WeWriWa—Halloween party ends in mayhem


Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. This week’s snippet comes from the eighth book in my series focused on Max Seward, Jr., and his wacky family, set during autumn 1943.

Max’s cousin Elaine and their friend Quintina have organized a show-stopping school Halloween party, and Max himself has carved sixty jack-o-lanterns. All is going well till the local band starts taking off their costumes.

After these first five girls tackle their favorite bandmembers, it becomes a free-for-all as almost all the other girls rush the gym stage and pile onto the band too.

“There’s my heartthrob.” Kit yanked off the Stalin mask and raced over to Randy as he pulled off the spider head.

“And there’s mine.” Julieanna whipped off the Lenin mask and raced to Jakey as he draped the Dracula cape over the drums.

“That’s mine.” Violet tore off her Mussolini face and raced towards Bobby as he unghouled himself for the evening.

“And mine.” Cinnimin grabbed off the Hitler mask and made for Danny as he took off his football helmet.

“Oh my God, is that Pauly Richardson under the suit of shining knightly armor?” Mickey screamed, removing the disks from her eyes and tackling him to the ground.

I’d opened and converted the fourteen chapter files of this draft about two and a half years ago, but for some reason, the new master file kept crashing when I tried to open it. I had to go back onto my older computer (which has Word, unlike my newer computer), and went through the process all over again.

I’m so lucky that 10-year-old computer still works, I have an external disk drive, and those old files still open in spite of the hoops I have to jump through to convert and reformat them. This particular section seemed to need less extensive editing and rewriting than other parts of the Halloween chapter.

I was only fourteen when I handwrote the first draft, and about twenty when I transcribed it and made some changes. It’s yet another example of how my shorter books need far more extensive rewriting, editing, and restructuring than the books I deliberately wrote at saga-length!


How to salvage an old idea or manuscript

While some writers laugh or cringe in embarrassment at their oldest stories, we can really learn from everything we write. There’s no rule saying you must abandon a project just because you started it when you were really young or at a very early stage of your growth as a writer. Growing up with the original generation of my Atlantic City characters was a beautiful blessing, since I know them inside and out and developed right along with them. If I’d abandoned them midway through my teens, I never would’ve been able to take these characters and their storylines to the creative heights they deserved.

Suggestions on how to transform an old project from juvenile and cringeworthy to mature and professional:

1. Have you stayed with the characters over time? I can see where and how I need to fix my oldest drafts with my Atlantic City characters, since I’ve been with them for over 20 years. When you know a character well, you can understand better why an earlier incarnation isn’t working, and how to improve it. You know, for example, that this person would never do that, but would’ve done this instead.

2. Perhaps just the basic idea is worth salvaging, and you just weren’t ready to write this story the way it needed to be written before. I honestly thought I’d never work with my 18th and 19th century characters again, but now I’m really excited about resurrecting them and their stories over 20 years after I shelved them. I figure they were meant to be if I never forgot about them during all these years. Now that I’m an adult, I can write their stories so much better than I was as a preteen and child.

3. What are the strongest points of this story? My first draft of the first book in my Max’s House series was all over the place in terms of storylines, and ended up focusing on the wrong things. During the creation of the second and third drafts, I came to focus more on the core storylines—the forced overnight adjustment to a new stepmother and three stepsisters; Max’s cousin Elaine desperately trying and failing to make friends after she moves to town; and the adventures Max, his older sister Tiffany, and Elaine have on summer vacation, after they’re sent home as punishment for mouthing off to the new stepmother. The future fourth draft will focus even more on these three key interconnected storylines, and cut out all the cluttery, pointless scenes of Max and his friends just hanging out doing nothing.

4. Are there glimmers of a previously unrecognized conflict, storyline, backstory, characterization? There were so many great odds and sods scattered about in my first Russian historical, which I later honed in on and transformed into integral parts of the plot, backstory, motivations, character development. For example, Lyuba’s original preference for Boris became a pretended preference, motivated by how her mother drilled into her the importance of marrying for money and social station. In my Atlantic City books, Cinnimin takes her title of Most Popular Girl way too seriously, and thinks next door neighbor Violet is trying to steal her crown, because she’s really insecure and vulnerable deep down. With her family’s reduced financial station, that’s the one thing she can be proud of.

5. If there isn’t any apparent reason for something, work it into the book from the start. While my Atlantic City character Kit’s dysfunctional relationship with her mother has long been written as so deliberately over the top as to be intended as dark comedy, there originally wasn’t any reason why Kit hated her mother, and had some quite scary, abnormal rage towards her. She just seemed like some angry girl with a huge chip on her shoulder, and it came across as rather disturbing and psychotic, not darkly comedic. Now there’s a substantial, understandable reason why Kit, her sister Lovella, and her brother Saul hate their mother so much. They’re also encouraged by their father, who only married his distant cousin to keep a family secret from leaking out and eventually becomes completely estranged from this increasingly mentally unbalanced woman.

