Liz Charnes's Blog

Writer’s block is a thing. I’ve been I know this because I’ve been suffering from it for a couple of years now. If I can force myself to write, I sit down in front of my laptop, and… nothing. Absolutely nothing. Or worse, it’s a lot of words of nothing.

I try not to think about Brandon Sanderson’s four book pandemic. Like he says, we all dealt with the Pandemic stress in our own ways.

So, lieu of writing, I decided to work on the craft of writing. Take some classes, read some books, do some practice exercises, the whole bit. Plotting was particularly important to me, because all my rejection letters tell me my stories all lack defined plots.

Eh, I can’t get mad at the truth. Plotting is hard.

Then I met Save the Cat by Blake Snyder.

Save the Cat is pretty well-established, but for those unfamiliar, it could also be titled Screenplay Plotting for Dummies. Its premise is simple: all stories need their hero to have a “save the cat” moment. Synder puts it like this:

Because liking the person we go on a journey with is the single most important element in drawing us into the story.

Save the Cat by Blake Synder – Introduction

Mr. Synder defines the Save the Cat scene as one “where we meet the hero and the hero does something–like saving a cat–that defines who he is and makes us, the audience, like him.”

One obvious example of the Save the Cat moment is in the first season of The Mandalorian. In the first episode, the Mandalorian teams up with IG-11 to divide the reward on the bounty.

Together, they plow their way through the guards. But the defining moment comes when they enter the child’s room.

IG-11 pulls out his blaster to finish the job as it was assigned to him–to kill the child. That’s when Mando switches from bounty hunter to protector by drawing his blaster and blowing IG-11 to bits. The scene ends with the iconic image of Mando holding out his hand, and the child reaching for it.

Mando’s saving the cat– I mean, the child… I mean, Baby Yoda… I mean Grogu…

This action defines the Mandalorian’s character for us. It makes us like him. As Mr. Synder eloquently puts it, “I’ll go anywhere he takes me now, and you know what else? I’ll be rooting to see him win.”

Now, like me, you may be thinking, yeah, well, I like my heros anti-heroic. For example, in my FlyGirl world, the first-person narrator Siobhan is known for her erratic (and often violent) behavior. She’s not supposed to be likable! I wanted to play her against the trope Bella Swann-esque protagonist. The nice, passive 40-year-old teenager who doesn’t mind if an old man watches her sleep.

Okay, I confess. I liked this story. I know. I… know.

But as milquetoast as Bella Swann is, she not only carried a four-book publishing contract but she also spawned five major motion pictures.

As for Siobhan… well, she’s still freely available on Wattpad.

So maybe Mr. Synder has a point.

I imagine his response to me would be similar to what he had to say about the poorly received Lara Croft 2 (a movie I did not see, by the way):

I don’t like the Lara Croft character. Why would I? She’s cold and humorless…The people who produced this film think they can get you to like her by making her cool.

Save the Cat by Blake Synder – Introduction

I never thought of my character as cold or humorless, but I do think I emphasized her violence over her compassion. She’s probably a bit too off-putting to be truly likable. I also think her save the cat moment comes way too late in the story for it to be a defining character moment. Saving the cat should take place within the first 10%, especially if your protagonist is a bit spicier than most.

You can find Blake Synder’s Save the Cat on Amazon. Check out the Save the Cat writer’s platform for beat sheets, examples, tutorials, classes, and more.

Like pretty much everyone, I have had a rough 2020. 2021 isn’t proving to be much easier, but it’s still early. Things could get better.

Anyhoo, these days, I have to take my amusement where I can get it, and where I can find it right now is in the spam texts I have been receiving for some guy named Kevin. My name is not Kevin, and while there are plenty of Kevins worldwide, there is no Kevin in my nearby vicinity.

I investigated to make sure I was still me, and yes, I am still me. I also blocked, deleted, and reported, but that didn’t stop them. These scammers were determined. Kevin is a winner, and Kevin is going to get His AMAZING Prize that is RANDOMLY capitalized and oddly worded.

