Teasing: The second best part

Esther3 Comments
Ironworks over Chicago River

To date, I have attempted five rounds of National Novel Writing Month. I’ve been a winner twice, which came at the heels of a solid month of no socializing; even my parents know I’m usually doing something that requires alone time during Thanksgiving. Last year I decided to stop, because while quickly writing 50,000 or more words of a story you’ve been idly dreaming up is incredibly satisfying, it’s also a recipe for six months of burnout, at least for me.

However, I will always be grateful to NaNo for slapping my fear of the blank page out of me. It’s done marvels for pushing me to stare down a new document and put some words on it. One of the reasons I started “Innogen and the Hungry Half” was because I wanted a big project, something that’s been thin on the ground for me this year. I’m thrilled to share that the first chapter should, barring catastrophic edits, be up for your delectation early next week. (Even if the edits are catastrophic, I’m one of those nerds who lives for editing. I love it. It’s like a puzzle for me.)

As I geared up for putting those first sentences on the page, I could feel NaNo roaring away in the back of my head. It sounded like Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song”: Valhalla, I am coming! I’d spent weeks thrashing out reams of notes, going in circles, unable to get the shape of the thing. I tried starting in about three different places, none of them right. In the end, it meant sitting in my chair and telling myself over and over and over again that it didn’t have to be perfect, not yet. On the first day, I got about 500 good words (which became 700 around bedtime, because naturally that’s when lines start to flow); on the second, 700 more. Yesterday, I did a full-on 1700. NaNo has trained me well.

Now, of course, the real work comes, because while I’ve had the beginning minutely envisioned for a while, the lumpy middle now stretches before me. Now comes the fun part! (She says, semi-wretchedly, laughing as she does so.)

In the spirit of experimentation, and also of my love for previews, teasers and trailers, I’m kicking off what should be a weekly feature, in which you all get a glimpse of what’s going into the writing and — oh yes — the seat-of-my-pants research. (Wikipedia, let me love you.)

One song


“One Beat” by Sleater-Kinney [lyrics]

I worked at a student coffee shop in college, and a group on constant rotation with one particular cohort was Sleater-Kinney. I hated them as much as they hated my Bjork, but this track redeemed the shift every time. It’s fierce and beautiful and it’s either about nuclear energy or fractal geometry. Either way, it’s a great thematic pace-setter, which I hope, in a story about Shakespeare, makes you curious!

Two links
I’m a nerd, but I have some big gaps in my knowledge base. The largest of these is anything to do with Ancient Rome. I’ll blame learning to read on Asterix comics: I could never root for the empire! Luckily for me, I not only have Classics-nerd friends to pester for help, if it comes to that, but I also have Roman-Britain.org. It’s not snazzy, but it is informative. I came for the Latin abbreviations (which I find fascinating!), I stayed for the lifeline to world-building.

Another gap in my knowledge base: steampunk everything. I’m skimming through a lot on Tesla coils and the Great Exhibition of 1851, but one of the neatest sidetracks has been learning about early animation — specifically, the praxinoscope. It’s a one-off detail in the story, but I really like how it looks. There’s something sort of eerie and dreamlike and lovely about it.

And, because YouTube contains all things: yes, it comes in the steam-powered flavor too.

Three lines

“But is that life? The most vital connections come to us by speech, which cannot be touched, even if it can be felt.

“I propose a future cut like the Gordian knot.”

So that’s that! Intrigued? I very much hope so. Again, barring catastrophe or natural disaster, the first chapter should be up early next week. You don’t have to know anything about steampunk or Cymbeline to enjoy the story, though of course, if you’d like to read the play, MIT has the full text available for free online. For a lighter, quick summary, you can watch the short video linked at the bottom of this post. I assure you the original text is exactly that ridiculous, wonderful and strange.

Hope you all have a marvelous weekend — catch on the flip side, chapter in hand!

Not entirely swanlike

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I’m feeling a bit swanlike over here these days — not in the sense that I’m graceful, or secretly vicious and cranky, but in the sense of appearing to just float when in fact I’m furiously paddling. Is that swans? It might be ducks. As you can see, I’m consumed with big questions.