Kit really isn’t a bad, unsympathetic person. Keep in mind, this is the same person who later has two kids with hemophilia and one kid with autism. If she were truly heartless and soulless, she’d never be able to be such a loving, understanding mother towards them, or any of her other kids. She just has a strong Achilles heel in the form of her mother.

6. Don’t be afraid to junk garbage or radically rewrite and restructure something! It’s like scalpeling off rotting, diseased flesh to let new flesh grow in its place, or reworking a tattoo that no longer reflects your former belief system or artistic vision.

Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween! Even though almost no one reads my blog on Fridays and Saturdays, I’m presenting Chapter 14, “Happy Halloween,” of The Very First, my chronological first Atlantic City book, set in 1938. The chapter is a bit over 5,000 words.


Even though the Filliards had been decorating their house for Halloween over the last few weeks, and their neighbors the Hitchcocks, the Vallis, and the Holidays had also been decorating, Sparky was still a bit surprised to arrive at school on Monday and find the entire school also decorated.  Halloween hadn’t even been a concept back in Amsterdam, and the elements of the holiday definitely didn’t seem very Jewish to her.  It was bad enough Cinni had gotten her to agree to wearing a cat costume instead of her usual school clothes.  It felt ridiculous to walk around school all day in a costume.

“Thank God I’m in junior high and not expected to come to school in costume,” Barry muttered as they got off the bus.

“I take it you ain’t coming to the Halloween dance for older students tonight?” Cinni asked, adjusting her derby hat. “I can’t wait till I’m old enough to go.  It’s fun to have a party in class, but it must be even more fun to have a big dance and party for the whole school.”

“I wouldn’t even have a date.” He cast a quick look over Cinni, taking in her beautiful eyes that matched her name. “You wouldn’t have a date either.  You’re too young for a boyfriend or going on dates.”

Cinni pointed to Julieanna, dressed as a French milkmaid. “Julie has a practice boyfriend already, Harry Brewster, the boy dressed like a farmer.  Perhaps I’ll be old enough for my own practice boyfriend in a few more years.”

“You never know,” he mumbled as he rushed off to the junior high side of the building.

Mr. Robinson stood by the steps near one of the entrance doors, handing out candy and chocolates.  Cinni eagerly opened her schoolbag and continued standing there smiling expectantly even after Mr. Robinson closed the large bag of treats.

“Let’s not be greedy, Cinnimin,” the principal said. “I take it you’re using Halloween as an excuse to come to school in pants?”

“What, is it against your rules to dress like the opposite sex for Halloween?  I never saw that rule in your current rulebook.  Besides, only idiots think a girl or woman in pants is really a guy.  They either need to get glasses or quit drinking.”

Mr. Robinson turned to Sparky. “Katherine Brandt, right?  Would you like some candy?”

“I don’t know if that’s kosher candy, Sir.  I have special rules about what I can and can’t eat.” Sparky looked down the hall at all the Halloween decorations. “I don’t think I should even be celebrating this holiday.  It ain’t a Jewish holiday.”

“Only heathens celebrate Halloween,” Adeline whispered smugly. “May I have some candy too, Mr. Robinson?”

“You don’t celebrate Halloween, Adeline.  You’re not like your older sister Pansy.  You’re as fun-hating and overly religious as your parents.  Let the other students who celebrate Halloween have the candy.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t dress like a dragon,” Cinni smirked. “Since your daddy is a Grand Dragon.  Do you know if he wants to get promoted to Imperial Wizard or whatever other silly titles the Klan has for higher-ups?”

“My daddy ain’t in the Klan, for the last time,” Adeline seethed.

“Sure he ain’t.  But I guess if you wanna be in denial about it forever, that’s your right.” Cinni began eating the largest candybar in her bag as she continued up the stairs.

Their first period art classroom was decorated with jack-o-lanterns, gourds, skeletons, witches, and ghouls.  Orange streamers and black and orange balloons were strung up all across the classroom.  On their tables, which they used instead of desks in this class, were bowls of candy and smaller decorations.  Miss Reinders had hung a few macabre, creepy drawings on the wall as well.

“I know some of those pictures are by Albrecht Dürer, but I don’t recognize the other ones,” Cinni said as she surveyed the new decorations. “I like dark art.  It’s more interesting and real than boring stuff like angels, flowers, religious stuff, and landscapes.”

Adeline was already shoving the candy at her seat down her throat as she gave snooty looks to the Halloween decorations.  Cinni could only laugh at her blatant, unrealized hypocrisy.

“You can have my candy, Cinni, if some of it’s not kosher,” Sparky said.

“Oh, come on, free candy,” Cinni tried to tempt her. “Your folks don’t have to know, and I’m pretty sure God understands that modern people have to do modern things.  Not everyone is lucky enough to live on a mountaintop and have no modern distractions.  I’m sure even the people who still live in Israel don’t have it as perfect as they did in ancient days.”