Since nothing stops them, I started reading them. Turns out they’re a pretty good story. At least, a better story than my 2020 addled brain can create. So, here’s a story about a guy named Kevin.

Kevin recently woke up to discover that CVS was awarding him $150.

But he spaced on getting back to them, so they sent him a reminder.

Friday came and went, but fortunately, Kevin came in second! He won a $149. Kevin wondered why it was only a $149, and not the original $150. Was that a processing fee? Was it a penalty for not existing? While it was true Kevin did not exist as a person, per se, he did exist as an idea in a scammer’s head, so that made him real, at least to the scammer, and that was good enough for him.

Once again, Kevin came in second. For a while, he was bummed.

But then, everything was okay, because Kevin’s application was accepted. That was so great, even though he had never submitted an application, because as an imaginary person there was no application to submit.

Things got even better when Kevin learned Kevin’s benefits had been Confirmed. Kevin mused over whether a Confirmation with a capital C was somehow better than a confirmation with a lower-case C.

But it doesn’t matter, because Kevin never got back in touch because Kevin doesn’t exist. Kevin wondered over the warning about extra charges. Were those monetary? How would they bill him? He had no address. He was not real.

But today, as Kevin floated in the aether of the scammer’s mind, he learned that he had won a MacBook Pro. So awesome. Sadly, Kevin checked his messages too late in the day to win the fictitious MacBook Pro that was probably only a link to a phishing scam anyway. Also, being non-existent, he had no address.

And so ends Kevin’s tale, for today, anyway. Tomorrow, there will be more links to suspicious websites. Good night, sweet Kevin. We CAN’T Wait to see WHAT you have Waiting for you tomorrow, but only valid for another 10 sec.

I started writing on Wattpad. For those who are unfamiliar, Wattpad is a social media site for writers. It’s YA focused, and requires a username/password to use. It used to be free, but times have changed. Now there’s a free side and a paywalled side.

My work is on the free side.

I first posted on WP in 2015. I had some minor success. Mostly I learned that writing is hard work, and that I really needed to take a few classes on plotting and character development. The classes were few and far between, mainly because I just couldn’t commit to a MFA program, but I have read a lot of books on the topic.

So, I popped in the other day to check on my author page. I keep meaning to delete it. I figure I’ve gotten enough out of the old WP.

Except, check it out:

[image error]BTW, that's my cover. I love me some photoshop.

861,000 views? What the Watt? I’m both surprised and flattered.

In the end, I figured I’d keep the page up and start re-writing this puppy. I’m dealing with content fatigue, my creativity levels are low to nil, and it’s kind of fun to see if I can actually make one of those beat sheet thingys work for me.

I’ll be moving content over here soon. Old FlyGirl notes and whatnot. It’s almost Spring. Time to do some cleaning.

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FlyGirl 2.0: The Wattpad Edition

Liz Charnes on Wattpad

Happy 2020!

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I’ve been working on my resolutions, and this year I’m focusing on prioritization. Right now, I am prioritizing this post. In a minute, I will prioritize a cookie.

Soon, I will prioritize my new favorite obsession: YouTube’s Most Amazing Top Ten Channel. I’m obsessed, I tell you. Obsessed.

[image error]It's only when you admit you have a problem…

The MOST AMAZING TOP TEN CHANNEL is, like, these random kids who list the top ten spooky stuff. It’s live action link bait that wraps its Google Ads tentacles around my cerebrum and won’t let go. ALL IT TAKES IS ONE VIDEO. JUST ONE. Then the next thing I know, HOURS HAVE PASSED. I’ll be melded to the couch, covered in bits of popcorn and shame as I watch some Gen Z dude telling me about how the Annabelle doll ate some kid’s face.

I want to get up. I do. I know I should. Instead, I lie there and watch another AMAZING TOP TEN VIDEO about THE TOP TEN SCARY PARALLEL DIMENSIONS. Maybe I’m in a parallel dimension? Maybe there’s a parallel dimension where a Liz Charnes is actually working on improving her writing and not watching some Gen Z dude freaking out at some Tik Tok bullshit?

