By Dan Valentine
Another in the “Dan Valentine – Where are you?” series
I took a couple of days off from writing a piece or three here to ponder what I’m doing. What am I writing? A one-man show, a musical, first draft of a novel or an autobiography, scribblings for therapy, etc. Gods knows! I now believe She does.
I’m writing an “epistolary”.
Theodore Von Holst - Frontispiece to Mary Shelley, Frankenstein - published by Colburn and Bentley, London 1831 - Tate Gallery image
Wikipedia: … a piece written as a series of documents. Letters, diary entries, newspaper clippings.
Mary Shelley used the epistolary form for her novel “Frankenstein”.
Bram Stoker used the form for “Dracula”, and is compiled entirely of letters, diary entries, newspaper clippings, telegrams, ship’s logs and the like.
Frankenstein and Dracula. Both of ‘em horror stories. Both of ‘em epistolaries. (So, too, have the last year or so of my life, in large part. Sounds like a match made in heaven or hell.)
So, the answer is: I’m writing an epistolary. Pieces written for this website, comments from readers, e-mails, Facebook messages, lyrics, notes for novels, sit-coms, plays, etc. – hoping some day down the road it will all come together and make some sort of sense.
I’m calling it: “Dan Valentine–where are you?” (Don’t ask me how I came up with it, it just hit me in the middle of the night. It has a ring to it! And it says it all.
Thanks for the title, Ed.
My sister, Valerie, sent me a message through Facebook a few weeks ago. She wrote: “Danny, I know you like adventure but why Mexico?”
I “do” like an adventure! I’ve followed the call of the Lorelei most all my life.
Wikipedia: Lorelei is the name of one the beautiful Rhine maidens who, according to legend, sat upon a rock and lured sailors from passing ships to their doom with her alluring singing, much like the Sirens of ancient Greek myth.
I’ve been lured many times by her call.
As a result, all my cargo is strewn along the shores of a dump site outside Houston somewhere, seagulls peeking at a poem or two, I wrote, and giving his or her editorial comment with a plop of poop!
A few follow the Siren’s call. Most don’t. They have homes, careers, possessions, families, friends. But all, I’m sure, have heard her call … in the middle of the night; at a business conference; on the shore of a beach, sunning …
Why Mexico? ‘Cuz I don’t have the funds or fare to get myself to Katmandu!
COME WITH ME, SAID SHE
(c) 2010 Daniel Valentine
COME WITH ME, SAID SHE,
And we will stick decals on our suitcases
From enchanted lands and places,
Fabled and far-flung.
COME WITH ME, SAID SHE,
And we will barter with those selling vases,
Tapestries, silks, beads, and laces–
Tarry there among.
And, though, he wanted to,
Said he, I’ve crucial work to do–
Faxes, stacked, to sort and shuffle;
Packets, filled with things and stuff, ‘ll
Never get to if I come with you.
COME WITH ME, SAID SHE,
And we will climb steps to stone Buddha faces,
Mingle with the many races,
Glean the native tongue.
And, though, he wanted to,
Said he, I’ve vital work to do–
Post-it notes with folks to dial;
Piles of files, a mile high, ‘ll
Never get to if I come with you.
So, one day without compass,
GPS device, or chart,
With little but a carry-
On, her passport, and his heart–
And oh yes! That little black dress!–
She kissed him sweetly, waved goodbye.
He watched her plane depart.
Come to me, wrote she,
Upon a postcard of some isle oasis,
Signed: With love, with lipstick traces.
P.S.: While you’re young.
And, though, he wanted to,
Wrote he, I’ve urgent work to do–
Snakes in suits to slew in battle
For a corner office that ‘ll
Never sit in if I come to you.
Now, with that corner office
Overlooking Broad and Wall,
Though, happy and now married
With three kids, a dog, and all–
And oh yes! That Park Ave. address!–
He oftentimes, in dark of night,
Will hear the Siren call:
Come to me, says she,
To Katmandu where, just a few short paces,
Gurus chant in temple spaces,
Golden gongs are rung.
Come to me!
Come to me!
Come to me!
Come to me!
Sunset in Katmandu - RMI Guides photo
Spread the word; friends don't allow friends to repeat history.
Posted by Ed Darrell 
Millard Fillmore's Bathtub 