“Yeah, I bet you’re glad your parents picked America ‘steada the desert,” Kit said. “You don’t wanna live in a sandbox full of Arab bandits.  It’s best to move to another civilized place.  I’d be really mad if my insane mother wanted to move us to the middle of nowhere, or a place that hadn’t been really lived in for over a thousand years.”

“Is your mother really that bad?  Your dad thinks she’s nuts too.”

Kit smiled triumphantly. “Daddy always tells it like it is.  That woman can just sit and stew about it, but she knows it’s the truth.  Just wait till my birthday party on December eleventh.  You’re invited, of course.  That woman is always tryna ruin the parties me and my sisters have, or whining or shrieking about something or other when we’re tryna have a nice meal or enjoy ourselves around the house.”

Sparky thought it were rather disrespectful of Kit to speak that way about her own mother, but didn’t want to take her to task about it when Kit seemed to like her so far.  And Kit was sixth-most popular, and had been fifth-most popular till Cinni had readjusted the ranks to include Sparky.  It wouldn’t be very nice to sass her.  And perhaps Mrs. Green really was unbearable to be around.  She couldn’t know for sure till she actually met the woman.

“You look very serious,” Cinni said. “Are you thinking about something?”

“Maybe I’m becoming American faster than I thought.  A little while ago I woulda said you have to honor and respect your parents no matter what, since that’s onea the Ten Commandments, but sometimes real life might make it hard.  Saying you’ve gotta respect and honor your parents no matter what is all very good in an ideal world, but maybe some parents really do try their kids’ nerves so much they can’t help but speak badly about them.”

“Exactly,” Cinni nodded. “It doesn’t mean Kit’s bad or sinful, just that she’s real.  Normal people can only be squeaky-clean and so moral and pure if they don’t live in the real world.  Anyone who expects you to be perfect and obey all the laws exactly as they were obeyed a thousand years ago is very stupid and outta touch with real life.”

Sparky picked up some of the individually wrapped pieces of candy in her bowl and inspected them for hechshers. “Even if part of that’s true, I still have to keep the basic laws.  I can’t eat non-kosher food unless it’s a mistake or I’m dying.”

Cinni sighed. “I suppose you could still be a real American even if you don’t eat everything.  Laura’s still a real American even though she won’t eat meat on Fridays.”

“Are you going trick-or-treating with us tonight?” Julieanna asked. “Or will you only accept kosher candy?”

“I’m lucky my parents are even letting me go to the Halloween party Cinni is having.  And I don’t want to give the impression that I’m accepting non-kosher candy, or make people feel bad if they know they’re not really giving me candy, since I can’t eat their generous gifts.”

Cinni reached for another piece of candy. “I’ll make a proper American girl of you yet, even if I have to change some of my methods.”


That evening, instead of doing homework as usual, Sparky followed Cinni and her favorite sister Babs out of the house to trick-or-treat, which the adults called “guising.”  The hated Stacy went trick-or-treating with a group of her friends, and Cinni’s cousin Elmira went to some church-sponsored Halloween party with Lucinda.  Barry and Gary couldn’t believe what passed for fun in America and stayed home with their schoolwork.

“Hopefully next year at this time, your brothers will be normal American boys and go to the school’s Halloween party and dance,” Cinni said as they started down Maxwell Avenue after Tina, dressed as a saloon girl, had joined them. “I can’t imagine giving up a party and lots of free food.  I can’t wait till we’re old enough to go to the school dances.”

“They ain’t as fun as you think,” Babs said as she fiddled with the blue and purple fairy wings on her back. “Even when you’re popular, it’s still mostly an excuse to stand around talking with your friends.  There’s only so much time you can really have fun dancing, even if you’ve got a boyfriend.  At least they have food and music, and sometimes games.  The only dance I really like going to is the Halloween dance.  You shouldn’t be in such a hurry to grow up.”

“I can’t wait till I’m a real teenager,” Cinni asserted, savoring the feeling of wearing pants and not being punished for it. “Then I won’t have to just play at being a real grownup anymore.  All the off-limits stuff will be open to me.  Of course, some stuff I ain’t looking forward to, like being a lady.  I don’t envy Gayle for being the first girl in our circle to become a lady.”

“I thought like that too, before I started getting older.  Sometimes you just make something into what it’s not, ‘cause you’ve never experienced it before.  When it becomes real, you wonder if that’s all there is to it.  I don’t think being twelve is somehow magically more fun than being ten or eleven was, or that I’ll have more fun when I’m sixteen or eighteen.”

Cinni thought she couldn’t be more wrong, but dared not contradict her favorite sister. “How long do you wanna be out before we head home for our party?”

“The usual, I guess.  We’ll go down Maxwell and Greenhall, and try to get somea the houses on Lennon and Fairfax.”