It occurs to me that maybe I can find a wormhole to that parallel dimension and steal that Liz Charnes’s manuscript? Maybe she has an agent, too? Maybe I’ll force her back to this side, and I’ll stay there and take over her life, and she can stay here, on the couch, watching AMAZING TOP TEN VIDEOS. Then it occurs to me, but wouldn’t she just be me? What if it’s all just a loop, over and over, with the only result lying on the couch and watching AMAZING TOP TEN VIDEOS? What if that was all it was ever meant to be:

The Couch. The Popcorn. The Amazing Top Ten Videos.

[image error]I need help making more popcorn.

Do you wanna watch? You know you do. Grab yourself a bag of Boom Chick Pop with Himalayan Salt and something to wash it down with… and settle in. Take my advice. Don’t fight it. Here’s a few to get you started.

LIZ’S FAVORITE MOST AMAZING TOP TEN VIDEOS

Number 10: Top 10 Scary Friend Requests – Stalkers suck.

Number 9: Top Ten Gateways to Hell You Should Never Visit. You don’t have to tell me twice.

Number 8: Ten Scariest Things that Happened in Starbucks. People are gross.

Number 7: Top 10 Scary Phobias. I now know I have trypophobia. Thank you, Amazing Top 10. Thank you.

Number 6: Top 10 Scary Plants that Actually Exist. That’s a plant. I know. I KNOW.

Number 5: Top Ten Scary Cthulhu Facts. I don’t even know. I don’t. Even. Know.

Number 4: Top Ten Scary Mexican Urban Legends Part 2. It’s the one with dolls. On that island. I need more popcorn.

Number 3: Top Ten Scary Ghost Ship Stories. I do not like boats.

Number 2: Top Ten Scary Parallel Universe Stories. This explains certain events in my life.

Number 1: Top Ten Terrifying Things Said by Astronauts in Space. SPACE SNAKES.

Check out Amazing Top Ten Channel for yourself. Good luck.

[image error]Tick Tock

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So, the other day, the Netflix algorithm recommended The I-Land. I took its advice and watched it. Here are some thoughts.

I did not know algorithms could troll. What have I done to Netflix that would lead it to conclude that The I-Land would be a viable choice for me?Why did I watch all the episodes?Did anybody watch this before releasing it? If so, what was their rubric?Why did I watch all the episodes?

Here’s a review. It only really covers the first episode, because that’s really all the energy I could devote to it. Spoilers ahead, of course.

The I-Land opens up with this girl waking up on an empty beach. I will call her Dr. Jackie Shepard. She’s all discombobulated, but that’s to be expected after surviving a plane crash.

[image error]"I'm never flying Oceanic Airlines ever again."

She’s got a conch shell in her hand, for some reason, which she decides to use as a horn.

I am confused. Why does she use that as a horn? I would use it as food. I love conch fritters. I haven’t had those in a while. I pull up a recipe.

[image error]Don't these look good? You can find the recipe on Garlic and Zest.

Where was I? Right. Dr. Jackie Shepard’s blowing on the conch shell.

[image error]Here's our Dr. Jackie Shepard. Low-Res, I know, but that's all The I-Land is gonna get from me.

The conch shell summons the actress from that surfing movie. I will call her Sawyer.

What was the name of that surfing moving again? I google. Blue Crush. Right. That was a fun movie. I check to see where I can find it. Blue Crush is on Starz. I have a subscription to Starz. I consider clicking over, but then Sawyer pulls a knife.

[image error]"I am dangerous because I have a knife and I wear my shirt properly buttoned."

Because Dr. Jackie is the hero, she easily takes the knife from Sawyer because everyone knows that Sawyer was also pretty but not the hero.

More people wake up.

[image error]Which one is Hurley?

They don’t remember anything, like their names, who they are, what year it is, pretty much anything at all, BUT they do know that they weren’t in a plane crash, because there would be debris, and there’s no debris, so that’s definitely NOT IT.

