doodles: uncle jack's soul shop
Oct. 13th, 2012 03:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kasihyaI have a new project for Fiction Workshop! I've recast the Tlachinolli family into a modern world of magical realism. It's awesome. It's also helped me to pin down a piece of Tanwen's central characterization that had previously eluded me.
I'm not using these letters, so they need to leave my draft file so I can keep track of how long the story gets, and make sure that it doesn't get out-of-hand ridiculous.
K —
Thanks for the letter. Much better than email. I’m doing fine. Uncle Jack — my mother’s younger brother — called me the other day to offer me a residency at his soul shop. I told him I’m not a surgeon — wait, no, did I tell you I’m not qualified yet? The monastery threw me out a few months ago. I didn’t want to tell Alice or Dad until I had everything put in place, because otherwise they’d want to know why I left right before graduation.
I failed the medical exam, by the way. The brothers perform a full physical exam before you get assigned to a general residency at one of the monasteries overseas, which I didn’t know about until three months before the fact. I talked to someone about how to fake the results, but short of doing an actual transplant, there wasn’t anything I could do.
Speaking of transplants and things along those lines, Jack promised to let me use his labs for my research. My “little problem”, he called it. I’m sure he thinks it’s cute, but honestly, he can be as obnoxious as he likes as long as it gets the job done. He’s got a practice down in lower Manhattan, and my mother will probably throw a shitfit when she finds out that he’s dragged me into his godless life choices, but what are you going to do? (Well, not you, obviously, I mean the general you. You don’t do anything, okay?) There’s a surgeon who already works there, Dr. Kramer, and he’ll take me under his wing for a few years before he retires. It’ll be fun. When I’m done, we can have a family game night or something.
— Sam
Sammypants —
What the hell, Sammy. No, seriously, I’m sitting here in a new shirt because I just spilled coffee all over myself reading your letter. I appreciate the dedication to maintaining the charade of still being a holy person and all that, but you could have told me. Obviously I’m not going to tell Mom and Dad, Christ on a pogo stick do you think I want them worrying about you, but that seriously sort of sucks. Are you like excommunicated now? How does that even work, do they send out memos to every church you’re likely to visit that says “Do not give communion to this person, they’ve gone and done a Faust?” with a photo of you? ‘Cause I don’t think any deal in the world is going to keep that from coming up when you come home for Christmas, just saying. So. Is Uncle Jack the creepy uncle of your mom’s family? I forget, I don’t think I’ve seen them since your high school graduation. Man, that was awkward.
I’m not really going to talk about my life right now because (a) it kind of sucks, and (b) you don’t care about the details anyway, right? I’m bogged down with thesis shit, which is about three-fourths of the way done and then I’m applying to Hunter for the social work program, so I’d be sort of in the area. We’ll see how the money thing works out.
Marina just said something because she read your letter while I was going to change my shirt and pour more coffee. Did you fucking write to her already because that girl was not surprised when I told her you got thrown out of the monastery. Why did I not know about that?
Your loving and devoted brother, Kevin
K —
Don’t pull the “familial love” card with me, bruto. I told you, when I’ve got myself sorted out. Meantime, I appreciate you just fine.
Being thrown out of the monastery just means that I don’t get to be a surgeon with the brothers; if I wanted to work at another place of healing, they’d probably call up the brothers to ask for recommendations, and then they’d have to tell them “Well no, Sam wasn’t able to go on to practice surgery because we believe that Sam is going to go to Hell for an eternity of torment and we don’t want a servant of the Devil healing the souls of good Christians” so I’d have to either work at a soul shop or get a new line of work, but they’re not going to excommunicate me unless I try to tempt other people. The tempting thing is more of a medieval rule that never got taken off the books, anyway; they know that’s not how it works.
I'm not using these letters, so they need to leave my draft file so I can keep track of how long the story gets, and make sure that it doesn't get out-of-hand ridiculous.
K —
Thanks for the letter. Much better than email. I’m doing fine. Uncle Jack — my mother’s younger brother — called me the other day to offer me a residency at his soul shop. I told him I’m not a surgeon — wait, no, did I tell you I’m not qualified yet? The monastery threw me out a few months ago. I didn’t want to tell Alice or Dad until I had everything put in place, because otherwise they’d want to know why I left right before graduation.
I failed the medical exam, by the way. The brothers perform a full physical exam before you get assigned to a general residency at one of the monasteries overseas, which I didn’t know about until three months before the fact. I talked to someone about how to fake the results, but short of doing an actual transplant, there wasn’t anything I could do.
Speaking of transplants and things along those lines, Jack promised to let me use his labs for my research. My “little problem”, he called it. I’m sure he thinks it’s cute, but honestly, he can be as obnoxious as he likes as long as it gets the job done. He’s got a practice down in lower Manhattan, and my mother will probably throw a shitfit when she finds out that he’s dragged me into his godless life choices, but what are you going to do? (Well, not you, obviously, I mean the general you. You don’t do anything, okay?) There’s a surgeon who already works there, Dr. Kramer, and he’ll take me under his wing for a few years before he retires. It’ll be fun. When I’m done, we can have a family game night or something.
— Sam
Sammypants —
What the hell, Sammy. No, seriously, I’m sitting here in a new shirt because I just spilled coffee all over myself reading your letter. I appreciate the dedication to maintaining the charade of still being a holy person and all that, but you could have told me. Obviously I’m not going to tell Mom and Dad, Christ on a pogo stick do you think I want them worrying about you, but that seriously sort of sucks. Are you like excommunicated now? How does that even work, do they send out memos to every church you’re likely to visit that says “Do not give communion to this person, they’ve gone and done a Faust?” with a photo of you? ‘Cause I don’t think any deal in the world is going to keep that from coming up when you come home for Christmas, just saying. So. Is Uncle Jack the creepy uncle of your mom’s family? I forget, I don’t think I’ve seen them since your high school graduation. Man, that was awkward.
I’m not really going to talk about my life right now because (a) it kind of sucks, and (b) you don’t care about the details anyway, right? I’m bogged down with thesis shit, which is about three-fourths of the way done and then I’m applying to Hunter for the social work program, so I’d be sort of in the area. We’ll see how the money thing works out.
Marina just said something because she read your letter while I was going to change my shirt and pour more coffee. Did you fucking write to her already because that girl was not surprised when I told her you got thrown out of the monastery. Why did I not know about that?
Your loving and devoted brother, Kevin
K —
Don’t pull the “familial love” card with me, bruto. I told you, when I’ve got myself sorted out. Meantime, I appreciate you just fine.
Being thrown out of the monastery just means that I don’t get to be a surgeon with the brothers; if I wanted to work at another place of healing, they’d probably call up the brothers to ask for recommendations, and then they’d have to tell them “Well no, Sam wasn’t able to go on to practice surgery because we believe that Sam is going to go to Hell for an eternity of torment and we don’t want a servant of the Devil healing the souls of good Christians” so I’d have to either work at a soul shop or get a new line of work, but they’re not going to excommunicate me unless I try to tempt other people. The tempting thing is more of a medieval rule that never got taken off the books, anyway; they know that’s not how it works.
