After a (not so)brief interlude: Maggie and the Goblin part 3

She could hear the bells now.  They clanged ominously as she and the Goblin moved deeper and deeper through cool passageways and narrow nooks.  Every now and then the Goblin would reach out his boney hand to lovingly caress a stalactite, or pop an unwary trilobite into its mouth, but Maggie was silent and still as a bone.  While it gave him comfort, the darkness robbed her of thought; she could only hear and feel.

He stopped.  The bells were louder now.  They echoed off of every surface so loudly Maggie was certain they were in some sort of antechamber.

“Now, it is very important that you do as I say,” The Goblin whispered quickly.  “You must keep quiet.  Do not speak unless spoken to, do not touch what you are not given, and never look any of us in the eye—especially me and especially not Her Majesty.  This is not a request.”  His fingers dug into her flesh as he shifted her weight on his shoulder.

Without waiting for an answer the Goblin let out first a low whistle, then a high one, and then a third in harmony with the bells.  And, as if by magic, a light appeared in a hollow above them.  Maggie contorted her neck enough to see a small, peaky faced creature squinting down at them and smiling, a torch clutched in his greenish hand.

“Welcome Traveler,” Peaky-face barked, his high-pitched voice sounding more like a command than a greeting.

“Greetings, Halvar” the Goblin replied.

“Haven’t seen you before.  Are you from a tributary?”

“No, Halvor,” The Goblin answered patiently.  “It’s me, Magar.”

“Magar?  In true-form, it’s you?” Halvar’s face split into a wide grin, displaying several crowded rows of incisors.  They glinted in the torchlight.

“Come in then, come in!  The Queen will be glad to see you!”

The Goblin sighed inwardly—the Queen probably couldn’t tell him from a cave newt—but he stretched his face as wide as Halvor’s in response.

“I’ll get the ladder—and what is that you’ve got there?  A child!”

The Goblin—Magar, Maggie repeated inwardly, Magar—tensed his grip on her waist as Halvar let out a roar of laughter.

“In the name of the Queen, I swear….I haven’t seen a child in ages!  So useful, so delectable and tender, but so hard to catch.  The queen will of course want to see you at once!”

“Please calm yourself, old friend.  I will take it to the queen, yet I wish to visit relatives in the city first.”

“Of course,” Halvar answered, slight disappointment in his voice.  He disappeared briefly, but in his place a small wood and rope ladder tumbled from the hole.

Without releasing his hold on her, Magar scampered up.

Maggie and the Goblin, part 2

Every movement jarred Maggie’s leg, and her glasses kept slipping down her face, but she pushed them up, bit her lip, and told herself to be brave.  The Goblin was cutting through the forest like a loosed arrow, his feet pattering softly on the ground, his breath deep and steady as a racehorse.  They were going faster than her bicycle ever could and —her stomach leapt as he nearly flew over a fallen log—the taste of fear in the back of her throat mingled now with the heady buzz of speed.

Maggie loved going fast, loved the way the wind blew back her long dark hair, loved letting go of the handlebars and flinging out her brown limbs in joy and abandon.  But that was what got her into this mess.  She’d gone too fast, hadn’t seen the rotting board, and fell straight into the iron grip of a goblin.  She scrunched her eyes against the wind and tried to memorize the path they were taking—he was flying on foot and kept to no visible path –sometimes doubling back on himself or stopping abruptly and then changing course completely.  But his actions seemed determined and steady, non-evasive.  He wasn’t trying to cover his tracks—he was following a path only he could see.

The child’s tiny squeaks pierced the goblin’s ears, boring at his brain.  He could feel her trembling; her sweaty little hands were digging into his skin, and he turned his head to snap at her, but thought the better of it.  Small things had fast heartbeats, he knew, and the last time he unleashed his fury at something—a badger had attempted to burrow in his territory—his growl had stopped the poor creature’s heart.  He needed her to finish his deal.  He would be…patient and work to calm her.  In a reedy voice he sang:

Let us go to the Goblin home

Where the hills are high, and the rivers deep

And the gold is bright, and the tunnels dark

And the shepherds tender as their sheep.

Let us go to the goblin home

Where foes are fed to the goblin tooth

And the goblin queen on her ruby throne

Leads her folk with claw and lash and truth.

His mother had sung this to him as a little one, its solemn drudging tune reminded him of the warped bells in the Queen’s hall, and he would dream of gold glimmering in torchlight and the queen’s great beauty.  Pride and security, that was what put little Goblins to sleep at night.  He wondered briefly if it was the same for humans, but put that out of his mind.  Humans were a strange race of creatures- more cunning than his normal prey, but stupid all the same.

She-Hulkin’ out

Mie-hulk SMASH!!!!

