is now beset by paparazzi, pain a picture of him with a movie star. In Bernice funeral, Henri had let go a little, drinking too much and saying something about reckless and premature sudden death of his wife. "Of course, these people are fools "Said Charles Henri." All that nonsense about the increase again, the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. What he wanted was her, damn it. Now I gotta go find another woman respectable. "

"Why not keep your opinion about that 'silly' to you same? "asked Charles, wishing it had been his wife, rather than Henry, who had kicked the bucket. Carlos now had silver hair and a paunch, but his wife looked even worse. Carlos looked at his left foot bad that short-inch second stage that made the thick, heavy shoes as necessary, and looked at barely concealed envy his young client, an Olympic star whose biceps still firm. Charles was only interested in the latest issue of Henry, but it was his Henri job to keep people. Now, his job was in jeopardy. Henri surreptitiously lit another cigarette, that Charles earnestly hoped that the waiter did not return to view.

"Maybe we should move on to the terrace," suggested Charles, picking up his glass of wine. "There's a cool place there under the umbrella."

"Same thing for me," he said Henry. They moved off to rocky terrace restaurant, secure in the ranks of bright red umbrella Letters curling with 'Coca Cola' in white print. Charles was happy to be back in Budapest and is expected to mineral baths, good, cheap wine, and beautiful women who would sleep with him willingly, despite his bad left foot. Mata-mata that his match was everywhere, and most women look to the bulk of the shoe sole, the hearing heavy sound of it, and instinctively avoid intimacy with him. Not fair. Charles also was cursed with a dark cast eyes, a sad by the turn of the mouth, and with a voice so hoarse he could not succeed as he had dreamed, in politics. He was forced to work as merely advisory, well paid, to guide candidates for high office, and keep them there, ensuring that said the right things and not the right thing .. At present, was concerned about Henri, whose chances of re-election had been good until today.

Henri was part of a Senate committee on a fact finding mission tourism of the European Union, with a stopover for fun in Budapest, where he had dinner with the Minister of Culture, stating his view that religion was a farce, and that Jesus was probably a closet homosexual. Damn! Carlos sighed to himself. Henri had made his opinion known to the new Minister of Culture – a devout Catholic – not the old, who was an atheist.

"This story is not going to do well with his constituency, in Maryland, Henri. "

"I know, I know! So what the hell do I do now?"

"It may appear in the church. And make sure people know about it."

"If you can not fix this problem, I'm gonna leave politics, "he said Henry, taking off a few thousands at the hands of Carlos." This should cover the cost of your trip a little more fast here. Do what you can conceal the fact. Okay? "

"I'm not Mr. Fix-It," complained Carlos. "I suggest that the stay away from religion altogether after that. Sorry, never mentioned the word church '- but how was I to know that you attend just a healing session, in some Hallelujah Praise-Jesus-worship?

"You have twenty thousand members," Henry said lamely. "And I must admit, I was fascinated.

"Hypnotized not in trance," Charles corrected. "I have created the right church for you."

"Yes, you should have," said Henri. "So now, me the hell out of this mess!"

Henri, whose poor eyesight was the result of a botched operation to reduce their near vision status, can not wear contacts and not to risk more A replay of the operation until it became more advanced methods. Maybe one day, he thought to himself. Meanwhile, got stuck with glasses, and hated even more than getting old and out of shape. It really was trapped in Jesus-Hallelujah-Praise God jamboree, and mesmerized, in a dream went to the altar, knelt and said he believed. A man approached him in a cloud, his vision was really dark as if floating in space somewhere, delete all the hot overhead lights, and then the evangelist asked if he could "lay hands about it.

"Do you think it can be healed?"

The man seemed a little tired and in a hurry, as there were more scores also requested that "hands-on experience.

"Cured of what?"

"Whatever your need is, of course. God will heal now, if you believe! "

What was that thrill of hope that flowed over him, as hands were over your head?

She felt a delicious sense of peace to overflow it. evangelist's hands seemed full of electricity. It's weird. From the lips Henry carried her secret wish.:

"I want my eyes to be healed!"

"So – to be healed, the eyes! In the name of Jesus! "

What a fool he had been! That fool! For nothing had happened. There is one thing. He had some blurriness in front his eyes, like a thousand small dark spots, as he came down the aisle toward the front, and yes, those little missing, but that is all. He was still as myopic as ever.