When I’m not banging my head against my outline for “Innogen and the Hungry Half,” I’m trying to come up with ways to provide background on the project for my readers. I don’t expect everyone coming in to know anything about Cymbeline, one of Shakespeare’s more obscure plays, and even I don’t have all the answers when it comes to explaining steampunk. True fact: for about five minutes at the end of college, when I was desperately grasping for some idea of a career to pursue, I thought I might be interested in dramaturgy. I sought out some theater internships, though the one I got was in New Works, which may have been right for me anyway. Anyway, I believe one of the responsibilities a storyteller has is to teach the audience about the story and how to read it. In the story itself, this comes from good world-building, but since this is the internet, I’m also kind of excited to put together some subject guides for the curious. (Anything that gets more people to read my secret favorite play!)

Some of this means to turning to my friends, who are a collective of riches in every respect. When I talk to people outside my general group about this story, I find that very few of them have heard of steampunk, probably because not everyone is, like me, on the internet for most of their waking hours. I could send them to Tor’s Steampunk Week page, which ends today, or the fantastic and fascinating Beyond Victoriana. I could try and ramble about pseudo-Victorian alternate histories and how the most interesting of these stories deconstruct and subvert power structures and conventions. Or I could go with one friend’s quip that steampunk is what happens when goths discover brown. In the end, I’m still learning myself, and while the decision to set “Innogen” in a steampunk universe is a conscious one, maybe I’d be better served writing that essay when the story is already out there.

These are the things I think about! I’m also in the process of trying to explain Cymbeline in a straightforward manner, because it’s one of Shakespeare’s most ridiculous, overwrought plots, and that’s partly why I adore it. Wikipedia actually has a fairly good rundown, but really, if you want to appreciate how gloriously convoluted this play is, take ten minutes with this fantastic video from The Geeky Blonde:

If you liked that, one of the reasons it’s been a bit quieter over here (other than my constant scheming about this story) is that I’ve been playing around with Tumblr and Twitter a little more. I am definitely looking for more ways to interact with people and share neat things I’ve found, so if you’ve got an account at either or both sites, I would love to hear from you. The Tumblr especially is a great adjunct to this site, because it’s such a great curatorial tool for finding nifty things around the web. Some of my favorites so far include street art from around the world, real airship hotels shaped like whales, real places that shouldn’t exist, one hundred years of fashion in 100 seconds and any number of stories I would like to read or write.

So yes, please keep in touch! Things are fairly churning behind the curtain, even if I’m mixing metaphors there, and you might even get some nifty Magpie & Whale goodies before they make it over here, if they do it at all. Hey, it’s happened before! Hope to see you around, lovelies. Esther signing off.

Tumblr: magpieandwhale.tumblr.com
Twitter: @magpiewhale

Recursive inanity; or, Jonathan Franzen, you are wrong

Esther7 Comments

If you were hanging around Twitter when I woke up this morning, you may have seen me get extremely grumpy about a quote from Jonathan Franzen. “Write in the third person,” he says, according to @AdviceToWriters, “unless a really distinctive first-person voice offers itself irresistibly.”

Having just rolled out of bed, I responded in the normal, reasonable way: by getting huffy.

@magpiewhale Not going to lie, this makes me want to write first person out of spite and make it amazing. POV “standards” just. That irritates me.

@magpiewhale Pardon my mulishness, I just woke up. But issuing quips on what you should default to unless you’re extraordinary limits experimentation.

@magpiewhale Not to mention discovery! So I say ignore Franzen and try anything. You’ll figure out what works for your stories.

As I thought about it later, I began to wonder if perhaps I’d skewed Franzen’s meaning a little. Perhaps he’s not being as condescending as he sounds, I thought. Maybe he isn’t speaking to the audience I assume he is, i.e., burgeoning writers. I’ve never read his work, and given the unbearable hype (and boorish subject matter, from what I see of reviews), I don’t actually plan to do so. But I do know how acclaimed he is, for whatever reason, and that his word supposedly carries a note of authority.

Either way, being prescriptive about point of view is irritating and limiting, I feel. As I said in my tweets, artists need to feel free to experiment. If “poorly done” first person is so offensive to a delicate reader’s eye, they’re free to walk away and the writer is free to learn from the experience.

I kept mulling it over, though. And the more I considered the statement, the more inane I found it — because any writer who is exploring a character finds that voice distinctive and irresistible. That’s why they’re using that voice, whatever the POV. The interest is inherent.

