Jodi MacArthur breaks the rules. No, you know what? - breaking means a conscious decision; Jodi writes - as is. I wholeheartedly agree and concur. She spasms in and out of earthly reality, sniggering and teasing with probing words.
Me and Jodi lingered about each others' periphery for a while but it was only last year that I suddenly became afraid I had lost her. Her writing is completely unique. I adore the mythology in her work, imbued as it is with eroticism and wildness, plus an extraordinary delivery, that only she can achieve.
Whether she's pirating on the high seas with her Wicked Woman's Booty or questioning the Gods, Jodi MacArthur's fiction is bliss. I want to own it, possess it, hold it in my hands and flick through its pages. It's coming - uh huh - and I want the first signed copy.
Art is a letter of regret, of accusation. Within it, Jodi MacArthur says what is only right.
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Art by Jodi MacArthur
*Originally published in Full Of Crow October 2009
Dear Saul,
You have no idea how much I've missed our meetings. And although I can't stand you, can't bear to be with you, somewhere, deep inside, I have this sick obsession with the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, the way your hair flops over your ears when you tilt your head to listen. I'd like to say this isn't difficult, but it is. And I don't even have to tell you for you to know that. You sick puppy.
Do you have any idea what it’s like to feel cut up on the inside as well as the outside? Blood blooms on my wrists as I write. Some call it suicide. I call it art. My masterpiece. Each petal, each thorn carved to perfection.
My last painting on canvas, I’d chosen one word and left it dripping in Sepia. I mixed Scarlett with Serpent-Green and swirled them until the word was invisible. At our meeting, I thought you’d be thrilled. Instead you told me the economy was slow and you’d have to let go of the best. I watched your lips lie to me, like I knew they would. The canvas represented you and I, Saul. Why didn’t you see that? The truth is hidden in lies. That is why I chose the word liar.
The truth, dear Saul, is that you couldn’t afford your wife to find out. She’s sitting on a green inheritance. Remember? You told me last fall while we moved against Merlot sheets and October frost.
You want to cut my commission and trash my work? Fine.
People will remember me. They will remember you. Amongst the thorns and perfect slashes on this canvas of skin, I’ve carved your name. My own life’s paint has sacrificed itself in your name.
You disgraced me. And soon, I suspect, your wife will disgrace you.
All The Best,
Amy
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Bio:
You have no idea how much I've missed our meetings. And although I can't stand you, can't bear to be with you, somewhere, deep inside, I have this sick obsession with the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, the way your hair flops over your ears when you tilt your head to listen. I'd like to say this isn't difficult, but it is. And I don't even have to tell you for you to know that. You sick puppy.
Do you have any idea what it’s like to feel cut up on the inside as well as the outside? Blood blooms on my wrists as I write. Some call it suicide. I call it art. My masterpiece. Each petal, each thorn carved to perfection.
My last painting on canvas, I’d chosen one word and left it dripping in Sepia. I mixed Scarlett with Serpent-Green and swirled them until the word was invisible. At our meeting, I thought you’d be thrilled. Instead you told me the economy was slow and you’d have to let go of the best. I watched your lips lie to me, like I knew they would. The canvas represented you and I, Saul. Why didn’t you see that? The truth is hidden in lies. That is why I chose the word liar.
The truth, dear Saul, is that you couldn’t afford your wife to find out. She’s sitting on a green inheritance. Remember? You told me last fall while we moved against Merlot sheets and October frost.
You want to cut my commission and trash my work? Fine.
People will remember me. They will remember you. Amongst the thorns and perfect slashes on this canvas of skin, I’ve carved your name. My own life’s paint has sacrificed itself in your name.
You disgraced me. And soon, I suspect, your wife will disgrace you.
All The Best,
Amy
___________________________________________________
Bio:
Jodi MacArthur talks to the cactus on her roof under a full moon and then she writes on skin. She wonders if you’ll lend her yours, you can contact or read more at www.jodimacarthur.blogspot.com
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No, Jodi, you can't have my skin, because I'm scared of what you'd write there. Like this -- what is there and not there, the conscious decision not to spell out everything, while leaving it obvious and bloody.
