by Marcus Speh
When thinking of the commotion surrounding Wall Street, the serious writer gets very upset. But he is distracted by his personal life: a letter reminds him to pay his taxes, which makes him want to go back to sleep every time. His helper, herself in her mid-eighties and therefore barely younger than the serious writer himself, reminds him to throw in the yellow pill “every hour on the hour, if you please.” She says this sitting on the side of his bed in the morning. She says it again later in the day when he has moved from the bed to the chair by the window, looking at the latest news from the ongoing occupation of Earth. “We used to do this stuff,” he says to his helper, “and if nobody came to beat us up we knew we hadn't hit a nerve.” — “Don't forget to take the yellow pill every hour on the hour,” says the helper. “Thank you,” says the serious writer, “the yellow pill does calm me down. It pacifies the effects of all the other pills in my system.” The helper looks out the window. There is nothing to see. All the action is on the small blueish screen where a young, fat man is now being led away in hand cuffs. He shouts a poem at the policemen. It's a funny poem and even though he teases them they smile. You can see the policemen relax their grip. The serious writer thinks this is heartening and wants to tell his helper but he cannot find the right words just then. He often cannot find the words these days. He thinks and feels in colors and sounds rather than letters. “Who knows,” says the helper in that moment, “if they'll ever invent a happy pill. That's the one I'd like to take.” — The serious writer points at a row of black bound books in a shelf next to his bed: “I've been reading my grandfather's journals,” he says. “he wrote them in Neuengamme concentration camp where he was imprisoned at the end of the war. He explicitly says that there is no ‘happy pill'.”—“But science has moved on so much since then,” she says, “things have changed.”—“Yes they have,” says the serious writer. He carelessly drops the yellow pill behind the chair where all the other yellow pills lie already like a confused army of yellow ticks, and makes a fist under his blanket. “Yes, they have indeed.”
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Photo: Somerset Maugham, painting by Graham Sutherland (1949), Tate Collection.
Contribution for Occupy Writers. Published in the Santa Fe Literary Review (August 2012). Here's a reading by me.
This is one of the 80 stories in my collection “Thank You for Your Sperm” (MadHat Press, 2013).
Autobiographical only with respect to my grandfather who was in fact incarcerated in Neuengamme and had a few stories to tell about it.
The serious writer, who was first spotted in 2009, was last seen at Pure Slush buying an iPad in October 2011 alongside other pieces of my “Serious Writer” cycle (2009-2011), including the igneous, much imitated “The Serious Writer And His Penis” published as Flawnt.
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"The serious writer thinks this is heartening and wants to tell his helper but he cannot find the right words just then. He often cannot find the words these days. He thinks and feels in colors and sounds rather than letters."
Wow. Connect with every word in this piece, Marcus. Great, great form.
This is great. I love that the serious writer eschews the happy pills. Great work, Marcus.
I knew The Serious Writer still had some fight in him.
Marcus, love the concept, the title, the photo and mostly your inventive prose. You rock and I have missed you!
Fave.
fave!
Marcus, please send me all those little yellow pills! It'll be a start!
He thinks and feels in colors and sounds rather than letters? He don't need no pills. Even if he is older than mid-eighties and all the action is on the small blueish screen where the commotion surrounding Wall Street is making the serious writer get very upset and he's distracted by his personal life, things like taxes.
His grandfather was imprisoned at the end of the war in Neuengamme concentration camp and the serious writer had been reading his grandfather's journals? This places the commotion surrounding Wall Street within that perspective. I didn't realize that until I read it again.
Your Serious Writer series, along with Cherise Wolas' Things I Should Have Done series are my favorite fiction series, maybe of all time. I will always stop what I'm doing and read one of these. *
your serious writer is a gem.
not finding the right words, wow, that happens to us alot.
Brilliant stuff, like air, so natural, so necessary to the ongoing struggle to survive in any real sense, magical.
I'm thrilled that so many people are taking up this subject. How about a book? Marcus would be a stellar editor. *
I like the serious writer in his geriatric state and that he chucks his yellow pills defiantly, that he still has the spirit to make his fist. Beautiful, introspective piece on your serious writer theme.
*
ps-- also want to say the gentle irony of his "occupation" via the TV screen is particularly moving.
I remember a lovely sunset on the South China Sea, the peaceful, silent starburst of a white phosphorus shell exploding so far off in the distance, miles away on the green blur of a hillside. Miles away it was, a beautiful burst with a story all its own.
The world confuses me, sometimes.
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Yet another slice from your brilliance pie, Marcus. More please? I'm happy there are those of you who are able to write about this. I remain far too angry and upset that we cannot all just do the next morally right thing.
Like I said to you earlier, the debauched, cynical, and even loosely moral portrait of Somerset is so apt to those of us, the older set perhaps, who have fought other battles and must summon the courage to face this too. Thanks again Serious Writer for a brilliant bow to the Occupy Movement.
A rich and complicated melange of feeling, history, shifting perspective, beautifully wrought .
Great, Marcus!
love it, Marcus. He sees only in colors now, his little yellow pills. I like that "helper" she has sort of a sci fi/Margaret Atwood feel to her. Lovely & with good old Maugham looking over it all.
Great stuff Marcus- really like the length and the tight, condensed form. However, in no way does that diminish the richness of the evocative imagery. I am left wanting to know more about these people and their place in the scheme of things...FAVE!
I love the way you bring this back to the personal, which is, I suppose, how serious writers have to live. *
You really make me feel like a part of story, the way you tell it. And maybe that's why I enjoy the reading so much. *
"He thinks and feels in colors and sounds rather than letters."
I'm always entranced, enlightened, and amazed by the writing Marcus Speh!
I admit to have avoided this simply to avoid the issues but am so glad I read it now. Superb, sir. So well done. And that final little rebellion of his own with the pill cache! Excellent!
You done well, Marcus, you done well.
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Ahhhh, I just read this on your blog. Happy pills for everyone, I say.
Great writing with its implications, its turns and twists. The piece captures so well the frustration one feels at no longer being young enough, with all the foolish wisdom that implies. Liked this much, Marcus.*
The Serious Writer without words is still a serious writer. The sort of piece that clings to the reader. Great work that deserves re-reading.*
Excellent story, sir. Great imagery and interesting protagonist.
What a stunning story, I found it very moving. Excellent ending, thank you so much for sharing this with us!
Fantastic, on all accounts! *
I love the the imagery of the little yellow pills here, and thought of them as characters. The grandfather's journals bit woven in feels like another story. Interesting layers here.
ah mother's little helper helps others :)
Great piece. I love the history mixed in with the now, which is by now, of course, history.
Agree with what they all said above.*