All that said, the incident has convinced me of two things. One, I am free from any obligation to read Mr. Franzen’s work. Two, I am thoroughly pleased with my now firm decision to try “Innogen and the Hungry Half” in the first person. It’s not a perspective I use very often, but I look forward to pushing myself with it.

As I congratulate myself for using the word “free” so much in this post, in homage to Mr. Franzen’s latest opus, I have to laugh at myself too. I may disagree with this little bon mot, but in the end, I’m no more authoritative than he is.

eta: Late this evening, @AdviceToWriters posted a different quote that I think is much, much more useful and inclusive.

There are so many different kinds of writing and so many ways to work that the only rule is this: do what works. Almost everything has been tried and found to succeed for somebody. The methods, even the ideas, of successful writers contradict each other in a most heartening way, and the only element I find common to all successful writers is persistence—an overwhelming determination to succeed.

SOPHY BURNHAM

“But clay and clay differs in dignity / Whose dust is both alike.”

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I’ve been moping for almost a month now about how I need a new project. The novels are nonstarters, the art is thwarting me and even my resolution to take advantage of Chicago’s cultural offerings hasn’t entirely stuck.

The solution is simple, then: conceive of something straightforward yet grandiose, announce it in front of the whole world, and commit to do it in full view of the public. I would like to try writing a serialized novella, and to post it on a regular schedule here. Since coming to this conclusion on Sunday evening, I’ve been riding the wave of joyous certainty that comes from having a project to plan. I’ve decided to attempt a story I meant to write but never did: a “fork,” if you will, of William Shakespeare’s Cymbeline, set in a steampunk universe.

I’ve never written steampunk before. Truth be told, I haven’t read much either. But I’ve got about five pages of notes, as seen in the illustration above, and I’m ready for an adventure. The story is called “Innogen and the Hungry Half,” which I hope intrigues you, and keeps you coming back for more. Posts will go up at least once (and I’m hoping twice) a week, probably on Tuesdays and Fridays, and I very much hope it becomes a participatory experience. (Translation: I love to hear from you, hi!) You can always find me on Twitter (@magpiewhale), and you can also now follow me on Tumblr (magpieandwhale, shockingly). (I really love Tumblr; I had a post all planned about how cool it is, especially for a site with “magpie” in the title. Then, appropriately enough, I got a bit distracted.)

So that’s it! If you’re totally unfamiliar with Cymbeline, that shouldn’t be a problem with this story, as it takes place before the events of the play. If you’d like to read the play, MIT has the entire text available for free; it is an amazing, hilarious, over-the-top late romance, in which Shakespeare steals liberally from every play he’s written thus far and parodies quite a lot of it, I think. If you’d like a brief trailer to whet your appetite, Cheek By Jowl has very helpfully provided such a thing, featuring the love of my life (who incidentally plays Posthumus and Cloten), Tom Hiddleston.

This double casting of the two male leads is actually what spurred the idea for the story in the first place. I hope to have a lot of conversations about this stuff as this project moves along. For now, though, I’ll leave it here, along with a plea to recommend your favorite Tumblrs to follow — including, if you wish, your own! Happy Monday, folks, and see you shortly in fair Lud’s-town.

Esther by genre

Esther2 Comments

Elphine, a character in Stella Gibbons’ Cold Comfort Farm, spends her days dancing in fields, dressing in fanciful costumes and generally gadding about like a sprite of the woods. She also announces to the heroine, Flora Poste, that she writes poetry. Flora, being the wry Jazz Age society girl (and would-be author) that she is, discourages publicizing such a hobby, particularly to men. Myself, I prefer the opposite tack. If a fella can’t grok that I’m a writer and reader of weird things, we probably wouldn’t get along in the long term anyway.

My OKCupid profile announces near the top that I enjoy writing hard-to-categorize genre fiction. Last week, for the first time, someone sent me a message using that as his hook. How would I categorize my fiction, given the chance? I haven’t yet taken him up on the opportunity to explain in person, but I did start thinking about how I could break down my preferences in an easy-to-digest format.

This won’t be about steampunk or dystopias or paranormal romance. All I know for certain is that I consider myself a fantasy writer: it’s the broadest category that’s always made me happiest. My caveat is that I’m not generally invested in Tolkienesque sword-and-sorcery: my definitive introductory fantasy text wasn’t Lord of the Rings, but Redwall, which took me in some different directions. (As a sidebar, I’m the heretic who adores Peter Jackson’s movies but is bored by the books, save for The Silmarillion, which many people find impenetrable.) I tend to think there’s an internal logic to my genres. Here are my top five.