They are all false! He thought to himself. He saw one person healed at that altar, except perhaps a little old lady said he was healed of cancer. Oh, yes! had "believe" when he saw the medical report! He put the old lady name and address. There to correct the so-called "healers" if she died of cancer.

————————————————– ————————————————– ———-

"Very well," said Charles Henry, "it is true that small black spots left. And the woman with cancer better than never. But then he died of a stroke. "

"But you get those points in front of your eyes when you drink, Henri," I his manager said. "It comes and goes. Think of the consequences! They snapped her picture there with the crazy preacher hands on top of his head. God! Is front-page news in every damn tabloid in the country! "

I know, "Henri said grimly." But what I do? "

"At least you do not get" cured "of something and feel that I had to proclaim to the world," said Charles. "That would really have destroyed everything. "

"Of course it is psychologically collapsed," Henry admitted. "They have created this service as a fine art. And, of course, did not cure me. I feel like the closure of its operation. They are raking in money like crazy, you know? .

"I suggest you do anything about it, "said Carlos." At least, not directly to be the source of problems. But promise me that next time you stay away from any anything to do with churches. For the rest of your life — or is it goodbye, the race.

"Of course I will!"

"In Instead, start going to hospitals. Go to visit some children with cancer. Kiss some lepers. Do something nice, but stay away from the churches of shit. Such Once you forget. "

"I hope so," Henri said. "I hope so." "

It was not paparazzi who were responsible, as Princess Diana had been pursued, but the incident was photographed by paparazzi. The senator was photographed surprised, too, deploring the fact that the accident would not have happened if I had not taken much valium

And here she had been pregnant!

1. Then the guy had a nervous breakdown. The tabloid reported that he committed suicide with sleeping pills in the same house where he was born. His suicide note was brief and regrettable.

Jesus was not there to rescue the man, the evangelist has been on his own in the Valley of Death. Now, Henry was in the hospital. He had fallen on some ice and are currently getting pulled straight back – in traction. It was doubly upset because she was experiencing double vision of his concussion.

The ophthalmologist came with your device to check their eyes and ears Henri shook his head, as did little clucking sounds like hen mother worried about a girl.

"You've had some real problems with these eyes, right?"

"A guy like you foiled an operation on my corneas, "Henri said." Wrecked my chances of leaving drinks. "

"But the other condition, I say, "said the doctor." Just when you have the operation in the retinas? "I was watching the depth of his right eye with that damned irritating light bright.

"What operation?" What are you talking about? "

"The right obviously torn retina, and becomes to be joined by laser. The left eye had a job done in his retina, too. "

"I've never done anything to my retina!" Henri thought that the evangelist had laid hands on him, and a bitter kind of horror began to build inside.

"Well, it's been a while, I guess. Perhaps you've forgotten, although I can not imagine he would. If it were not obvious by this emergency operation, is blind in his right eye.

The ophthalmologist looked again at the left eye.

"Yes, same thing, only not as bad," he said. "The left retina also has been re-attached. Surely you remember seeing a flood of what are called "floaties" in your eyes? A feeling of a shadow that falls over his eyes, as if a curtain closing on your vision? "

Oh my God!

Suddenly, Henri undersood. The darkness of his vision, as he knelt down, protecting the hard ceiling light in his eyes as he knelt — and the hundreds of small dark dots that swirled in his eyes, such as tremor hands, gently touched the head evangelist, and Henri had asked to be healed.

"Oh, God," she whispered, as he lay lying in his hospital bed. "Oh, God!"

Story # 4 ==== ====================

REPAIR (Story # 4)

      Jeremiah was ready to die. For a long weather had been prepared for the event. His only regret was that he had no real faith enough to heal all those who had laid his hands – for he had prepared with much prayer and fasting. He had never seen a vision, but those around you informed of white doves always landing on windows wherever out – hotel after hotel.

Strange indeed – but had never seen a white one voice himself. However, had tried to follow Christ's example, believe that he could lay hands on people and heal if they had enough faith as the Bible promised, on behalf of Christ. He had seen a series of miracles – Nobody can deny it! – But there were very few among the thousands who hoped to see to walk again, be happy again, hope again. It is unfortunate, because could not deny that there have been hundreds spectacular failures. Psychosomatics. Hypnosis, perhaps. His indefatigable foe, Henry B., even had planted "cures" in your congregation, to proclaim that he was healed. Jeremiah best-seller, unfortunately, includes some stories of cure "fake" people who had infiltrated the church, paid by Henri B. He had lied. Were included in the book — along with a dozen real cases – (we assumed they were true!) – All to glorify the name of God and his sacred power of healing through the shed blood of Christ. However, the outrage and ridicule. The allegations of fraud. Prostitutes even had left saying she slept with them. Lies, lies, lies!

