Delved too Deeply

"The Dwarves dug too greedily and too deep. You know what they awoke in the darkness of Khazad-dum... shadow and flame." Saruman, The Fellowship of the Ring

Recently, I've been thinking about this line. It comes from fantasy, but your more often find this theme - digging too deep, climbing too high, exploring places man wasn't meant to be and finding things man wasn't meant to know - in horror, and sometimes Sci-Fi. (There can be a healthy crossover between horror and sci-fi, but that's a topic for another blog...)

Jason was watching a movie the other night about a Russian crew that discovered a fungal parasite in the Kola Superdeep Borehole. (I've seen at least two X-files episodes with similar themes to this film.) There's The Thing, where the "digging too deep" or "climbing too high" is more metaphorical - the the high southern latitudes of Antarctica, a scientific expedition discovers an inexplicable creature.

Digging too deep/flying too high can apply to outer space - how many films are there about encountering malevolent entities out in the far reaches of space, a place where man was not meant to go? There are stories and films about being too deep in caves, too deep under the ocean... the list goes on and on.

I think there are so many types of this story, so many takes on this mini-genre because there is a very thin line between fear and fascination. We are curious creatures. We want to know what's out there in the dark, beyond the safety of the campfire. We want to know what goes bump in the night... but we're also afraid of the dark. We're afraid of the things that go bump in the night.

The Punishment Food

"Throw him in the dungeon! Give him only bread and water!" - any medieval or fantasy tyrant worth their salt.

"It is not the bread and water I fear. I can live on bread - when have I asked for more?" Joan of Arc (per George Bernard Shaw)

"I. Love. Bread." Oprah

Hm... One of these things is not like the others.

Ah, bread. The staple of civilization. The most basic of basic commodities in Western and Middle Eastern culture for millennia. Cultures are defined by the bread characteristic to them. Open a story with the description of a meal - whether the bread on the table is a baguette or biscuits - and you've solidly placed a setting in the reader's mind. And what else? Is bread the ONLY thing on the table? Is it stale? Is it white or coarse wheat? Is it merely there along with a mountain of meats and delicately prepared exotic fruits and vegetables? Each of these scenarios says a lot about your world and your characters.

And yet now... now, there's a movement - dare I say an obsession? - with eliminating bread (or, more specifically, refined carbohydrates) from the diet. What was the most basic staple, the food that even the most hated prisoner was allowed, has become a special treat: "I've been good on my diet all week - I'm going to have a roll with dinner." I wonder, 100 years from now, if someone reads a story (a "chick lit," a YA that deals with dieting and body image issues, etc.) if that person will be confused as to why the character in the book eschews bread... or confused as to why bread is even an option. (No, I don't really think the latter is going to happen. 10,000 years of the existence of bread isn't going to be toppled by a couple decades of a diet fad. We'll have a new obsession in 100 years.)

So, bread - the basic food. ONLY bread - the "punishment" food, or the "reward" food depending on what era you're talking about. A friend and I were talking about another "punishment" food the other day.

"Why do we eat bitter herbs and unleavened bread, my uncle?" Eliezar, The Ten Commandments

My friend is Jewish, and shortly after Passover, her husband found huge box of matzoh at Costco - a four or six box package for a dollar, or something ridiculously cheap like that. "I know it's supposed to be the 'punishment' food." She shrugged. "But I like it." Funny thing is, I like it, too (and I'm not even Jewish - we always just had it around when I was a kid). She gave me a box. Later that afternoon, I sent her a picture of the "punishment" food all dolled up with peanut butter and sliced pears. Yum!

And the bitter herb thing? My sister used to eat parsley straight. And the flat seaweed sheets you're supposed to use for sushi. We both like matzoh. I like kale. I once scared all the kids in my first grade class because I told them my favorite food was spinach. For most people, the thought that you HAVE to eat these stronger, often bitter, greens for your health is less than desirable. But for me? Sure, I'll take that kale salad. Can I have a side of matzoh?

But, then again, I also love bread.

What's in a Name?

"What's in a name?" Juliet muses.  "That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet."

Anne of Green Gables begs to differ.  She can't imagine that a beautiful flower called Skunk Weed would smell good.  (Apologies that I can't find the exact quote.)  But then, Anne is also quick to point out that she is "Anne with an 'E.'"  As someone whose last name (now maiden name) also has an 'E' where some people don't expect it, I relate

Names are important.  This is something that I've known for many years as first an actor and then a writer.  In fiction and theatre, a character's name gives you an impression.  The name Severus Snape, for example, gives you a drastically different image in your head than Luna Lovegood, even if you know nothing about the characters or the world they come from.

In real life you usually have less choice on the impression your name gives.  Your parents choose a name for you, based on family members, names they like, compromises, and other things.  My parents named me Jennifer Elizabeth.  It was a compromise.  My dad wanted something very "normal," like Mary Jane (that wasn't an actual combination suggested, but you get the idea).  My mom wanted something more poetic, like Anya Guinevere.  

As many of you reading this know, I haven't gone by Jennifer since I was 8 years old.  One day, actually right around this time of year, I decided that I wasn't Jennifer anymore - that I was Elizabeth.  The timing was good - it was almost the end of the school year and I would be going to another school the next year.  My parents agreed that they would call me Elizabeth at home; I would stay Jennifer at school and if I still wanted to be Elizabeth at the end of the summer, we would tell people at my new school that that's what I went by.

Fast forward many years.  I was called by Elizabeth (though often having to correct people) in high school, college, and my professional life. I was fortunate enough to be allowed to have simply "Elizabeth Ivey" printed on my diploma. I had to always remind doctors (except my dentist, who I've been with since I was in middle school), employers, and others that I go by Elizabeth.  I've received more emails, cards from people who don't know me well (and in once case, one who should have known better), and "thanks for shopping with us, Jennifer" from well-meaning cashiers than I care to think about. 

I considered legally changing my name on multiple occasions.  Everyone told me, "oh, no, that's expensive - wait and do it when you get married."  I didn't think to question that logic - my mom has also gone by her middle name all her life and successfully dropped her first name when she got married.  In 1977.

But 1977 was prior to identity theft, terrorism, and all those lovely things that create more rules and regulations in our digital age.  So after I got married in September and attempted to change my name with the Social Security office, I was told I still had to have a court order to drop my first name.

A lot of people suggested just tacking my married name onto the end of my name, or dropping my maiden name and doing as I've always done; go by my middle name.  But after 28 years of correcting people, explaining, and sometimes just deciding it wasn't worth the effort to tell people my preferred name, I really wanted to be who I am.  I didn't want to drop Ivey.  I've always been Elizabeth Ivey.  I've had a few people address me as Ivey either as a nickname, or because there were multiple Elizabeths in a group.  I've published stories as Elizabeth Ivey, and will continue to use that as my pen name.  No, it was time to finally drop Jennifer.  (Nothing against Jennifer; I've known a lot of nice people named Jennifer.  But it's not me.)

So after the end of a 6-month journey of paperwork, bureaucracy, and a lot of waiting, on Friday the 13th I officially and legally became Elizabeth.

Interestingly, one of our friends who we had over last night commented to me something along the lines of, "You just don't seem like a Jennifer to me."  You're absolutely right, Erin.  I don't seem like a Jennifer to me, either.