“Can we go down Jennifer Street?  I wanna see the haunted house, or at least try to guess which one is the haunted one.”

Babs shrugged. “Sure, I don’t see why not.  It ain’t that far from us.  Pity we don’t know which one is the haunted house, since it would be kinda fun, in a scary way, to sneak inside and try to see if we could see any of the ghosts.”

“Yeah, and Julie lives on Jennifer Street,” Tina nodded. “Her parents give really good candy.”

“Laura’s Hoovershack is also on Jennifer Street,” Cinni said. “I bet you anything her old-fashioned grandma won’t give us no candy or even put lights on.  At least Laura’s parents, as nuts as they were, would come to the door and give out candy.  They probably didn’t know what they were really doing, but at least they did it.”

“Too bad we’re too young to go to the school party and dance, since it’s so close.  I wouldn’t care if I was caught sneaking in, but I guess I ain’t missing too much.  We can still have fun collecting candy and going to our own party later.” Tina smiled at Babs. “You’re really swell for going with us even though you’re old enough for the school party.”

“What about the house on Jennifer Street you said your mother’s family useta go to in the Summers?” Sparky asked, picking up her cat’s tail so it wouldn’t drag on the sidewalk.

“We’ve never been there,” Cinni said. “I couldn’t even tell you the street number.  I wonder if it’s close to the haunted house.”

“It would be even more fun if we could walk through the cemetery,” Babs smiled. “I brought up the idea to my history teacher, ‘cause he’s very interested in cemetery preservation and making grave rubbings, but he said it’s a dangerous idea to go into any cemetery at night.”

“A grown man believes in ghosts?” Sparky asked.

“He didn’t even mention ghosts.  He just said you could trip over tree trunks, branches, sticks, and smaller graves in the dark.  Even if you’ve been there many times in daylight, you probably won’t be able to find your way around as well in the dark.  Everything looks different in the dark.  And who knows if bad guys are lurking about in the shadows.  I saw one of Laurel and Hardy’s silent shorts, Habeas Corpus, at the Rerun Theatre last week, as part of their Halloween movies spotlight, and there were crooks in that cemetery at night.”

“Cinni only takes me to see the modern movies.  And she says seeing an old-time movie, as good as it could be, would be an excuse not to learn and perfect my English.  My parents like to see the movies at Rerun Theatre ‘cause they’re acted with body language and not words.”

“Well, you’re missing some good stuff.  They’re still having a few more old Halloween movies for a few more days, if you’re interested.  Off the top of my head, I know they’re playing The Phantom of the Opera with Lon Chaney, Dracula with Bela Lugosi, and a couple of Hitchcock films.”

Cinni began walking quicker when she saw Violet coming up behind them.  Violet was dressed like a queen.  When Violet caught up with them, Cinni didn’t acknowledge her and just kept walking straight ahead, looking forward.

“Mandy went to the school Halloween party, so I’m joining you,” Violet said. “I think it’s best I get out of the house anyway, even if it wasn’t Halloween.  Madeline is trying again for that stupid third baby she wants.”

Sparky almost choked. “You call your mother by her first name?”

“Everyone does.  All her friends and relatives call her Madeline or Mrs. Hitch.  Not even Mrs. Hitchcock.”

“And did you just say your parents are trying to have another baby?  Why would they tell you such private information?”

“Since last year.  A girl will be called Scarlett, since my mother loved the book Gone with the Wind, and Igor for a guy, for reasons I still don’t understand.  We ain’t Russians.  She says it’s after some famous composer she likes, but she could always pick an American or British musician so the name wouldn’t seem goofy and out of place.  Only my mom wants a baby, so she’s having to be a little tricky about getting what she wants.”

“I’m glad my folks are done with babies,” Cinni said. “I love being the youngest child.  Too bad you won’t enjoy that honor forever.”

Violet scowled as they continued up the street and towards the first house with lights on.

Sparky stood back as Cinni, Violet, Tina, and Babs rang the bell and stood back with their pillowcases.  The woman who answered the door bent down for a large pail of candy and gave each girl a 5th Avenue bar, 3 Musketeers, Tootsie Rolls, and Snickers bars.  Sparky felt a little hungry when she saw all the candy they were getting just for putting on costumes and showing up at someone’s house.

The woman peered over their shoulders. “Is that girl with you?  If she’s allergic to chocolate or has a sensitive stomach, I can always give her an apple or some coins.”

“She’s religious,” Cinni said. “She only eats food that’s kosher, and she won’t know if it’s okay unless she sees special markings on the wrapper.”

The woman looked at Sparky again. “What does kosher mean?”

“It’s a Jewish thing.  Like how Catholics don’t eat meat on Fridays, sorta.  She can eat lots of things, just needs to know for sure if it’s made with good ingredients and prepared correctly.”

“I don’t mind an apple,” Sparky finally spoke up. “Cinni’s dad bought some kosher candy so I could eat sweets at the Halloween party we’re having later.”

