My Moss Piglet submissions for the Moby Dick (Oct 2024) Issue

 The Moss Piglet's Moby Dick issue (October 2024) has been out for a while now and I thought it'd be interesting to document what I submitted and talk about what was accepted and what wasn't.

For anyone interested in what Moss Piglet is - check out this link! (The image is from the krazines website and is not a link!)

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Now to my contribution!

I submitted three pieces:

1. The Right Whale Was the Wrong Whale (accepted)
2. Ishmael's Epilogue
3. Tonight Only

The Right Whale Was the Wrong Whale (a song parody)

Herman Melville went to London to publish his book

At the manuscript illustrators didn’t bother to look

To see what type of whale the author thought

would be best for the story that should be sought

So the book was published with lovely cover art

and sent to booksellers ready for sales to start

Which is when it was noticed there must be a tale

To explain why the cover featured the wrong whale

The book was showing a Right Whale

But Ahab hunted a Sperm Whale

So the Right Whale turned out to be the wrong whale

What a whale-y tale-y fail

To the complaint Herman’s lawyers sent

Threatening suit over how the cover art went

The illustrators responded in an angry letter

That they knew the public’s appetite better

The book illustrated a Right Whale

But Ahab raged against a Sperm Whale

So the Right Whale was never the right whale

What a whale-y tale-y fail

While the hope was for customers in droves

Reviewer copies ended up in their stoves

After Melville’s death the book found acclaim

But while he was alive, it wasn’t the same

The book never showed the right whale

The Pequod is chasing the wrong whale

Ahab’s leg was taken by the White Whale

What a whale-y tale-y fail

Let’s just read the book, let it set sail

With a yo-ho-ho and frothy mug of ale

When I started writing this, it quickly went from a prose microfiction to a poem. It was only after I wrote the first chorus (and realized that's what it was!) that it turned into song lyrics.

Ishmael's Epilogue

Pray call me Ishmael still - Ishmael the former schoolmaster, Ishmael the occasional sailor, Ishmael the sole survivor of the Pequod, the whaling ship that now rests at the bottom of the sea along with the full compliment of its crew. Perhaps aside, of course, from its doomed captain, Captain Ahab, who was noosed and lashed to the Great White Whale, Moby Dick. Even now that great Leviathan, with harpoon jutting still from its side, may swim and thrash in pain with his deceased foe, a grisly trophy, and unwanted companion, until that great Fish’s dying day.

My surviving of that adventure, of clinging for a day and a night to the coffin that had been made for my friend, Queequeg, and converted into a life buoy during the voyage, until my rescue by another whaling ship, had, for a time, cured me of my need to seek the sea whenever the same damp, drizzly November in my soul would arise. But, as too often happens when tragedy becomes a distant memory and pressing cares of the day override softly spoken vows to not try Fate again, I found myself signing onto a merchantman due to depart the following day. And from whose sailing I was absent.

It’s still unclear to me what transpired between adding my name to the crew list and the scheduled departure of The Siren Song. I have a hazy memory of drinking ale with the Second Mate of my new ship, of becoming ill, and of lying cold and still in a dark alley. I may even have heard the mate say “Ill fortune poisons a ship”, but my ragged dying breaths made my hearing unreliable.

(Author’s Note - this is the UK version of the Epilogue. In the US version, it’s revealed that Ishmael murmurs these words to an attending nurse at a local hospital before succumbing to the presumed poisoning).

I wanted this to follow some of the elements within the actual novel, Moby Dick. It's why I start with "Pray call me Ismael still" - it makes reference to that famous opening line and I hope it sets out what I'm trying to accomplish. 

The style also tries to follow the opening paragraphs of the book.

The Author's Note is a play on the history of the book - the UK version of the book had the very ending bit edited out which showed that the Ishmael, then the sole survivor of the sinking of the whaling ship Pequod, being rescued by another ship. In mine, the UK version edits out the fact that Ishmael was heard and heeded by an attending nurse.

Tonight Only

There’s a district in every major city where seedy and salacious meets affluent and refined. A place where the rich buy their drugs of choice, find an hour or two of companionship, and enjoy entertainments frowned upon by polite society. To the uneducated eye it’s all tawdry and gaudy, but to those familiar with the scene, there are palaces of exotic arts where performers are lucky to perform and only select patrons are able to enter.

Richard makes a comfortable living traveling to these exclusive venues; he makes more in tips in one night than most people see in a year. And when his stage name is on a theatre’s marquee, a fleet of expensive automobiles bringing well-heeled customers can be expected.

You know his stage name, although probably not in this context. But when Richard first started performing and needed a name that would be both memorable and utterable in public, he abbreviated both his hometown of Mobile, Alabama and his first name and put them together: Moby Dick.

It doesn’t hurt that his anatomy is appropriately sized to match.

These being my first submissions to Moss Piglet (and my not finding the issue archive until after submitting these works), I wasn't sure what would be accepted and not. While not in my normal style (I try to stay away from anything risqué) I thought perhaps this would be welcome.

