| Letter from the Editor: Adventures Begin |
| Featured Artist: Storyteller Murray Dunlap |
| Featured: Original Fiction "The Black Oyster" |
| Ptotem: Ptero-soar |
| Recipe: Tortillas! |
| Rooting for Rubyeyes |
| Welcome to the Ptero Heart of Luna Taylor |
Murray Dunlap is a writer working out of Mobile, Alabama. His
work has appeared in publications such as The Bark, Virginia
Quarterly Review, Post Road, Night Train, and Smokelong Quarterly.
His stories have been twice nominated to the Pushcart Prize and
to Best New American Voices, and his first book was a finalist for
the Maurice Prize in Fiction. He has run 5 marathons.
--------------------------
Hi Murray. Welcome to Ptero Heart. So tell me. How are you
feeling about pterodactyls these days?
Well Luna, I feel about pterodactyls about like this: Pterosaurs
were the first back-boned creatures to fly. I write as if I can fly
in time and space, and for that reason, I love the metaphor. So
when we create art, it is our version of flight. It fits what you are
doing here perfectly!
I am a huge fan of your work. I must first say I am thrilled you
are alive and not dead. So how are you doing?
Let's jump to the chase and talk about the wreck. I was smacked
hard in a car crash on June 7, 2008, (6/7/08, of all the creepy
dates) and was in a coma for 3 months. A man failed to look up
to see a red-light and crashed into my passenger door. I had 3
fractures in my pelvis, a broken clavicle, 9 sutures in my head,
five stitches in my ear lobe, and a traumatic brain injury. So I
nearly died.
I can't walk yet since the wreck. It's an odd, interesting thing at
35 to have to reevaluate everything completely. No turning back
now.
That is a lot to survive, and the word coma scares me. Three
months is a long time to be missing from daily self-awareness.
But you woke up. How did you come out of your profound
sleep?
Scares me too! To be honest it was more than three months for
me. I have no memory of the wreck, and lost three months
before and three months after. At least. It's all a giant fog for
me now.
The most interesting story about my coming back is about Ray
LaMontagne. I had been a huge fan before the wreck, and a
doctor helping me had read that music you like is good brain
stimulation. The doctors had given me less than 50/50 odds on
ever waking up. Ever. So when they played Ray's "Jolene" for
me, to the shock of everyone, I began to sing along. Still in my
coma! That's when they say they knew for sure I'd wake up.
What does your coma mean to you now?
I can't remember a single thing, so it is separated from anything
else I've experienced by so, so much. A time out. And a time to
heal. I assume my body needed to do that or I wouldn't be
here. And countless negatives. A time to get in debt. A time to
be late paying bills. A time to end an exceptional marriage. A
time to press the reset button.
And you get to wear an eye patch?
Oh that. This has been the most irritating thing about my
recovery. Double vision stemming from my TBI. It is so
ridiculous to think an eye patch is the best thing technology
can do.
But, I've finally been scheduled for surgery so that, if everything
goes well, I will never have to wear an eye patch again. By the
time you are reading this, my eyes should be in recovery. They
just have to go in and adjust the muscle on the back of my eye
balls to get it right. It has about a 70% chance of working on the
first try. Whatever it takes, I'm doing it to be able to stop the
patch for good. I think the ability to drive depends on it. And
that means freedom!
--------------------------
"I have been forced
to relearn everything,
including who I am. "
--------------------------
I discovered your storytelling voice in workshop when we
were at UC Davis together. I remember you started a story
called "Times I Nearly Died", which was not published until
after your wreck, in the May 2009 issue of Fried Chicken and
Coffee. What was it like going back to this story?
I had to rethink everything. And rip the end up and start that
part over, for obvious reasons. I have been forced to relearn
everything, including who I am. So reading the work-in-
progress was extremely revealing, and yet, sad. I didn't realize
how bad my luck has been! But it is what it is. My new mantra
is to get over it and move on. Not that I have any choice, but
just the same.
All my work has been useful in helping me reconnect with
things. So it turns out it had a purpose after all. It's a funny
thing to be able to say with a straight face, "Who am I?"
Your new life is not easy. Yet, overall you seem positive and
productive. What is it that inspires you to adventure on and
create new art?
Mmmm. I saw this one coming. The real question is, what choice
do I have? It's suicide or this. As a writer, that's one of the few
things I can try to do. I can sit at a computer fine. It's just that
my left hand cramps up and I get lots of typos.