“Are you sure you can’t eat candy?” the woman asked. “I don’t think any normal candy has pork or shellfish in it.”

“It’s very complicated, Ma’am.  I know your candy must taste delicious, but I have to follow my rules.”

“I’m sure it is kosher, even if it ain’t got no hechsher,” Cinni said. “Maybe you can write letters to these companies to ask.”

The woman looked a little sadly at Sparky. “Well, happy Halloween, Miss.  Maybe someday you’ll be able to have a real trick-or-treating experience.”

“Maybe,” Sparky said half-heartedly, as she and the other girls turned around and headed for the next house.


After an hour and a half of traipsing around the nearest streets, Cinni, Babs, Tina, and Violet had pillowcases bulging with candies, chocolates, coins, apples, and small toys like yo-yos and rubber balls.  Sparky’s pillowcase was noticeably less full, only containing the toys, money, and apples.

“I think everyone felt sorry for you,” Cinni said as they walked down Jennifer Street. “Either that, or they thought you were a little crazy.  At least Myers stays home on Halloween night ‘steada letting everyone know she hates Halloween.  I guess at least you ain’t totally against Halloween, and you did get some stuff.  You just need a little more time to get used to American life and get over your strict rules.”

“They’re not that strict.  I’m not Orthodox.  They’re just important rules for me to live by.  When you study the reasons for the rules, they start making a lot of sense.  I’m not old enough yet to study them in an advanced way, but I know the basic reasons why.”

“I’ve studied a little about immigrants in my history classes,” Babs said. “A lot of immigrants in the old days, even a few decades ago, went too far in the other direction.  They thought they had to change everything about themselves to become real Americans.  And they lost their real identities, what made their culture so special.  I don’t think everyone needs to be whitewashed of their origins to become a real American.  I mean, you don’t wanna hang onto everything and pretend you never left home, but some things are too important and special to just give up.  My grandma on my dad’s side is still very Russian after thirty-three years in this country.”

Cinni pulled a flashlight out of her pillowcase and pushed the on button. “Odds are that the haunted house is onea the ones we didn’t visit.  No one’s supposed to live there no more, so there’d be no lights on.”

“You can’t just break into a house, even if it’s been abandoned for years,” Sparky tried to protest.

“We’re not that dumb.  We just wanna look in the windows, try the doors, that sorta thing.  The one my mom’s people useta live in during the Summer must be onea the dark houses too.  Wish I knew the address for either.”

“When we’re older, we can have more fun on Halloween night,” Violet said. “It’s very popular to vandalize stuff on Halloween.  I think my first target will be old man Robinson.  Max’s dad deserves some vandalism too.”

“Vandalism?” Sparky choked out. “Isn’t that against the law?”

“It’s all in good fun,” Cinni said as she continued to shine her flashlight on darkened houses. “Some of these houses are occupied.  The owners are just spoil-sports who don’t wanna have no fun on Halloween, or who are too stingy to give deserving children free candy once a year.”

Violet adjusted the crown on her head. “It’s just fun stuff like throwing eggs at houses and cars, wrapping toilet paper around trees, painting things on houses, ripping down outdoor decorations.  Nothing mean like killing pets or making bombs.”

“What if someone did that to your nice mansion?” Sparky asked.

“People do vandalize sometimes.  You have to expect it on Halloween.  Only the Nobodies wanna be goody-two-shoes who don’t want nothing to do with Halloween.”

“But that’s ruining someone else’s property for no reason!  That’s mean!”

Cinni shook her head. “You’ve still got a lot to learn about American customs.  I guess it’s a surprise to you ‘cause no one did anything for Halloween anyway back in Holland.”

Babs crept up to the next darkened house. “This might be it.  They don’t even have a car.  Everyone has a car nowadays, at least in the nice parts of the neighborhood.  This house doesn’t even have some old Model T piece of junk or anything.”

Cinni shone her flashlight into the mailbox. “No mail neither.  Boy, this thing’s got a lot of cobwebs.”

Tina squinted her eyes at it in the dark, trying to make things out from the light from nearby houses. “It does look pretty old.  I ain’t no future architecture student, but I know this ain’t the typea house they made even a hundred years ago.  Maybe it really was made in the Colonial era like the haunted house.”

Cinni tried the front door. “Won’t open.  Is anyone brave enough to wanna try the back door, or any other doors?”

“You don’t even know if this is your haunted house!” Sparky protested. “And what if someone really does live here?  He’d be really mad if he found you tryna break into his house.  And if he’s away, he’ll come back to find someone broke in.”

Babs tried the windows in front and found them all stuck too. “Perhaps this is the haunted house.  But it could also be the house my mom’s people useta have Summer vacations at.  I know that house is pretty old too, and no one’s lived in it for awhile.”

“What if the haunted house and your mother’s old family home are the same house?”