I look up from checking the Whole Foods website to see if they have any fresh conch and chuckle, because that’s so Lost, to throw in such an obvious red herring by saying there wasn’t a plane crash, when duh, that’s the only thing that makes sense. I mean, how else would you get to an island in the middle of wherever? Huh?

Plane freaking crash, that’s how.

[image error]Maybe they have a point about the debris.

Meanwhile, Whole Foods fails me. They have no fresh conch. Whole Foods suuucccckkkkks. I blame Jeff Bezos. But then I see they do have scallops. I could make pan-seared scallops with braised broccolini.

[image error] Pan Seared Scallops in Garlic Basil Butter. Serves Four. Pair it with a nice Chardonnay, I think, although I prefer red wine myself. I hear that you can do red wine with fish these days. Would it be too gauche to serve a Malbec? I'm not sure. Oh, yeah. I need bread. I make a note to get some La Farm bread while I'm there.

Sawyer 2.0 hits on Kate, who I call Cato, played by Alex Pfferyerizerrr, better known as the guy from I am Number Beastly. Cato is crushing Dr. Jackie, because that Cato, you know what I’m saying?

[image error]See what I mean...whoops, wrong island.

So, Cato ends up exploring with Dr. Jackie while the rest get busy trying to get rescued. They make a base camp and pull their personal items away from the burning wreckage…

[image error]Whoops. I did it again.



[image error]They're doing this. This is what they're doing.

Meanwhile, Dr. Jackie and Cato find a waterfall. It’s all romantic until Cato attacks Dr. Jackie. I sit up. I decide I don’t like Cato. Good thing Dr. Jackie knows herself some hand-to-hand combat. Plus, getting that knife from Sawyer 2.0 at the beginning was surely helpful.

[image error]Cato's a dick.

More stuff happens. I’ve got my order into Whole Foods. According to Food and Wine pairings, scallops are best served with white wine. Some fish, like salmon or tuna, are hearty enough to be served with a lighter red.

Meanwhile, somebody gets eaten by a shark.

[image error]Man, this show is whack.

Dr. Jackie returns and accuses Cato of sexual assault. Cato first rebukes her for her insensitivity in light of the guy who got eaten by a shark. He follows up with the noted if you were assaulted, then why did you pick fruit for everyone defense.

[image error]"Ladies and gentlemen of the tribe, I stand before you, an innocent man, unjustly accused."

Lost is weird this season. Is it a satire? Maybe it’s a satire. I google. It is not a satire.

Dr. Jackie is angry and storms off. More stuff happens. I text my BFF to tell her about this stupid show I’m watching, and she’s all why are you watching this stupid show, and I’m all, I don’t know, then Dr. Jackie stumbles upon the guy who got eaten by the shark, but who apparently didn’t, and blows that damn conch shell again.

[image error]Rub it in. Just Rub. It. In.

Then my BFF is all, wait, are you watching The I-Land? And I’m all, yeah, and she’s all, OMG, I binged this the other night, and they’re all in a virtual program because they’re on death row, or something, and it’s, like, about redemption and whatnot.

“LIAR!” I text. “It’s about a plane crash on an island and it’s all mystical and shit.”

She’s all, you are SO. WEIRD.

Pfft. Whatev. Like a show about a virtual reality program set in the future for death row inmates in a Texas Correctional Institution helmed by a corrupt warden purposed to test whether or not convicts can be redeemed is not weird? Plus, cannibals?

Moving on.

So, the shark-regurgitated guy is brought back to camp, but Dr. Jackie is too frenzied because she’s figured out the Dharma Initiative’s secret code. They follow her to the Hatch in the Jungle:

[image error]See? They're following the code the Dharma Initiative has left for them. By the way, awesome Photoshop there, right?

She’s all, “Look! It’s a sign!”

It’s a sign alright. But not the right one.There. Fixed it.

They’re all, “So?”

She’s like, “Well, maybe, we’re supposed to, you know, find our way back?”

They’re all, meh, and ditch her.