1. Epics. Blame this on Homer. The bigger and meatier the story, the more I can get lost in the world, the more I love it. The experience of immersing myself in something else entirely is one of the reasons I read and write. Quest stories in particular are really delightful to me, and given that I wrote reams of Redwall and Odyssey spinoffs as a kid, it’s no surprise to me that I have a hard time assembling novels in which the protagonists stay put.

2. Myth, folk tales and fairy tales. There’s something so fascinating to me about authorless stories that everyone within a culture knows. I love how potently these stories become connective tissue within a society, and I’m always impressed by how the telling of these stories is such an important part of the story itself. These are narratives as an act of power, and they change so much in relation to who tells them. That dynamism never stops moving me; I always want to engage.

3. Magical realism. I loved this genre for a long time before I knew the term for it. I’ve always been attracted to the tone and atmosphere of a story where everything seems normal except for one particular thing, or where something becomes literalized — cities are people, books are alive, God is dead and needs to be towed out to sea. The scale of magical realist stories is something I also find inviting: it can be as far-reaching or as personal as you wish.

4. Literary derivations. Two of my ongoing projects are radical reinterpretations of Shakespeare plays — not just retellings from another perspective, but taking those characters and their lives and putting them somewhere entirely new. I’m also working on a version of the Odyssey actually set in space, with all the considerations for psychology and culture that a modern audience demands. I honestly think the value of reinterpreting texts and engaging with them through storytelling cannot be overstated, no matter what the text.

5. Pastiche. I recently finished a story told in the style and conventions of a Jane Austen novel, and it was the most fun I’ve had writing in a long, long time. In the same sense that poetry with strict stylistic requirements gives poets a framework to break and play with, so too does taking on a voice decidedly not your own. The writing can just flow once you’ve figured out the style. It’s a neat way of combining elements of improv and collage, in that you’re operating within a character more than dictating it, and that you’re playing with juxtaposition and combination.

As I look these over, the pattern I notice is how much I’m into reframing and world-building. Perhaps these aren’t as immediately marketable as “werewolf novel” or “deconstructing superheroes” (both of which I love dearly, don’t get me wrong!), but I find I’m not really nervous about that. Like Elphine, I know what I like, and when the time comes, if I can spoil the ending of Cold Comfort Farm a little, I’m confident I can land a guy — or an agent, knock on wood! — who gets that.

Don’t postpone joy.

Esther1 Comment

I don’t remember whether it was for my birthday or for Christmas or some other occasion, but once upon a time a friend of mine gave me a do-it-yourself henna tattoo kit. It was a perfect gift for me, and I was really excited to use it. But I had this notion in my head, that it had to be used at the right time. I looked at the contents once, then put it in a closet, to use when I had an out-of-town friend staying over, maybe, or when I was with someone really dear to me.

The henna tattoo kit stayed in my closet for a long time. I always meant to use it, but somehow the time was never special enough. It wasn’t just something I could do one afternoon because I was bored; this was a present, and ought to be used accordingly. Of course, when I finally did open the package again and test it out – I don’t remember why – the ingredients had degraded, and all I got was a vaguely line-shaped splotch on the back of my hand.

Perfectionism has always been a thing with me, but I never knew the word applied until high school. On the one hand, it makes me incredibly pleased with the work I finish; on the other, it means it takes me a long time to finish just about anything, and even longer to start it. I have an ongoing deal with myself to try and be more satisfied with middle stages and messiness and uncertainty, with not insisting that I choose the timing of every moment of my life. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. I try and take it as it comes.

I delay gratification a lot, often for really obscure reasons. Lately I’ve been bribing myself more, to just enjoy things as they come and not soldier on under the promise that someday I’ll deserve something nice for myself. Recently I bought a pair of what are quite possibly the raddest shoes I’ve ever owned, as a birthday present. Just last night I finally cashed in on a new iPod, which I hope will help with my Couch to 5K runs. Last week I attended my first class at StoryStudio, a writing center I’ve been wanting to explore for ages and never quite justified actually doing. (In going through some old emails, I discovered that I’d been on StoryStudio’s mailing list since March 2007, the month I moved back to Chicago. That feels satisfyingly bookend-y, in its way.) The class was on radio essays, and it was an excellent experience on a lot of levels.