Cinni laughed. “That just ain’t possible.  They’re two different houses, wherever they are on this street.  I told you, the mystery of Charlotte Lennon’s descendants will probably always be a town unsolved mystery.  No one decent wants to admit to being descended from someone who was born outta wedlock, so that family tree, whoever has it, is lost to the ages.”

“Don’t they have records or anything in the library or wherever else they keep archives?  There were people on both sides of my family who served in the military when Germany was still Prussia, and my father took copies of the documents with him when we left Germany.  All important countries are supposed to keep records in the modern era.”

“Charlotte Lennon died in 1645.  I doubt most places in America even keep records that far back.” Cinni stepped back and craned her neck up at the upper stories, shining her flashlight into the windows. “Can anyone see movement?”

“I’m getting cold,” Violet whined. “And my feet hurt.  Plus we need to go to your party.  If I was Most Popular Girl, I’d never neglect my responsibilities as hostess to go playing detective and creeping around supposed haunted houses.”

Cinni shone the flashlight into her eyes, and Violet immediately threw her hands over her eyes. “You never will be Most Popular Girl, you damn dirty schemer.  At least you pretended you don’t have designs on my title by saying ‘if,’ not ‘when.’  Remember I’ve got eyes everywhere, you skinny twit.  I know what you’re thinking and planning before you do.  Any fantasies you have of stealing my throne will stay in your head.  Got that?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Violet seethed as they started the walk back to Maxwell Avenue.


Sparky took a seat between Cinni and Mickey when they came back home.  Violet gave Cinni a smug, knowing look when they found most of the guests already there.  As though Cinni expected everyone to wait for her to get home and would know exactly when she would come home and when they were supposed to arrive.

“It’s too bad you can’t eat more of our delicious food,” Mickey said as she ate a cupcake. “Did your parents make you and your brothers any special kosher food you can eat for the party?”

“My parents don’t celebrate Halloween.  No one does in Holland or Germany.  And my brothers ain’t interested in the party.  They’re upstairs doing schoolwork.”

“Oh, boring.  At least you’re making an effort to become a real American.  Maybe your brothers need to learn the hard way that they shouldn’t keep all their old customs if they wanna fit in.”

“At least she’s doing something for Halloween,” Cinni said. “She ain’t fun-hating like that snit Myers or Laura’s fanatic grandma.”

“My grandma thinks I went to some church-sponsored Halloween alternative party at someone else’s house,” Laura said. “Star used the same lie, and took Jon, Aimee, and Jayne to the babysitting service they have at the school.”

“Your school has a babysitting service at dances?” Sparky asked. “For who?  Are there many married older students who go there?”

“Naw, it’s for students who have to babysit siblings or neighborhood kids but don’t wanna miss dances and parties,” Cinni said. “And since there are a bunch of people in thirteenth grade and Final Year, there are always bound to be a few married people with kids.”

“Do you intend to make a habit of lying to your grandma, Laura?” Sparky pulled on her cat ears, still not entirely comfortable with wearing a costume even after spending the entire day in it. “I thought Christianity had similar rules to Judaism about honoring your elders and parents.”

“She’s a religious fanatic,” Laura said, reaching for a handful of candy corn. “I know a lot of people think I’m a religious fanatic too, but those people don’t really know me if they can think that.  They’re judging me on appearances and rumors.  I’d probably be kicked outta church if my priest knew how I really feel about some stuff.  In another century, I might’ve even been burnt at the stake for my opinions.”

“Sometimes it’s better to tell a couple of white lies to maintain peace at home,” Cinni said. “Like a husband who tells his wife he likes her new clothes when he really thinks they’re ugly.  It’s better to avoid a fight than tell the truth.  And Laura and Star deserve to have fun and do real stuff on Halloween ‘steada sitting around that drab Hoovershack reading the Bible, or whatever else their grandma thinks is fun.”

“They have a concept like that in Judaism too,” Sparky said. “It’s called shalom bayit, peace in the house.  Sometimes it’s more important than always getting your own way or telling the truth no matter what.  You can even be allowed to do stuff you normally ain’t allowed to do if observing some laws would cause a big fight.  Sometimes after enough time, the person who didn’t want you to observe those laws becomes more religious or understanding, and then you can do the things you wanted to do.”

Cinni’s eyes lit up. “So then this means you can eat non-kosher food if it’s the only stuff available, or if it’s too hard to get kosher food?”

“It’s best to talk to a rabbi about it, or at least a person who knows the laws very well.  You can’t just decide what to do and what not to do on your own.  That’s like letting a kid pick her own bedtime or letting her eat candy all day.  And I don’t think any rabbi would say it’s okay for me to eat non-kosher food just to fit in.  That ain’t what shalom bayit is supposed to be all about.”

“But you can eat apples.  Would you like to bob for apples with us?”

“Is that a game?”