She throws the conch shell to the ground and discovers…

[image error]Ha ha. But no. Not that.



[image error]Not that, either.



[image error]What? Not that. Wrong series.



[image error]Cut it out.



[image error]Finally! That's what she does not find. She does not find this because she storms off, all angsty and whatnot. We find it because the camera shows it to us as the BIG REVEAL.

Okay, so there you have it. Those kooky Dharma Initiative-sters are back at it with their fun and games, calling themselves the I-Land this time around, and totally negating my friends stupid theory that they are all death row inmates participating in a virtual reality program, because why would you need to brand a shell if it was a virtual reality program?

[image error]

And that’s my review of Lost. I mean, the I-Lost. I mean, The I-Land.

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Written for Week 190 Three Line Tales

Was someone following her?

She looked up. Nobody was there.

Photo by Alina Fedorchenko on Unsplash

Was someone following her? She looked up. Nobody was there.

[image error] Photo by Alina Fedorchenko on Unsplash

Week 190 Three Line Tales

Natalya stood on the porch, her eyes glued on the mountains in the distance. The sun was beginning to set. It was pretty, or at least, it would be to somebody who found meaning in the beauty of nature.

Natalya wasn’t the kind of person who found meaning in the beauty of nature. The only things Natalya found meaning in were tangible goods, such as Hermes Birkin bags and vintage Chanel.

She also found meaning in the ability of a man to provide those to her with no effort on her part. Natalya thought of her husband and nearly smiled. Such a dear man.

Her smile faded. Too bad he insisted on living in this monstrosity of a house out in the middle of nowhere. Natalya tightened her ostentatiously Burberry cashmere shawl tight around shoulders. Not that she was cold… she was a Muscovite, for God’s sake… it was only that this place was damp, like London, but worse, because at least London was London.

This place was nothing, filled with nothing people that were worth nothing, meant nothing, whose little lives came and went with absolutely no relevance. She rubbed her forehead. Poverty made her head hurt.

Unlike the native population, Natalya was not a nothing. Natalya’s father had been rich and war made him richer still. She attended Heading Hall, finished up at Marlborough College, and got her undergrad at Harvard. It was all quite posh and exceedingly unnecessary. Education for the sake of education. After all, Natalya would never work. Perish the thought.

Her family picked out her husband, as was appropriate for a woman of her status. He was fine. Secretly, it bothered her being married to a man who was so old that he once courted her mother, but she was an obedient child. Love… money… love… money. The world rarely gives you a choice.

Once they were married, her husband received his marching orders. His job was something… she didn’t know and cared even less. What she knew was that he was rich, and that it required him to live in the Western Hemisphere.

This would have been fine, because New York, but no-ooo. They had to live in the south. Or west. West of Virginia? Whatever. Somewhere, where there were lots of poor people, and lots of people who were poor but who thought they weren’t.

Those were the ones who truly confused her. When they first arrived, she had accompanied her husband to dinner with the newly appointed governor–a greasy old man who kept accidentally on purpose poking her breasts with his elbow–and his wife, a former stripper, who insisted on showing off her mink coat collection.

“I just love me a good mink coat,” she had said in her horrible accent. “They’re so soft and furry. Feel how soft.” She tried to shove the sleeve in Natalya’s face, but Natalya managed to dodge it. “Don’t you want to feel?”

Natalya had gone to the bathroom and thrown up.

After the dinner, she’d come back and taken an hour-long shower. That was the thing about poverty… it stank and would make you stink if you didn’t wash it off right away.

Just thinking about those people… she shuddered and got out her tin of Bach Rescue Pastilles.

Regardless, she thought she could handle the Transition. It would only be for a few months, then they could go back to Paris and she could brag about to her boarding school friends about it. Until this morning, when her husband finally admitted that they would have to stay between five to ten years.

Five. Or. Ten. Years? Five or ten years in this hell? Natalya began to shake. “Nikky!! No! We can’t! I’ll be… I’ll be… I’ll be ancient!”