Let me rephrase. I understand that you are able to write when
you are unable to run. I understand that you can commit
suicide instead of writing. But those are physical actions:
sitting, running, killing. But in the moments when you feel
the fire of inspiration fill your lungs and you make art happen,
where did you insightfully go right before that?
When I sit down to write I usually have something that my brain
is trying to work through, to make sense of. It might be as
simple as placing an order at a fast food joint, or as complex as
the end of a marriage. I just try to work through things by
recreating them on the page.
Or I'm just trying to get out how inspired I am. Like a good dog
gets me going—as simple as that. The dog I just had to give to
friends, for example, now that was tough. I think I'll write quite
a bit about that dog. Heart wrenching. But since the wreck, I
can't walk, and the dog needs walks, so there is that. It would
have been cruel to keep her. So now I'm writing a story called
"The Wolf" that explains it all. In a metaphor of sorts.
You seem to embrace all things canine. Have you always? Do
you think of yourself as more dog or more wolf?
I'd be a wolf, no doubt. I have always been fascinated. I guess
the lone aspect of the wolf—at least the image, whatever the
reality—has been easy for me to identify with. I've never been
much of a joiner, and rarely do I feel I have a pack. I guess that,
and the wild, untamed aspect draw me in. Most would say I'm
quite tame, but I've always had a sense that I play by a different
set of rules. No idea why. If I was a wolf, I'd lead the howling
every night.
And dogs, where to begin. Gosh, they are such beautiful and
interesting animals. Unlike most humans, they still know how to
be wild. For them, it's instinct. For us, it is a rare moment of
drunkenness at a party. Sometimes, I think we take ourselves
much too seriously.
I identify with dogs, but the wild part in me thinks the wolf is
more available. More honest. If I go out for a hike or a jog,
which I used to be able to do anytime I wanted, there is a sense
of comfort in the wild that I feel more in tune with. Part of the
reason I'm so miserable right now is I want to go outside and
run and hike so badly I can't stand it. That brings me back to
writing. It is the only way I can express myself that makes any
sense. If I was not able to write right now, well, it would be
lights out for me.
--------------------------
"I have zero memory of
writing it. It is very strange
to have work you yourself
created and have no
memory of the creation. "
--------------------------
Tell us about the story you recently published in The Bark, the
neat, award-winning magazine about dog culture.
I love that The Bark came through, right when I needed it! The
story ["The Dogs Go Too", Sept/Oct 2009: Issue 56], which I
wrote just before my accident, is interesting for just that reason. I
have zero memory of writing it. It is very strange to have work
you yourself created and have no memory of the creation. It's
like performing a magic act and then, pulling the rabbit out of
the hat, having no idea where it came from. It seems like real
magic all of the sudden.
No idea what made me write this story, except the obvious fact
that I wrote it for my ex-wife.
What is your personal favorite story from your own body of
work?
My favorite is, by far, "Alabama." It is up on Post Road's
website. It has reminded me of who I am. The wreck made me
wonder, so my stories have helped. But Alabama seems the
most accurate. I really enjoy the pace and voice of it. It's funny,
some of it is bad memories, but I have to take it all in. If I don't,
it's not real.
It's good and bad. All of it. And sad. Reminds me of some
good friends I've lost. But it is what it is. Life.
How do you feel when you go back and read your writings
from before the wreck. How well do you connect with the you
that wrote those stories?
I am very grateful that "Alabama" exists for me to have a record
of my personality. Otherwise, it is very, very strange to read old
stories of mine. Some feel so different from the me now that I'm
not sure what inside me has changed so much to make me feel
this way.
That part is miserable. It makes me sad to think entire events of
my life, that affected me enough to drive me to write a short
story reflecting that event, are entirely erased. I don't think I'll
ever get many of those back. Strange.
So along with physical, neurological, and emotional
limitations, there is also money. What would you do if you
won 1 million dollars?
Funny you should ask that, Luna, because I got paid exactly that
much in the lawsuit I was forced to put up against the jerk who
crashed into me. I had to, of course, because of medical bills,
lawyer fees, and insurance. And then, it was practically gone.
But I had that brief fleeting moment to think hard about what I
might do. A quiet cabin in the woods with a lake and lots of
dogs.