Henri B., Senator, said he was sick of swindlers who act in God's name, so that it paid actors to pretend he was healed. The evangelist had not been told by your 'God' to people who really was healed. I was completely disoriented. His "God" had cheated.

All this had come on his hands, because the evangelist was established on the senator's head and declared that his eyes had been cured. He had done on inspiration. He had been impressed – to some — Senator's eyes were about to go blind – but at the last moment was saved, either by being cured, or because Henry himself had gone to an optometrist and I had surgery. Whichever way they looked, the eyes of Henri B had been saved.

But Henry does not see it that way. The doctor – Only "was the healer. Jeremiah had asked to see a doctor for her eyes checked, to make sure he was healed, and the doctor had insisted that they operate. Since then, Henri B persecution was relentless. Thoughts of suicide had crossed thoughts of Jeremiah and again. Now the waiting was over. No more fast and prayer in the lonely nights. No more tears, lying on his face, asking people to be cured, praying for the conversion of his hero, Jesus. It could even consider this final, terrible event as martyrdom. Dying for Jesus

1. Finally, he decided to write that the devil was forcing him to die, it was not their choice.

Jeremiah was so unstable that only now had the strength to put a small cross below the words "I forgive all my enemies, and put all my faith in the mercy of God. "The word mercy ',' was a long way after inky that because he could not see what he wrote, could no longer feel asleep pen in hand. The pain was eating her womb alive. He dropped the pen, like a convulsion of drugs that filled his body had taken. I knew it would soon be dead. "Father, forgive my enemies, tried to say, but with a breath so little is left to say ….

————————————————– ————————————————– ————

Henri had moved to a monastery in Sweden. It was built in the fifteenth century hand cut stones. It was cold and had always been cold. It was night and had always been dark. Bernadette – sister Berenice – had suggested the monastery as a place of private penance, a new life. Catholics helped her find some peace in your soul, perhaps, in a primitive way to keep in mind his position could understand. In his jealousy, he had murdered his wife. So what had prompted the evangelist into bankruptcy, and until his death.

Too late, he learned that the eye doctor had not worked in his eyes. Too Later, he realized that the evangelist had done – by an unknown power – his eyes cured. And for that, Henry had destroyed him! If the thrust of the church in ruins financial! A million dollar check that fixed, and his statement that he was healed erased much of the burden caused by false cures "mentioned in the book that had fallen into disgrace, the evangelist so deeply. But nothing could bring back the man of God who, in his suicide note, had written: "I forgive all my enemies …"

As Henri whipped himself (he cut his body with twenty lashes each night except Sundays), which gritted his teeth and let the pain sink in the flesh.

"God forgive me, I did not know what he was doing!" I prayed, every night, when he finished cleaning the blood from his back and the stone walls. Then he put in the hard, flat bed, letting the cold flow over it. The cold sank into the mass of festering wounds in the back. With his diabetic condition, he knew that would not last too much longer – maybe a year or so. As for the brothers and monks, who considered him a great saint in the shot, and with their eyes in silent admiration, allowed privacy in their efforts saint to repair their sins and the sins of the world.

"Henri Brother 'constantly praying, asking forgiveness in particular the man who had destroyed, taking into account the power of the silence of God that healed her eyes. How many hits over the length of electrical cable carrying around your waist (where I was not using) could have his body? When he had no more strength, would stop eating. Finally, the pain would be over. Forever.

Story # 5 ===== ========

DIVISION (story # 4)

 

By Judyth Vary Baker

 

Henri Ballantyne was very shortsighted, and middle-aged, but he still had a handsome shock blond hair, and had the body of an athlete. It was one of the most eligible bachelors in America, a powerful man who is stalked by the paparazzi found, pain from a photo him with a movie star. Charles, his political director, was told to find him a proper lady to date. Henri still missed his dead wife: "What Bernice wanted to, dammit. Now he's dead, "said Charles," you have to go find another woman respectable. "

Carlos had a big Rolodex and a large pool of email addresses, but the combination of movie stars and respectable wife eluded all attempts potential. Then, a break: Bernice sister – Bernadette call.