“We’re a little behind,” her husband admitted as he put on his cuff links. “These people… they can be stubborn. There’s a real hardheadedness here that’s to their detriment.” He plucked out a stray nose hair. “It’s a shame, how they act against their interest.” He plucked a second. “I hate sending them out west, but they’re bringing it on themselves.”

“Then why make me stay?” She pointed at herself. “I hate it here! Me. Me, me, me! I want to go home! Nikky, can’t you just use drones?”

Her husband chuckled. “The war is over, love. Now we have to win the peace.” He slipped on his jacket and checked his phone. “Why don’t you go to the house? Meet with the interior designer. Once you get involved in the community, you’ll see. It’s not so bad here.” He patted her head. “Give it a chance, my love.”

She yanked her hand free. “No! I want to go back to Paris!” She burst into tears. “You’re horrible, and my life is horrible!”

“Try? For me?” He pushed her hair back. “There’s a Birkin in it, for you.”

“I can’t be bought,” she sniffed.

“I know.” He kissed her. The door slammed.

“Nikki? Nikki! Wait! What color Birkin?” Too late. He was gone. Figures. Oh, well. A Birkin was a Birkin. She got up, rolled out of bed, and got dressed.

An hour an a half later, she stood on the veranda with the interior designer, a thickish woman somewhere between thirty and fifty.

Natayla curled a lip. Why were they all so fat?

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” the interior designer asked with a nervous smile. “Imagine having breakfast out here every morning. So-ooo romantic. I was thinking something playing that up with varying shades of white, and letting the landscape bring in the color.”

What a horrible accent. Can’t she hear herself? “Monochrome rooms are dated,” she sneered, “I like color. Have you any plans for the grounds?”

“Well, the estate consists of nearly three hundred acres.” The interior designer’s cheeks burned a bright crimson. “One hundred are developed and can be farmed, if you so choose. In fact, if you’re interested, I can give you the names of several local people–“

“I am not interested. We have our own people.” Natalya pointed at an odd shaped hedge in the distance. “What is that?”

“Oh! That’s a hedge maze!” The interior designer perked up. “We’ve been looking for it. It’s over 200 years old and was based on a design–“

“Pull it up. It’s ugly. I do not wish to see it.” Natalya pushed past her and marched back into the house. “What’s next?”

The interior designer followed, wheezing a bit. “I think you should keep the floors. They’re original to the house.”

Natalya smirked at her and scrapped a line in the wood with her spiked heel. “I hate them. Change them to something else.”

The interior designer mumbled something she didn’t catch. “What was that?” Natalya turned. “What did you say?”

“This is a historical property that is almost 300 years old…” Her voice drifted off and she studied the floor. “I… I don’t think I’m the person for this job. Maybe you would like your own people–“

“300 years old is almost new.” Natalya flipped her hair. “And I would happily bring someone from New York, but Nikky wants me to make friends. Show me the upstairs.”

The interior designer bit her lip. “I’m not sure you should see the upstairs.”

“Why not?” Natalya raised an eyebrow. “Are there rats?”

“No!” The interior designer looked flummoxed. “No rats. But it’s better, perhaps, to make this floor into your living area.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Natalya rolled her eyes. “Get rid of these floors. Use the Hermitage as your inspiration–” she turned “–you’ve heard of the Hermitage, have you not?”

“I’ve heard of the Hermitage… I think they have parquet floors… but I must insist… we really shouldn’t go upstairs.” The interior designer chased after her, breathless. “Miss… Mrs… um… no! Please, it’s dangerous.”

“Why? It doesn’t look dangerous to me.” Natalya trotted up the stairs and patted the wall. “I’d like the walls painted, though. Maybe yellow? Orange? Can you do a bright palette?” She entered the room. The clouds cleared, giving a better view than the one from the balcony below. French doors opened to a small patio.

She cocked her head. “Not bad. I saw something like this on Instagram.” She got out her phone. “No signal. I hate this place.”