“Yup.  My daddy will be coming in soon with a big tub of water and apples.  It’s a traditional Halloween party game.  You lean into the tub and try to get an apple with only your mouth and teeth.”

“Would you like to try our fortunetelling games too?” Gayle asked. “My little sister T.J. over there always lets me tell her fortune at home.  It’s good practice for when I’m a grownup and can do it for my job.”

“And there’s other stuff you can do to tell your own fortune,” Mickey said. “If you walk backwards out the door at night, pick some grass, and put it under your pillow, you’ll dream of your future.  Eating a stale crust of bread at night will also grant you a wish.”

“And there are some games Babs taught me about how to guess your future husband’s identity,” Cinni said. “Did you ever try those sorts of games back home?  Surely not all kinds of fortunetelling are forbidden.”

“Why do I need to try to guess who my husband will be when I’m only in elementary school?” Sparky asked. “And I already know who he’ll be anyway.  Lazarus von Hinderburg.  God willing, he’ll be in America soon with his family.”

“But for now, he ain’t in America.” Cinni’s face lit up when she saw her father struggling into the room with the tub of water and apples. “I get to go first!”

“Doesn’t your father have a weak heart?” Sparky whispered. “Why are you making him carry that heavy thing alone?”

“I ain’t strong enough to carry it, and it ain’t like Daddy is at death’s door.  Lots of people have rheumatic fever and don’t die from it.  That idiot doctor who told him his heart would keep getting weaker was an idiot.  He probably just wants more money.  Doctors ain’t God.”

Sparky watched as Cinni knelt over the tub and tried to pick up an apple as Mickey held back her long curly hair.  She counted thirty apples in the tub, enough for Cinni, her friends, and a few of the younger siblings who’d also come.  Back in Amsterdam, she’d probably be listening to the radio and maybe doing schoolwork tonight, not going to a Halloween party with a bunch of people she hadn’t even known had existed a few months ago.  Even if some of the things were off-limits to her, at least it felt nice to be included in this big group of new friends and to take part in American activities.

Lille, France


La Place aux Oignons, image by Velvet.

The Column of the Goddess, La Place du Général de Gaulle, image by Velvet.

The Paris Gate, image by Velvet.

It’s only been fairly recently that I’ve developed any interest in visiting Paris. When I imagined visiting France in the past, I always thought first of the lesser-known cities instead of the cliché. My 8th grade Spanish teacher also told us Paris smells like urine, which really put me off visiting there. And besides, it’s too expected that someone visiting or writing about France would pick Paris. Why not be a little different and choose a city like Lille?

Kit Green of my Atlantic City books is descended from Lille people on her hated mother’s side. When a pogrom swept through her belovèd father’s birth city of Chornobyl in December 1902, when he was just a newborn, the family fled to their distant relatives in Lille. Most of them stayed behind in France and eventually moved around to other cities, but Kit’s infant father, his orphaned distant cousin (whom he later unhappily married), and his parents came to America, went from the Greenblatts to the Greens, and hid their true origins.

In the Summer of 1988, in my handwritten magnum opus Cinnimin, Kit’s 14-year-old daughter Raspberry Ann has her bat mitzvah in Lille. A number of other people in the family, including some of Cinni’s children and grandchildren, also go on the trip around France. The secret about the family’s Jewish origins came out in 1972, and Kit’s father, her favourite brother Saul and his family, and a number of her children reclaimed their birthright. Kit’s favourite sister Lovella, who discovered the secret years ago, had already married a Jewish man and been raising Jewish children.

The belfry of the chamber of commerce, image by Benh LIEU SONG.

Lille was founded in 640 CE, according to the legend by Lydéric and Phineart. However, modern archaeological evidence suggests that the city was inhabited as early as 2000 BCE. Today, the city has a lot of shops and restaurants in the Carrefour Hypermarket of the Euralille. The city also maintains the building where the WWII Resistance newspaper La Voix du Nord was printed. The newspaper survives as a daily, obviously with a much different focus.

There are many antiques shops, flower stalls, and secondhand bookstores in the courtyard of the Old Stock Exchange. In Vieux Lille, past the New Stock Exchange, you’ll find narrow 17th century cobbled streets and more antiques shops.

The Gille de le Boë House, image by Velvet.

Lille is home to the Museum of the Hospice Comtesse, founded in 1237 by Jane of Constantinople, Countess of Flanders. The museum is home to a lot of Dutch and Flemish artwork, gold and silver plates, Lille earthenware, and Delftware. Close to the museum is the Cathédral Notre-Dame-de-la-Treille, which was completed in honour of the new millennium.

The Musée des Beaux Arts was built between 1889-92, and second in size only to the Louvre. Its artwork runs the gamut of styles, from Picasso to Rubens, and also has many Spanish paintings, sculptures, drawings, Medieval and Renaissance exhibits, ceramics, and old relief maps.

