{"id":900,"date":"2012-01-10T07:00:15","date_gmt":"2012-01-10T12:00:15","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.siriuspress.com\/studio\/?p=900"},"modified":"2012-01-31T07:26:37","modified_gmt":"2012-01-31T12:26:37","slug":"the-black-dress","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.siriuspress.com\/studio\/2012\/01\/the-black-dress\/","title":{"rendered":"The Black Dress"},"content":{"rendered":"

By Roz Morris. Twitter:\u00a0@ByRozMorris<\/a><\/p>\n

\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by Roz Morris \/ Photo editing by Terrabyte Graphics<\/p><\/div>\n

Deleted Scene from “My Memories of a Future Life,” by Roz Morris<\/h1>\n

This is a scene I wanted to include in my novel My Memories of a Future Life<\/em>. Briefly, the narrator is a musician who is injured, and is clinging to the hope that rest will cure her. In the early part of the novel she is making bargains with fate—if she rests, the universe will give her back her playing and her life.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t want to delete this from the book, but I had other scenes that made the same point. When I\u2019m in final revisions I cut ruthlessly. I frequently ditch material that is perfectly good, and that includes scenes that I\u2019m in love with. It takes discipline and soul-searching, but by that stage the story has a will of its own that overrides my ego. It doesn\u2019t listen to me wail that I liked a scene. It is ruled by an overall rhythm of event, event, event; onwards, onwards, onwards. If a scene circles over already trodden ground, something must go.<\/p>\n

So this is a scene I cut reluctantly. I liked its simplicity, the tiny slice it showed of a musician\u2019s life and the totemic responsibility Carol put into one garment. In real life it was inspired by a family heirloom—another tug for the heartstrings, although that matters to no one but me. Even though it didn\u2019t make it to the page, I like to think she still did it, off screen in the moments we didn\u2019t see.<\/p>\n

~~*~~<\/p>\n

The house was quiet. On the coat rack next to the door was a dress in dry-cleaner\u2019s wrappers. A Post-it note was stuck to the cellophane, scrawled with Jerry\u2019s flamboyant script.<\/p>\n

Picked this up for you. The dry cleaners were about to give it to Oxfam.<\/em>
\n<\/em>
\nThe dress was black velvet, three-quarter length. A\u00a0performance dress. Classical musicians have a bizarre working wardrobe; you wear what you like for rehearsals, but performances demand formal wear. For the women it had to be black, with a modest neckline, a skirt at least nine inches below the knee. It was a constant battle to find clothes that obeyed those rules and weren\u2019t funereal.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d found this dress\u00a0in Camden Lock market three weeks ago. I wouldn’t have been there if I’d been playing, but I was out roaming London on another tour of nothing. The dress was on a rail between pseudo-Victorian nightgowns and mangy fur tippets. It was unloved—the seam split on one side; the other side fastened only by ancient press studs which left an alarming glimpse of flesh underneath. But the other seams were tough enough for a performance. The velvet was silk and the pile so fine it hung from my shoulders like liquid. I took it to the cleaners and discussed repairing it and putting in a zip. They warned me it would take a few weeks. That was fine, I said.<\/p>\n

I left it there. It would count the days for me. I imagined picking it up on my way back from the hospital and carrying it over the threshold. I’d try it on; we’d nod at each other in the mirror. New start.<\/p>\n

Now I didn’t even lift the cellophane to see if they\u2019d done a good job. I threw it straight in the wardrobe and shut the door.<\/p>\n

~~*~~<\/p>\n

\n

Keys to the Future (Compliments of Q2 Music<\/a>)<\/h3>\n

Live from Abrons Arts Center on May 25th, 2011<\/h4>\n

Jenny Chai<\/strong>, piano: Gy\u00f6rgy Ligeti’s\u00a0Two Etudes.<\/em><\/p>\n

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