Ask the Author: Johnsie Noel

Johnsie Noel’s poem in the July issue captured my imagination the moment I started reading it.  Today she talks with us about noms de plume, telephone, and secret tastes.

1. What dimension does your nom de plume live in and how do we get there?

I am pretty certain she resides in the 12th Dimension, that “ËœDual Reality”â„¢ one, although right now I have her stuffed back in the box and shoved to the bottom of my closet. She doesn”â„¢t play very well with the other imaginary friends. Her ego is a bit testy and temperamental so she tends to over inflate, pop a fissure and need patching. Typically a big piece of tape over the mouth will do.

How do you get to the 12th Dimension or the bottom of my closet? Well, Advil PM (they can pay me for the plug later) might get one to that 12th Dimension, but don”â„¢t overshoot the sleep/wake thing because you might find yourself back in the 1st Dimension, wearing diapers and re-creating yourself. Bad thing is, s**t from the past clings to your bottom unless you periodically clean out your Google cache.

The bottom of my closet, on the other hand, is much more difficult to get to, and also needs periodic cleaning. One can only hold onto so many skeletons before the fug runs you out of the room.

In the meantime other egos can be found here: http://www.fictionaut.com/users/jn-bower
and http://fromjenspen.blogspot.com/p/publishing-credits.html

2. Would you ever play a game of telephone while drinking? What would be the results?

Oh, I adore games but abhor the telephone and Instant Messaging. They feel so invasive. I think in another life I was a Trappist Monk. I guess I would play the game for s**its and giggles. Since I have an insatiable curiosity I would up the ante and play with a variety of different drinks and then document the results. Tequila could make the game take a salacious turn as we all try to pass the worm from ear to ear. Beer would result in something bawdy and blue-collar with participants in fisticuffs. Red Wine could make things unintelligible, those sulfites slurring the tongue. Milk might make the game sanguine, silky and wholesome ““ there would be little change from beginning to end and we would all be flush with honesty. Kool-aid”¦could have deadly consequences.

3. What does a secret taste like to you? What would you season it with?

Ooooooooo”¦this question makes me salivate. I can”â„¢t lie my way out of a paper bag so as a general rule I hate secrets. I try not to tell them and don”â„¢t like when I am asked to keep them. Most people aren”â„¢t milky and wholesome. They are more like red wine and beer. I would like all of my secrets to taste like eggnog and smell like Christmas trees, or like sweaty horses, liniment oil and saddle soap. That would mean someone had hidden a big pony under the tree for me.

Wow! My secrets seem more smelly than tasty. So, I guess most secrets are fishy, an adjective that embodies both smell and taste. Sadly, even something fishy can be dressed up and sold as fine faire. Add a little hot oil, cornbread, and collards and we have ourselves a fish-fry. *We fry pickles, tomatoes, and Twinkies down here, too* But the smell lingers and leaves greasy fingerprint stains on the paper.

4. Who do you regret not understanding?

My mother. The reasons why are like a merry-go-round of secrets.

5. Can you capture the human condition without tranq darts?

I suck at darts. Give me a gnat dart, I will invariably bring it to a elephant fight and still miss. I believe to capture the condition you have to witness humanity being and doing within and outside of their element. You must be a silent observer and highly visual. People don”â„¢t like to be stared at. It makes them uncomfortable, exposed, like somehow you are telekinetically sucking secrets out of their nose. Supermarket and shopping mall parking lots are great places to stare at people. My dad and I would make a game of it while my mom ran inside to “Ëœgrab a quick something.”â„¢ We discovered that people invariably sense they are being stared at and do one of two things in their discomfort: pinch and wipe their nose like they are checking for a booger or run their hands through their hair. Why is that? I am most motivated by the WHY! We seem to come up with better answers in the “Ëœanimal kingdom”â„¢ than in our own. It is one of the reasons why I write about place more than I do people and why I suck at crafting a believable short story. I don”â„¢t always get the WHY of life and am hard-pressed to come up with any resolutions. So my stories dangle like that phantom booger on the end of a nose. Anymore, if you ask me to tell you a story I am likely to paint you a picture about a time, a place, a momentary feeling. Charles de Gaulle said it best, “The better I get to know men, the more I find myself loving dogs.” [sic: horses, birds, cats, crickets, not snakes or spiders though]