She very well knew that Harry was cheating. It was a shame they could not having children. Too often, had demanded to know if you finally become pregnant, only to say that once again, everything went wrong. When the problem is diagnosed Henry finally as guilt, not Bernice, was held for getting drunk. The relief! Blessed relief! Henri, looking to feel and look better, have an operation the eye in the same week, but something went wrong, and both his corneas were damaged, forcing him to remain in thick glasses. Henry tried to sue the doctor, but the papers he had signed before the operation, and good reputation of the physician, resulting in a settlement outside court. Bernice had done everything possible to help: he tried to get inside information became friends, before there was demand, with the eye doctor, and even had a minor surgery recently, the good doctor gave him free, how Henri had been altered.

Then came a meeting after regular office hours when Bernice, noting that the doctor had the same taste for good music that she invited him to accompany her to a Bach concerto. There was almost by accident: he had Henri saw a beautiful young thing in the arm, and the wrath of jealousy, they called Dr. Richardson.

They gathered outside the hall: he looked very well with their bright blue contact lenses and its thickness, blonde hair, and long, tawny mane that reminded Henri own. On the final night, was calling his guard Paul "." At the end of the month, which meet regularly for concerts and more.

————————————————– ————————————————– ———-

I feel guilty, he said, as she combed through his own dark, shiny curls. But I do not! She was still incredibly beautiful woman. Still be carefully considered glamorous figure in the hall mirror, wishing her stomach was as flat as his secretary, but … can compete, at thirty-eight women with fifteen years younger? She felt a little time lately – Was climbing in his age now? — And this made it seem all the more important to her spread her wings and take a man who adores his arms.

Henri is discreet in his indiscretions, he said. And me too! It is good that we had no children to complicate matters. He chose the right bag for the night, check their hair back, and then took the elevator to the lobby. Paul had sent a limousine to pick New York Nice – but inexplicably, he entered the limo, his thoughts turned back to Henri, who was trying its much more enjoyable because I knew it was his fault, not theirs, who had babies.

And he always brings me Nice gifts now. .. For it is he decided, he feels guilty! I soon go to Europe, and I will be back, but we are only as the Royals have done for centuries. generous with each other in public, and yet even sleep together! He would not dare to compare the two men in bed, Henri had known as long, and Paul's fascination with his forces vanish. She should be thankful for the great sex with two good men, in a comfortable life.

His spies told him that Berenice was pregnant and had been seeing the ophthalmologist who had destroyed looking possibilities to look again! No – but see the eye doctor! More than that! The doctor divorced with two children of her own and, obviously, the source of Berenice sudden pregnancy. How dare you! And the following year was election year! Did you think you could hide what he had conceived, when there were photographs, and even a videotape? True, she was very careful – which of course did not want to damage the reputation of Henry – but he possessed in hell for allowing herself to get pregnant? Damn!

"Women want babies," said Carlos. "She I knew it was useless to you, so-"

I had to pause until the teeth gnashing of Henri stopped.

"I to be very blunt with you, Henri, "Carlos said." His short trip abroad, his lack of pain when she died, has noticed. His family has received a phone call – "

"" No doubt of it! "

"They seem to have received information that is disconcerting to them. Something about her hiring a private detective who now wants a reward to remain silent. Or, talk to the family of Bernice. They also have a reputation to consider. "

"It is against the law, which I did," said Henri bleak. He tried to pretend he was not so deeply concerned as he was in the cool little bad news. The first bad bit was that the sister Berenice was to exhume the body, to have an autopsy performed.

"I thought that Catholics do not do things like that," he complained.

"Apparently, sometimes they do," Charles said. "I suggest you get a good lawyer."

"I can not begin to express to you how much I despise you," said Dr. Henry Richardson, who was uncomfortable with him the lawyer's office. "I found her diary, you know."

Paul Richardson said nothing. The hatred that burned in Henri's eyes was enough to keep him quiet. Henri did not want to jump up and strangle him or something. They were waiting, with an eye care paralegal male, by word, in the DNA test on the dead fetus in the womb of Berenice. Henri had demanded proof.

"Another thing," Henri said. "Everything This began when she volunteered to spy on you, for your information. Before I filed a lawsuit against you. "

"She told all about that, "Paul said, softly." And he apologized. "

"She was never good at those things," admitted Enrique. "So I was surprised. That she came out with all this with you."

"You were not around much to notice."

"I was about it!" Henri broke. He dropped his face in his hands, then, as if about to mourn. Paul was surprised by this sudden change of emotion. She ventured a comment.

"I think both have missed."

"If I never had this operation! "

"Well, I feel I was frustrated."

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