“This is the master bedroom,” the interior designer replied, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Legend has it the original owner was forced from this house during by the British. Using native American techniques he’d learned from fighting in the French and Indian Wars, he killed each soldier by hand, saving the commander until last.”

Natalya gave her a look. “Don’t tell me. Did George Alexander sleep here, or whatever his name was?”

“The owner found the commander standing on this very patio.” The interior designer’s face went slack as she drifted onto the balcony. “It was a hard fight. The owner was gravely wounded, but in the end, he managed to throw his enemy down into the ravine below. They never found his body.”

Natalya joined the woman on the balcony. “That’s nice. I’ve changed my mond. Maybe a neutral palette would work here, after all.” She paused. “But if you use beige, I’m putting you on the next train to Arizona.”

“It is said that the patriot’s ghost roams these halls. To this day, he protects his country and his house.” The interior designer stared at the mountains, her eyes unblinking, then shook her head. “Oh! Where am I? Mrs… you shouldn’t be out here. Please, move away from the edge.”

Natalya pulled a leaf off her shoe. “Omigod. These keep falling. Is there a way to keep them off the building? I don’t want them ruining my shoes.”

For a second, the interior designer simply stared at her. “Oh, fuck it,” she said and pushed Natalya over the edge. Strangely, she didn’t scream.

A man joined her on the patio. The interior designer glanced up at him. “You know, I put a lot of work into that story, too. Damned if it went right over her head.”

“You put up with her longer than I would have.” He handed her a phone.

“You know… I… is there… I don’t get that.” She shook her head, like she had water in her ears. “I just don’t get that.”

“The rich are different,” he replied.

She sighed. “No. Shit. Well. Her phone fell with her.”

“We’ll recover it with the body.”

“You took care of her security?”

He nodded. “They’re dead.”

“Car?”

“In Arlington.”

“GPS?”

“Deactivated.”

“Good.” The woman tapped in a number. “Yes, I’m calling for Secretary Ivashusin,” the interior designer said. “Can you give me a time frame of when to expect his wife? She’s not here yet, and I have other appointments.”

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[image error] Photo by Mason Pohlman on Unsplash

In honor of African-American History Month, I will tell a true story that illustrates how difficult it was for African-Americans to vote prior to the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

It’s 1955.

A young African-American man has returned home to North Carolina to marry his sweetheart. On the eve of the wedding, he decides to take time to register to vote. It used to be that there were only certain days you could register, and if he missed this opportunity he wouldn’t be able to participate in the next election.

Back then, a person had to take a test before being allowed to register to vote. It was called a literacy test. By law, a person had to be able to read and write a section of the Constitution to the “satisfaction of the Registrar”.

The young man is prepared. He’s read the law. He knows his rights. He walks in and asks to register to vote.

But the Registrar doesn’t ask him the required questions. He starts asking random questions that were not part of the literacy requirement.

“Who was the 14th president of the United States?”

“Name three signers of the Declaration of Independence.”

Questions like that. Questions that were arbitrary. Questions that were capricious. Questions that weren’t part of the law. The young man, who had served his country in both Korea and Japan and who held the rank of lieutenant, fails the test.

The registrar refuses to register him. The young man leaves, denied the right to register to vote.

Denied the right to vote.

The young man does not forget this.

He didn’t forget this while he attended UNC Law School.

He didn’t forget this when he was elected to the General Assembly in 1968.

[image error]Swearing In Ceremony 1983

He didn’t forget it when he was sworn in as the first African-American Supreme Court Justice in North Carolina in 1983.

He didn’t forget it in 1999, when he was sworn in as the first African-American Chief Justice of the North Carolina Supreme Court.

[image error]Chief Justice Henry Frye Swearing In Ceremony, 1999

The young man’s name is Henry Frye. You can read the full story about his experience and the impact of literacy tests in general in New York Magazine’s A Dream Undone.

Psst… check it out. My short story, Omega House, has been published in The Best Rejected Manuscripts of 2018!

Do you like pizza? Do you like horror? Do you like your pizza with a side of horror? Then you’ll like Omega House! Available on Amazon now!

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