ReplyDeleteViolent, colorful imagery -- this captures the passion of an artist on the precipice.
Jodi, this is heartbreaking. Revenge aside, it's such a waste that I can't see past it. There is a beauty to her words, like a candle flaring brighter before it goes out, but the tragedy of giving in just makes this story emotionally crushing. Great writing. If that's the only way she had out, you handled it wonderfully.
ReplyDelete"Merlot sheets and October frost."
ReplyDeletePerfection.
Lily, what can I say to a hawt intro like that. Damn. Thank YOU. Not just for the showcasing, but for the strong support since I started living between, um, hemispheres of time and space. <3
ReplyDeleteRs- Rawr!
Chris ~ Thank yuo. It's been a few years since I wrote this. When I wasn't able to complete a fresh piece in time for FFF, I pulled this one up. I immediately recognized the voice. It startled me. Amy has resurrected from the dead. Her name starts with the letter H. ;-)
Cathy ~ Thank you, Hon!
Thank you for the comments everybody. Have a Delicious Valentines.
Humour, eroticism and the art of "show, don't tell". They're all there. I've found out in the last twenty odd years as my taste literature has fine-tuned a little bit that I can't stand writing that is not facetious at the same time. A writer who has no fun writing, shouldn't write at all. Jodi, you rock! And as for disagreeing with me, well, who cares? :-)
ReplyDeleteGreetings from London.
Jodi, that was heartbreaking, emotional and brilliant! The writing was excellent!
ReplyDeleteHappy Valentines Day!
It's payback time! Top.
ReplyDeleteEmotional, I echo what David says. Well done Jodi.
ReplyDeletebrilliant piece of deeply disturbing writing. Loved it.
ReplyDeleteJodi - beautifully written! Used and discarded -clearly, this is a blistering revenge setting out to totally destroy your character's lover!
ReplyDeleteA sinister tale of betrayal and revenge. I wonder if he knew what he was getting himself into to? Brilliant.
ReplyDeleteI loved the letter format and the imagery you used. It was original and disturbing, and like the best stories it felt as if there was a novel's worth of material in there!
ReplyDeleteYou are wicked, dark, and delightful! There is so much emotion in here, and as creepy as writing on the skin is, that is horror in its best! Lots of beauutiful details in this, like this one - "You told me last fall while we moved against Merlot sheets and October frost."
ReplyDeleteGreat letter, Jodi Mac. I hope she sent it before her art dried.
That was def the best method of revenge I have ever heard of. Saul is fucked, and I'm psyched.
ReplyDeleteThank you so, so much everyone.
ReplyDeleteReads like a better class of nightmares.
ReplyDelete"Blood blooms on my wrists as I write". Such imagery is sublime. An ultimate revenge which is beautifully written and underscored with a perfectly calm tone. This is not unlike a harrowing number I wrote for Thrillers Killers 'n' Chillers. Well done.
ReplyDeleteThis was a class above a lot of writing in this style I've read in the past. It balanced on a fine line between poetry and realism that made it cut without being flowery and imbued beauty without blunting the edge.
ReplyDeleteFantastic work.
Wicked Jodi. So concise and stirring.
ReplyDeleteSean
Cathy pointed out my favourite phrase. This is crushing, beauty and dispair. I love the touch of her signing "all the best".
ReplyDeleteNice work as usual Jodi ..You continue to err, stimulate me. Great stuff...
ReplyDelete“My own life’s paint has sacrificed itself in your name.” Delicious! Such violent passion, such insane determination -- a joy to read!
ReplyDeleteOhh, this one gave me the goosebumps, chills and everything else! Fantastic work, Jodi!
ReplyDeleteJodi always delivers - no exception here - love it all over again..
ReplyDeleteGreat stuff Jodi as always. The sick and the deluded gather in chains bring on Otto Dix.
ReplyDelete