My present to myself is feeling like Cab Calloway whenever I want.

This morning on the train, I found myself thinking of the Berenstain Bears. There was a particular book in which Brother and Sister Bear have to knock on the door of a frightening-looking house at the end of a neighborhood street. A witch lives there, or possibly just a mean old woman. Of course, once they do knock on her door, she turns out to be a lovely person who takes them under her wing, and they become friends. I’m not saying that I’m a perfectionist because I’m scared of trying new things, but it is a good reminder that trying new things, and being good to yourself, and not worrying quite so much about whether your experiences will be just as you plan or expect, is a good habit to cultivate.

It’s been a long couple of months since Magpie & Whale was active. A lot has happened, and a lot continues to happen, but nothing has stopped, nor should it. That’s something else I’m working on. Welcome to the flip side, friends. Nice to see you again.

If the Black-Eyed Peas don’t do me in first

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Admission: It has been a little quiet here. (Not as quiet as I’d like, though: I cannot get “Boom Boom Pow” out of my head, as anyone following my Twitter feed may have noticed.) My schedule got a little hectic, and with a family wedding coming up, it’s likely to get even more so. I’m still here, though, and making plots and plans. I have a backlog of creative stuff to get through, not to mention my hilarious list of projects that I’d love to be working on all at once. (Seriously, what’s with this “You need an income” thing? Where are the extra hours in the day?)

 

My project to-do list, the rabbit included

On the plus side, I had a fantastic weekend visit with a very dear friend from out of town, Fringe just got a fourth season, and these hot hot shoes came in the mail for me on Tuesday. So it’s not a total wash. I’m supposed to be taking it easy this weekend, which hopefully will translate into words on paper. I’ll take a note from the ever-excellent Stan Lee: Excelsior!

 

Professional identity: Available in bulk

Esther2 Comments

“Do you have a card?”

It was last Saturday, and it was the first time I’d ever been asked that question in earnest. I was at the Chicago Creative Expo, a day of workshops, vendors and networking in the Loop’s amazing Chicago Cultural Center. If you live in this city, you may also know that last Saturday was the St. Patrick’s Day parade. There were very nearly brawls, at least on my end (I don’t care how cool you are, drinking Busch Light on the Brown Line at 11 AM on a Saturday is not my idea of a good time). But once I made it through the throng of green, my grumpiness at waking up early on a Saturday disappeared entirely.

The booth guide said that more than 140 vendors took part in the event, which I more than believe. The energy of so many creative people, who take their creativity and passions in so many directions, all in one place, was thrilling. Not only did I get a gigantic bag of swag (by which I mean more brochures, leaflets and cards than I know what to do with), but I got to talk with dozens of amazing individuals and learn about the ways Chicago’s arts community lives, works and grows. (I’d love to highlight some of them here in the near future. Stay tuned.)

If I had been thinking ahead, I might have gone into this with more of an agenda. I might also have worn a nicer-looking outfit. But I just wanted to fact-find, and get on some mailings lists, so I came in jeans and a t-shirt and totally without a plan. “Hi!” I said, over and over again. “What do you do?” It’s a great opening line, and it started a lot of good conversations. But, occasionally, the topic turned back on me.

“Are you an artist?” the vendor would ask.

If the booth was about painting or dance or crafts, I would hem and haw. “I’m not a visual artist, but I’d love to learn more” was my go-to response. That was how I moved through most of the upper floors. On the ground floor, however, I found my people.

“Are you a writer?”

“Yes,” I said, and it felt really good.

“Are you published?”

“No,” I said, and that felt a little less good. “I’m working on some drafts. I want to be really proud of them first.” To a few, I mentioned Magpie & Whale, and that got a really pleasing spark of interest. Then came the question: Do you have a card?

It had never occurred to me to get a business card for my creative work. Never in a million years. However, I love collecting creative business cards. If I’m ever at, say, the Renegade Craft Fair or an art fair of any kind, I generally take home forty or fifty vendor cards to look up later online. If I order something on Etsy and the seller includes a card, I’m thrilled. I love them as little portable expressions of a person’s work.

