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Buttcracks and Willful Ignorance
Buttcracks and Willful Ignorance
Buttcracks and Willful Ignorance
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Buttcracks and Willful Ignorance

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First things first: if asked the Bernard Pivot Personality Profile question, "What turns you off?" Schrum’s answer would be, "Buttcracks and willful ignorance." So that’s where the title comes from. This volume contains a representative sampling of Schrum’s writing from 1977 to (almost) the present. Many of the stories arose from inspirations of the moment; others resulted from letting imagination take flight to see where it would go.
There are three sections: “Short Stories,” “Character Sketches,” and “Non-Fiction.” The second section contains short bits and dramatic pieces, with longer stories (fiction and non) framing them. Readers will discover Schrum’s usual poetic phrases infusing his prose. Featuring a few photographs of actual objects that inspired the stories and a brief discussion of each of the works and its origin or inspiration, this collection will amuse the reader with the author’s insight and humor.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJun 29, 2013
ISBN9781301477395
Buttcracks and Willful Ignorance
Author

Stephen Schrum

Stephen A. Schrum, PhD, is a theatre director, performance poet, playwright, novelist, graphic novelist, virtual worlds theatre director, and Steampunk maker. Notable past RL (real life) productions include: Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night (set in 1995) and Macbeth (performed in a cyberpunk style); Moliere’s The Miser (done in period costume) and The Misanthrope (set in the era of Disco); Sarah Kane’s 4:48 Psychosis (utilizing both the Japanese dance-drama form Butoh and hallucinatory soundscapes that Schrum created). With the research area of “The Perception of Presence in Virtual Performance,” he has directed virtual productions of The Bacchae and Prometheus Bound in Second Life (SL). He began teaching with technology in 1993, and since then has been writing and presenting on the topic, including editing the book, Theatre in Cyberspace: Issues of Teaching, Acting and Directing (2000). More recently he has turned his attention to Transhumanism, with a side-detour into Steampunk. Stephen is also interested digital filmmaking; check out his work on his youtube channel.

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    Buttcracks and Willful Ignorance - Stephen Schrum

    Introduction

    So the first question you are probably going to ask is: What's with the title? I came up with it while rehearsing for a job interview. I imagined being asked the same Personality Profile questions (based on the Bernard Pivot questionnaire) that James Lipton always asks his guests on Inside the Actor's Studio. My answer to, What turns you on? would be Wit and intelligence; my answer to the antithetical question, What turns you off? would of course be, with a wry smile and self-awareness of my own wit: Buttcracks and willful ignorance. When I ad-libbed that in my car while driving to an interview, I made a note on my portable tape recorder to use that as a title…for something.

    And so, when assembling the contents herein under the original title (now subtitle), Monologues, Dialogues and Other Stories, I thought BC&WI might serve as a more eye-catching appellation. It is also apropos to many of the characters in my stories who expose a lack of self-awareness or an ignorance of some aspect of life.

    This volume contains a representative sampling of my writing from 1977 to the present. (For every piece included here, there are a variety of pieces that may never be read by anyone.) Following the final section I have included some background info about each piece, in an attempt to explain how each one came about. Many were inspirations of the moment; others I let imagination take flight to see where it would take me. Reading through all the pieces in this volume allows the reader—and me!—to see how I have recycled ideas, developed them, and tried out different versions of the same idea. As I suggest in Immaculate Misconceptions (also available on Smashwords), it's interesting to see how things, such as perceptions of the world, and my writing style, have changed.

    But I still wonder at the larger question: Why do I feel the need to write? Or for that matter, why does anyone make movies, write plays or create art? There seems to be something innately human about the creative process, an inherent need to do so, to express oneself. There is for me, and I can't imagine what people do who don’t express themselves in any creative way.

    I hope they read others' books. Like this one.

    I'd like to take this opportunity to thank those who have helped in the development of these stories, by reading and commenting on them, by listening to my reading through them, by providing material on occasions, and by encouraging me to continue writing: my wife, Dianna Bourke, who has frequently been forced to read, or listen to me, read things to her; Jeannie Dalporto, a former colleague and friend, who often found short stories on her desk, or on email, with a note saying, Please read and comment!; friends Mindy Crawford, Mike Foster, Edward A. Debes II, Helenann Greider, Ashley Taylor, and other students and friends along the way.

    Introduction to the 2013 Version

    Often, when I go back to prepare an older work for publication, I tend not to change or edit very much; that’s what it was originally, I think, and that’s how it should be presented. I made one slight change in the Introduction above: I changed 2004 to the present. I had collected these works (and a few more) into a volume to shop around to publishers. No one took the bait, and so now, a few years later, I am going the ebook route.

    In the transition, I deleted two items from this collection: my one act play Aliens! 3 Miles Turn Left and the entirety of my Catholic school memoir, Immaculate Misconceptions, both of which were included to pad out the page count, and both of which are published elsewhere on Smashwords. This leaves a more compact reading experience for you, the reader.

    I also changed the original section headings. They were, in order, Searching For A Voice (with earlier short stories), Character Voices (with quick sketches and dramatic material), and Finding Oneself (all of Immaculate Misconceptions).

    Here the section titles lack some poetry but perhaps make more sense: Short Stories, Character Sketches, and Non-Fiction. The second section contains the previously mentioned short bits and dramatic pieces, with longer stories (fiction and non) framing them. I hope you will find something to your liking, and enjoy!

    "Security Noir:

    Tales of a Security Guard"

    It was a dark and cloudy night. No moon or stars. I couldn't even see my favorite planet: Venus. And it was cold. I was bundled up tight in my heavy coat, my winter hat—earflaps down against the frigid wind—and thick, polyester fur-lined gloves. The gloves got in the way of me writing these nightly notes, my meem-oirs, but they kept my hands warm in the bitter cold. It must have been around 52 degrees.

    I took up my usual spot for writing: the heater just inside the front door. I sat on the Don't sit on the heater sign so no would know I wasn't supposed to. I had to take a load off; my dogs were barking me. I had been on duty what seemed like forever. I squinted at my watch. I'd come on at seven; almost two hours had gone by. And another long stretch was ahead of me, making this a long, long workday. Another three hours till I could go home, back to my snug and warm trailer.

    After a few minutes, my backside warmed to a comfort level I could live with, and I had to stretch my legs anyway, and check out the back door. I rattled the doorknob to the main office. Locked. Not sure if I had checked it before, but then I like to check it every time I go by, just in case.

    As I walked to the back door, I saw a woman coming into the lobby. She had a key so I knew she belonged here. I stopped though—we're not allowed to let anyone in, so I didn't want to get her hopes up.

    I watched her come in and slowly approach me. All her attention was focused on me, and me alone. She didn't look right or left. Just at me. She couldn't take her eyes off me.

    I walked over to her then. She was breathing heavily, like she'd run a marathon. I glanced outside and saw a Caddy pull away. You know, those are safe cars. Huge; you get in an accident in one of them and the shock of the impact never even gets to you. But just getting out of one of them things and coming in the door's enough to play you out.

    I looked back at her, standing there in front of me. She seemed closer; how could she have moved toward me without me noticing, all my security guard instincts at the ready? She looked me right in the face. Heighth-wise, we were eye to eye—she leaning on her walker, me, hunched over from years of writing down my life story, for publication someday, like those detective novels I read in my spare time, or sometimes on duty on a really, really slow

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