Overall, I'm very happy with all of these pieces and am pleased the song was accepted. 

Winter Wonderland Writing

 The freeXpressions prompt was Winter Wonderland:

which prompted the following haikus:

cottage nestled

wood stove heat within

fresh water outside

brick ground floor

large open windows

fresh frigid air

figure arriving

chimneys smokeless

keep your coat on

I went for groceries

on a pleasant sunny day

and return to this

a tree trunk diverged

two paths it could follow

Robert Frost, it chose both

elaborate fence

guards an elaborate ditch

river guards itself

riding inner tubes

could be fun

with enough beer

with the freezing cold

I think trees respond to it

they stand more erect

blue skies of winter

look much colder than

blue skies of summer

off-grid living

wood-powered snow blower

a creature comfort

cold lonesome cabin

be bold! be adventurous!

grow wings and migrate

nice picture

now to recover

the camera

trees don’t follow

(including limbs and branches)

the straight and narrow

and then I wrote this microfiction:

A cabin in the woods - his first architectural commission. When it was done, the customer complained and demanded a refund.

Lumber harvested onsite made it a cabin near the woods. Lack of a front door made it an unusable stone and wood box. 

He replied that the trees he’d planted would grow well after the snows melted - that climate change would make the coconut palms thrive. And that entry to the structure was easy - just climb through one of the windows; given how uneven snowdrifts could be, why lock yourself into a single entrance? He even offered to pay for a step ladder - an expensive metal one that could be stored outside.

The customer, for some reason, wasn’t mollified. He reasoned that there was simply no satisfying some people. 

and then this prose poem:

Three seasons cabin stands starkly in the fourth. No sanctuary, this, ‘gainst howling storm, but edifice enough to persevere through blinding snows. Even Dorothy’s tornado would admit defeat to the stolid lodge. Only the most stubborn of residents, survivalist pests, eke out a meager living. 

It shivers alone.

The stream burbles on.

Prompted by the Mist

 Last week's freeXpressions prompt was Misty:

which prompted these haikus:

a road to nowhere

doesn’t exist, except to

the town of Nowhere

cloud sits on mountain

gingerly, cautiously

the peak is pointy

cold rocky shoreline

overlooked by stark mountains

topped with mist

slow moving black flood

green grows up in the sun

black oozes down

Bilbo, use the road

travel hours, not months

to misty mountains

get in the water

you’ll feel more numb than cold

trust me

enter the mist

alternate universes

may be beyond

dank, drear, heavy

grey, overcast, cold, and wet

a sunny day here

road follows the coast

power lines follow the road

what’s the coast follow?

and then I wrote this microfiction:

Archibald Simmons von Smith was once asked to write a symphony that would set the landscape of Moldovania’s coast to music. Getting on in years, he was unable to compose on location; a series of reference photos were provided instead. He studied the photos intently, wanting to express, above all, truth. 

The first movement was for the mountains and the cloud-covered peaks. It soared and towered, and yet was also mysterious and airy. Listeners agreed it was a masterwork.

The second movement described the waters, the waves, the storms. You could feel rains pouring down, lashing the unmoving cliffs, and yet also the nurturing of lush vegetation. Listeners agreed it too was a masterwork.

The third and last movement described the scar of a road that cut through the coastal beauty. Coming in at roughly four and a half minutes, listeners agreed it was four and a half minutes too long and described the road too well.

The road was torn out and nature allowed to repair itself. 

Archibald’s top student was then commissioned to write another version of the symphony. After being paid fully in advance, he took the original symphony and ripped up the third movement, leaving everything else intact.

While the music is a masterpiece, the lawsuit concerning the artist’s fee is still being adjudicated. 

Some Colourful writing

 This week's freeXpressions prompt was Colour (Canadian U optional!):

which prompted these haikus:

field of fire

meets watery ocean

steam not included

how many pencils

did it take to prepare

this selfie image?

colour

wrapped in wood

wrapped in colour

in search of purple

but blue and red

won’t play together

granulation?

or is my screen

really dirty?

look at those pencils

even the imperfections

are perfect

blue and red

side by side

pencils in 3D

colour boundary

irregular and wavy

pencil coverup

red points up, blue down

which is the proper

orientation?

at the party

completely unsuccessful 

no one mingled

 and then I wrote this microfiction:

He was new at the 3D glasses manufacturing plant and desirous of making his mark. That he was a new hire didn’t faze him, nor his complete ignorance of the science behind the technological marvel of seeing things rise out of page and jump through the movie screen. He could only hear the imagined adulations as he revolutionized the industry. 

Which is why he moved the red lens to the right eye and the blue to the left.

The dressing down he received from his boss following massive customer complaints of everything receding and moving backwards was epic. He nearly lost his job. Nearly.

Undeterred, his next attempt at innovation will be to make both lenses purple and let each eye decide what colour they want to see - the red or the blue.