That said, what I found to be the awful truth was that I could
have shoved that million at anyone, and still, my inability to
walk would have remained unchanged.
So money is very different for me now. It means so much less.
It is less important to me than ever before. To walk is worth
more than a house made with gold bricks.
--------------------------
"She has done nothing wrong.
She says I've changed since
the wreck and I don't know
how to fix that. "
--------------------------
To me your divorce is one of the saddest parts of the story, and
yet traumatic injuries seem to commonly tear families apart. It
is so sad that I don't really know what question to ask about
the situation, but maybe you can put the explanation for it in
your own words.
It is the saddest aspect of this entire wreck-rodeo. I hate it! We
had been so happy. It brings tears to my eyes just talking about
it. She has done nothing wrong. She says I've changed since the
wreck and I don't know how to fix that. The only thing that
makes sense to me is that she got so used to being my caretaker,
she saw me as a patient. Not a spouse. And that I understand.
Are you aware of what is healing?
I can tell as I go that I'm healing, but just not fast enough to see
changes day to day. Like I can stand up and balance now, but it
used to be such that I could not. So the main thing is going to be
balance. Perhaps the wolves that haunt me are actually giving
me my balance back. I know for a fact that when I fall, and feel
very vulnerable, I imagine a wolf growling at me, and force
myself to get up and steer clear. So in that sense, the wolves
help me by scaring me.
The performance artist Laurie Anderson says, "You're walking.
And you don't always realize it, but you're always falling.
With each step you fall forward slightly. And then catch
yourself from falling. Over and over, you're falling. And then
catching yourself from falling." I've been thinking a lot about
balance. The sense of balance, more precisely:
Equilibrioception.
Oh balance. It seems to be the heart of my problem. I have
plenty of strength to walk, but balance is another matter
entirely. I'd fall flat on my face without an aid of some kind. I
can even balance on the side of a car and get in and out just fine.
But to go into the store itself, now that is another matter.
--------------------------
"Solitude allows me to be me,
the writer. But then, without
human interaction, there would
be nothing to write about. "
--------------------------
If you fall in front of only yourself, you get frustrated, perhaps,
but usually not embarrassed. In front of others, you are, by
nature, constantly being judged. I often think solitude allows
artists to fail without embarrassment. How do you feel about
solitude?
I think solitude is maddening! And other times I crave it. Yes,
solitude allows me to be me, the writer. But then, without
human interaction, there would be nothing to write about.
I had to do a three day solo on Outward Bound while in high
school, and while good for me, it made me realize the need to be
with others. It made me whittle and doodle and whistle more
than one should. But I'll say that the need to be creative never
left me. Once you get food out of the way, you are still free to
create.
So what about self-destruction. How do you feel about it post-
wreck? How does it apply to art?
I fight it every day. It means finding reasons to go on. And post-
wreck, it has gotten pretty damn hard. But it creates a razor-
sharp wire that all artists have to negotiate. It's a part of what
creating good art is all about. You have to balance on the wire
and try like crazy to keep from falling into the abyss. But then, it
creates a tension that leads to the good stuff. That "Oh God, I'm
about to fall, but look, isn't the sky beautiful from up here?"
feeling.
We hang on as we gape upward. And not being able to walk
since the wreck, let me just say, the tension is palpable.
One final question. You know my favorite art of all is the art
of food. Has your brain reorganized your taste buds at all?
Yeah, my brain has changed eating. Example: I used to loathe
chocolate for some odd reason, but now I love it. Still love
Scotch, for better or worse.
Thank you very much for playing pterodactyl, Murray.
More about Murray Dunlap:
His website
His story "Alabama"
His story "Movie Night"
His story "The Dogs Go Too"
His story "Times I Nearly Died"
His story "I Crossed My Arms and Shook My Head"
His story "The Interpretation of Light"
His story "A Wolf in Virginia"
His anthology What Doesn't Kill You
His story "Post War Heat"
His pterodactyl:
His website
His story "Alabama"
His story "Movie Night"
His story "The Dogs Go Too"
His story "Times I Nearly Died"
His story "I Crossed My Arms and Shook My Head"
His story "The Interpretation of Light"
His story "A Wolf in Virginia"
His anthology What Doesn't Kill You
His story "Post War Heat"
His pterodactyl:
| ________________ |
| Read Murray's Story "The Black Oyster" |