What I realized was that, for all my talk about how I want to be a storyteller, how this is the real work I want to do with my life, in a way I wasn’t taking it seriously. Many a writing blogger, for instance, will talk about how much work and sheer elbow grease you need to accomplish when crafting or selling a book, to which I nod along and assume that comes later. But you know what, it turns out that’s not something that I only get to do when I’m a “real” writer, because I’m a real writer now. No more waiting to be anointed by a publisher: I’m a real writer now!

Still, holy cats, if I’m a real writer, doesn’t that mean I need a real business card? How much do I need to do? I could go for letterpress — people really like letterpress. Heck, this place has some options for $95 — a steal! Or maybe I could buy some stamps and make my own — people love that personal touch! Summer Pierre just got some great ones made, and as you can see in this post, Moo is highly addictive browsing. And yikes, maybe a business card is overkill — I’m a real writer now, but maybe a minicard is more suitable at this juncture. Maybe?

Hang on, says my voice of reason. Didn’t we just go over this? Yes, yes we did. Business cards are convenient ways to spread the word about one’s work, but the work is still the most important thing. I keep noting to myself that for all the ideas I get for the creative responses on this site, I’m still working on actually carrying them out. Consistency is what’s going to keep this venture going, as with any project or skill that needs practice.

So, no business cards just yet, even if they are really cool. But hey, the big red bag of swag is still full of treasure. And you’d better believe I got some ideas for neat promotions. I’m trying to stay focused and not get too ahead of myself.

Still, is it ever too early to dream? There’s a rhetorical question for the ages. “Do you have a card?” the vendor will say, and I’ll smile, and take one from a very nifty carrying case, and I’ll say, “Yes. Yes, I sure do.”

The Public, In Transit

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I’ve lived in Chicago long enough that being in the city itself can get a little mundane. Granted, I still choose my seat on trains and buses depending on the view I’ll get, and I continue to be giddyinlove with this place, but finding new things takes closer observation now.

Truth be told, most of that closer observation leads me to people. I’ve had some amazing people-watching over the past few weeks. This city is great. I love that this is all nonfiction.

Restaurant, Wrigleyville
A mother and a daughter (I’d put them around 60 and 28) at the next table have already finished their meal when I sit down. They do not stop talking for love or money. Apparently the daughter is having some sort of apartment trouble, and the unit isn’t warm enough for her to be in at the moment. Regardless of context, the mother keeps saying, over and over again, “They would never do that in Wisconsin.” I hear all about the different places the daughter has lived, including Mexico and New York, what trouble the daughter has with remembering to pay bills, and trips to visit relatives. The mother is content to only respond with her thoughts on how unlike Wisconsin every other place is. By the time I’m done with my meal, they’re still talking and haven’t moved from their seats, though they’ve had their coats on for at least half an hour.

Coffee shop, State Street
There’s a girl, 14 or 15 at the outside, and already strikingly beautiful. She’s still young, despite the ankle-length black coat she won’t take off. It’s a great coat, and it really sets her apart from the group of early teen friends she’s here with – she’s obviously staked out her place as the smart, edgy one, and she carries herself with a wonderful self-possession and confidence. To me, this coat is the kind you buy because a character in a book or a comic you love has one. To my untrained eye, it seems like a manga costume, more dramatic than practical. As fabulous as this girl looks, though, she’s got white gym sneakers peeking out from under the hem of the coat. It endears her tremendously to me. I want to compliment her, for her great coat and on her sartorial future, but I don’t want to be weird.

Brown line, North Center
The two blonde girls in front of me are reading the same YA book together. Their shoulders and the fake fur ruffs on their hoods shake as they laugh silently at the text. One has a brown coat and a brown-and-white scarf; the other has a white coat and a brown-and-tan Elmer Fudd hat, with polka-dots. As we head south, they giggle more and more, but otherwise they don’t exchange a word. They even turn the pages just by checking in with each other. I wish I could see the title of the book, but they’re shoulder to shoulder, doing their own thing.

Brown line, Lincoln Park
This older couple is sitting together, holding hands. He’s a big man, bald on top, with a very expressive face. His hands are huge compared to hers, but also expressive. She’s wearing a bolero hat and keeps her gray hair long and loose. They’re not making a big deal of it: they carry on a conversation and look out the windows, but they’re still holding hands. Despite being on a late afternoon train, they’re very intimate and comfortable. I try not to catch the husband’s eye while I’m watching; the wife is with her own thoughts, and doesn’t look my way. They get off at the stop before mine. He follows her, carrying her tote.