After a demoralizing 2 month battle, I was turned down for food stamps because of an error on their part.  I am hungry and tired and I don’t know whether to she-hulk or belly-up.

This loooong saga began with an online application—one that was not advertised on their website, making it very hard to find.

After the app, I was sent a letter in the mail 2 days later telling me my phone interview time.  I waited by the phone at the specific time, but they didn’t call back until 3 1/2 hours later- when I was in the middle of work.  I called back during my break- however, because I did not answer the phone when they decided to call me my application was thrown out.

I applied again.  The letter came the day before my scheduled interview this time.  They called 2 hours later- this time I answered, made them call me back at an appropriate time for me, and completed the interview.  The man on the phone said I had 10 days to turn in the required documentation, and referred me to the checklist that had come with my letter.

After gathering all my documents I picked a free day and headed to the office, expecting to be out within 2 hours.  2 1/2 hours later I reach the front of the line and am told that I went to the wrong office–I have to head to a specific office to process my paperwork.  This office’s number is printed in tiny letters at the top of my checklist, with no mention that I was to answer to that place specifically.  According to google maps, there is no food stamp office at that address.

Oh- and all offices close in 20 minutes.

I run approximately 1.6 miles up a hill in sandals to get to the office.  I make it just in time, and the lady at the front desk takes pity on me.  However, I still have to run up and down the stairs collecting paperwork they forgot to give me in order to do procedures no one told me I had to do.  When I finally make it to a caseworker to turn in my papers, he asks me if I have 4 paystubs; yet seeing as the checklist I was provided only asked for the most recent stub and I had only been employed for 3 weeks at that time, I didn’t have it.  He told me to come back when I had four.

2 weeks later I come back, stand in line to turn in my paystubs.  I try to call ahead, the answering machines are full.  this is at least the 6th time I have tried to call only to end up with the same message.  The seventh time I call, a woman answers and snaps at me for asking if I am still eligible to turn in my paperwork.  She treats me as if I’m a stupid, annoying child and hangs up on me.

I take a number, wait in line for about 4 hours while my caseworker wanders around the building and laughs about how he’s going to leave early.  He calls 8 numbers the entire time.  Finally, a group of his fed-up coworkers mobilize to help the stranded.  They breeze us through in 15 minutes.  My paperwork is processed.  All I have to do is wait -in 30 days or less I will have my decision.

My envelope came in the mail today.  The message said that I was rejected because I “did not keep my promise” to attend an interview.  Which I did.  Over the phone.  Weeks ago.

I have three options: 1) admit defeat.  Make due with what I have.   2)Re-apply.  Wash. Rinse. Repeat.  3)Appeal–and prepare for another battle

But to be honest with you all, I’m tired.

I went through a similar, more frightening experience with healthcare and trying to get my doctor’s appointments and medicine.  And I’m tired of being treated like my body, my time, my safety is worth less because of the amount of money I have in my bank account.

I swear, living this life is turning me socialist.

How Appropos

I was strolling through my favorite websites when I came upon this little gem of an article about stereotypes, diversity, and casting. If you’re interested, have a look!

If only more people thought this way, I would probably have a better time finding work. Let’s hope the people I’m auditioning for these next few weeks will be so open-minded. (I’ve got 2…maybe 3 depending if I get called back by NBC)

http://www.feministe.us/blog/archives/2011/08/23/step-into-my-film-school-the-importance-of-casting-in-breaking-open-movie-stereotypes/#more-19769

And now we have pictures!

From: Maggie and the Goblin, chapter 1

My imooto (lil’ sis) will be illustrating Maggie and the Goblin from now on.

New chapters will arrive weekly, as will the pictures.

Thank you all!  I’ll let you know about the audition tomorrow 🙂

-Mieko

p.s. She’s started a travel blog and deviantart page as well, please check them out!  (I’ve added the links to the blogroll)

 

 

SQUEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

How’s this for an update:

I have an audition. For a pilot. With NBC.

Ask not for whom the peacock calls

I don’t even know what to do with myself.

Now, I know there’s a very slim chance that I’ll get even a callback, and I’ll be the first to admit i’m not quite the TV standard of beauty. My acting history is almost exclusively theater, and switching from theater to TV is not easy-not everyone can do it and it takes practice so you don’t look histrionic.

But this is still a chance, and you never know what could happen.

My audition is on Saturday, so there’s not much time.  I just hope my face is un-puffed and my brain un-clogged by then (I’m home from work today due to a nasty sinus infection).

I’ll blog more later about the concerns switching from stage to screen (body image being chief among them–yes, the camera does add pounds), but i’ll end this for now.

