Johnny Heart’s Tattoo

Maude had to wait for ten minutes so Johnny Heart could live forever on her arm.

Johnny had tattoos, he had plenty of them, but then he could: he was with the circus. It was almost required to have them there. Everyone she met at Morris Brother’s Circus had them, even women. Maude started to think about the ones on Johnny’s chest. She remembered the night when she counted twenty, each was in the shape of a heart with ribbons threading through them. Inside the wavy bands a name or a word was written. Her favorite was the rose bud that looked as if it was about to open. Curling from below his right elbow over his left shoulder, a snake twisted, green scaled with a red split tongue extending its length with a small v behind Johnny’s neck. Maude had never seen such a handsome man; his salty smell reminded her of the ocean.

“Okay, girly, it’s been ten minutes. Have you decided?”

“Yes, I’m ready. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Since my friend is here, I’m going to do it now.”

The man stepped back and looked at Jewel, making her feel uncomfortable.

“Do I know you, girly?”

“No, I just have one of those familiar faces.”

“Humph, look at theses stencils. Here are the letters and size I suggest, but if you want to look around and pick out your own be my guest. As you’re coming in here and I’m the expert, these here are what I’d call lady sizes and what I’d recommend. Take em or pick your own.”

Looking around the shop, Maude viewed the stencils hanging all over the walls, pictures of animals, women and almost anything a customer could imagine. Stacked carelessly on a shelf, stained with black circles and drips, pots of colored inks waited. Two swiveling chairs and one lone table, where more complicated work was done, filled the floor space. Maude thumbed through the tablet, agreeing to go with what was offered.

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Fact or Fiction

“Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t.” – Mark Twain

Autobiography, Memoir or Fictional Memoir?

An autobiography tells the story of a life, a memoir tells a story from a life with touchstone events and turning points. Relying on memory, well, you know how that goes.

We remember what we want to or how we want to.  There is the saying that there are three sides to every story: mine, yours and the truth. Memory is often a liar.

Is there such a genre as Fictional Memoir?  I think so.  Here’s a list of famous fictional memoirs according to goodreads. 

So why is there a picture of a trapeze artist attached to this post? She is Erma Ward and she could fly.

My grandmother was in the circus = Fact

She had TEX tattooed on her arm = Fact

She saw Erma Ward fly = Fiction

“ I will make it okay. Everything is possible, see—look at Erma, she just lets go. You have to believe.”  – From The Last Daughter of Elizabeth Light