The Natural History and Geological Museum, a 19th century building, contains taxidermic exhibits, fossils, minerals, rocks, live fish and insects, and an ethnographic wing including a mummy.

The Jewish community of Lille actually increased after WWII, and today still has a viable community of several thousand people.

Tournai Gate.

Source material:

http://eurapart.com/lille.html (still have my printouts from 2002!)




Meet Ammiel and Micah (MS Sans Serif)

Font: Microsoft Sans Serif (wanted Modern No. 20, but the html coding didn’t work)

Year created: 1997

Chapter: “Meet Ammiel and Micah”

Book: Cinnimin

Written: 21 April-16 July 2003


This is Part XLVI (46) in my current table of contents for my magnum opus. It’s set from 15 June 1995-late August 1996, and was written in one of the single-subject notebooks I split into two Parts. So much happens here, and two new main characters are introduced, the curmudgeonly beatnik Ammiel Garfinkl and the determined, lovestruck Micah Levine.

Ammiel is the best friend and male version of Cinni’s granddaughter Mancika Laurel. These two are so close that everyone suspects they’re more than just best friends, or blind to what a perfect match they are. They’ve even seen one another naked and insisted it was no big deal, just the human body. Ammiel is always bitching about everything, even his own last name, and doesn’t care whom he might offend with his brutal honesty.

Some of the many highlights:

“I’m going to name one of my babies Midnight,” Eulalia said. “Since it fits the blackness of my soul.”

“Oh, Maxwell has long behaved like this,” Mr. Seward said contemptuously. “I was in the loonybin for four years on his orders. My fatso ex-wife was too, along with his youngest full brother and a lot of his distant cousins, all while he was off playing in Italy. And on his orders, I only got to vote under supervision. That psychotic Stalinist who ran the asylum stood in the booth with me as I voted!”

Mary Julia looked around suspiciously. “There are so many crazy people on the streets, Demian. I saw the looks they gave me. Wanting to stone me and Dana for wearing short sleeves and shorts. I’d love to walk through onea their neighborhoods to force them to see a liberated woman. They thought I was crazy to be wearing this necklace of Lakshmi while Dana is wearing a crucifix and I’m looking for my black hat daughter’s apartment since my grandson is getting mutilated tomorrow.”

[Mr. Green] “I’m not senile. I’m as alert at 92 as I was at twenty.”

“So that leaves Butler Reagan as the oldest geezer in town,” Bobbie Jo smiled. She tore out a notepad and started making up the new Top 20 list.

“There are wonderful bands and singers on MTV,” Portia said. “Why do they waste their time playing this Dark Ages garbage?”

[Sympathizing with her mother Violet re: her lifelong rival Kit] “Don’t worry, I agree with you,” Portia said. “That woman is a major hypocrite. It’s like she gets under your skin on purpose. I’d like to bomb her childhood home.”

[Kit’s youngest daughter Raspberry Ann] “Exactly. Sure it’s nice to be well-endowed, but do you ever find women sharing information about their measurements? I’m glad I have indoor plumbing.”

Leah was far from excited when Gavrilla showed up at her apartment early Monday morning, Lulu’s people standing behind her. There was a plane with their names on it waiting for them at the airport, and free champagne and chocolate.

“Ten glorious years without child support,” Leah nodded. “Contrary to what the majority of unwed mothers on your show believe, it’s not worth sobbing over. There’s no father in my daughter’s life. Big deal.”

“Besides the fact that Garkinkl has an unflattering sound and never gets spelt or pronounced right, it’s a bullseye for the anti-Semities, like Katz, Cohen, or Goldstein. I wish I could hide behind a name like Laurel. Like hell I’d torture my own child with my last name.”

Philip looked up on his way out of the school and saw Ammiel and Mancika reading The PWW underneath a large oak tree. Despite the good early September weather, Ammiel was sporting a black turtleneck, black beret, heavy old-fashioned button-up boots, and loose khaki pants. His brown hair reached down to his shoulders.

A lot of people were there, even Arafat and Rabin themselves. There were a lot of singing, dancing, and flowers. Raina was moved to tears when the 75-year-old prime minister sang the Song of Peace, his first time to sing in public. And five minutes later, shots rang out.

“Gifts are a pretension of the very highest order,” Ammiel said. “I only got Mancika a book of revolutionary quotes from the quarter bin at my favorite used bookstore.”

Ammiel was walking around naked as Mancika went on typing an editorial for the school paper. A wet towel was carelessly tossed on the floor.

Raspberry Ann was enraged at her mother as she went through twelve hours of labor with only gas and air. All while Kit stood by telling her horror stories about old men doctors who thought they were God’s gift to expectant mothers, trivialized women’s feelings about being seen by a strange man, and mistook ectopic pregnancies for attempted self-abortions. And of course the subject of Sammy just had to come up too.

“That is your boyfriend,” Courtnie insisted. “Why else would you kiss on the lips for like three minutes and exchange ‘I love you’s?”