Maggie and the Goblin (part 1)

 

 

Maggie eyed the goblin with suspicion as the storm crept nearer. Goblins, she knew, were dangerous. Goblins, she assumed, were crafty. And goblins, she figured, did not enjoy having bicycles and twelve year olds crashing onto their heads. Her mother had told her all about them in bedtime stories, warned her about playing near bridges and caves, but she had never seen one and was beginning to doubt their existence. Her eyes flashed from the large and ugly gash on her calf, to the gaping hole in the old covered bridge, then quickly back to the goblin. Best to keep eye contact, she thought. Don’t know what it’s up to.
The goblin was surprisingly calm. The initial shock had worn off, his head was pounding like mad, but the spots in front of his eyes were beginning to fade. He assessed the situation: a shaking girl; a gnarled bike; a feebly spinning wheel; a hole in the floor of his bridge; and the rumbling sky. In spite of his annoyance this tawny girl with dark hair intrigued him. He had never seen a child this close before, and had only ever eaten one man. He blinked his large yellow eyes and waited.
They remained like this for several seconds, expectant as the thirsty riverbed they crouched in, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
“You’ve broken my bridge,” The goblin said, more to break the silence than anything. His pointed teeth clicked softly, while his English crashed and swirled like water in rapids.
“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I was trying to get home. I think I’ll go now…” She groped for the bike handle. Her leg throbbed.
“No.”
Maggie froze. Her heart stumbled.
The goblin, slightly startled at her reaction, weighed his words more carefully. “You are injured. The storm is coming. You…will not be able to go.”
“But I want to go home!”
Tears gathered in her eyes and spilled down her dirty face. She hugged her knees and yowled like a wounded beast. The Goblin’s large ears flattened against his head. She was so much water, and so loud. And the squeaking bike wheel, and the angry storm, and the crying girl.
“STOP.” He barked. She jumped and fell silent, her lower lip quivering.
“Listen to me.” He said, and the water in his voice smoothed. “I can take you where the storm cannot touch you, but you must pay me in return.”
“…Pay you what?”
“You must fix my bridge. The rest I will decide later.”
She took a deep breath. What else was there to do?
“All right.”
“Good.” The goblin said, and turned to go. “Follow me.”
She gestured toward her calf. “But I can’t-“
“Oh. I forgot. You humans are strange creatures.” He extended his long hand. “We must shake, correct?”
She wavered for a moment, her eyes flashing from her leg to the bike to the goblin. Finally, she took a deep breath and gingerly grasped his hand. It was leathery and warm, and speckled with scars like pebbles on a riverbed. The goblin nodded, but did not release her. Instead he yanked her over his shoulder, flattening his ears to her yelp of surprise, and set off.

Maggie and the Goblin: A forward

Hello cyberfriends,

So I’ve been absent for quite a while.  Approximately a month.

And quite a bit has happened in that time:

1. I’m pretty-much attached to an acting project

2.I’ve got an audition for a second

3.I’ve been working my butt off looking for careers in my field

4.I’ve been swimming in malaise for the past few weeks

5.Foodstamps.applications.are.horrible (more on this later)

But enough about me, let’s talk about what this new project is.

Lost in the midst of this confusing new-new-yorker-ness has been my writing.  I miss it desperately, but I seem to be too exhausted to do anything except work and sleep.  Note: this includes eating, btw.   Chewing is hard work, yall.  Sunday i was too tired to even open a can of tuna, so I just stared at it wistfully and pretended I was full.

But no more.  There’s no point in being a starving artist if there’s no actual art involved.  Then you’re just starving.  And sad.

So I’ve decided to forge a pact with you all.  I’m going to write a story entitled Maggie and the Goblin.  I will put out a short chapter each week.  If you like it, please comment.  If you don’t, please comment anyway.

Ok? Ok!  Let’s do this, yall.  My body is feverish with the desire to write (or maybe it’s just fever, I’m not exactly sure).  I’ll post chapter 1 tomorrow- I need to finish editing it a bit.

See you tomorrow!

Blank

The frogs are still tonight.

Mute and scared,

they crawl into their beds

and choke their song.

Nothing-

 no guttural cry

no wasted tears or 

marks on paper 

can enfold

this wasted guilt

can pinch this cold sorrow,

 and numb disbelief

and wind it into an amulet.

Instead, the piercing refrain:

You are gone.

 All is silent.  

All is blank.

All is blank

 

 -For S

 

Sooooooooooooo guess what?

………………..first off my week sucked.

……………………second off I got to see Harry Potter last night.  Am exhausted but was totally worth it.

………………………….third off I cussed at a guy who was catcalling me.

…………………………….fourth off:  I did it again and then my more experienced friends whisked me away.

………………………………….funnily enough that all made me feel better.

………………………………………..fifth off my work day sucked but: I have a place to live!!!!!

i’m moving in tomorrow.  will talk later am exhausted……………