Why All the Secrecy?

Folks keep secrets for lots of reasons. The way I’ve tried to help my kids understand the distinction between secrecy and privacy is that privacy is about protecting someone from discomfort or pain of embarrassment, whereas secrecy is about perpetuating harm or bad behavior without being caught or stopped. That’s not the secrecy we’re going for here. I hope that much is obvious.

We’re thinking about secrets like a surprise party or the answer to a puzzle, the denouement of a mystery story. This is the (for most folks anyway) enjoyable kind of not knowing, the sort that stokes our curiosity and drives us to look for more information, for clues, for answers.

There are also secrets, like, tips. Michelle Obama’s beauty secrets, say. Or the secret to a long and happy life. That kina deal. I dunno that I actually have many of those, but if I do, you’ll be the first to know.

And there are secrets like confidential information that could lead to harm if it’s disclosed or discovered by bad actors. Obvi those are not on offer.

Trades lay claim to secrets that could ruin their enterprise. I’ve always enjoyed the phonetics of ‘trade secrets,’ so perhaps that’s why I put my metafictional 32C counterpart to work in ‘the secrets trade.’ What do they do, exactly, as a secretist? … You didn’t actually think I’d say, did you? Here’s an excerpt from my sixth novel in the Secret of Secrets series, Love Is What You Have. Read it and you tell me:

I looked down at the chipped paint on my fingernails. I was just about the only person I knew who still painted their nails. I use they as a singular pronoun, by the way. It’s well known that the practice bugs the shit outta people, but hey … gender’s not accurate to language, you know? Trying to get it across clearly—that’s the whole idea. So that should tell you something about me.

“You?” they asked. Now I’m just being an ass.

“Me?” I pointed to myself.

“Yes,” they said. He said, if you’re happier with that. “Are you Teresa?”

“Why, yes I am.” I let on a smile and put one of those chipped polished hands out for a shake.

He looked from side to side, like we’re doing a drug deal or something. Not that anyone actually doing a drug deal does that. But you know the bit.

“Relax,” I said. “It’s easy around here.”

Around here was Café Tredici—that’s my favorite place to relax, talk shit with baristas, and conduct informal business. I guess it does sound a little bit like a drug deal.

He still had a twitchy look about him.

“Go on and sit there.” I pointed with my shaking hand—still unshaken—at the seat across from me.

He sat down.

“Gil?” I asked.

He nodded, tight in the lips and throat.

My eyes’re mostly synthetic, the flawed and broken bits having been replaced with spiffy enhancements that let me read what other people are feeling and thinking through subtle body language. I think they’re quite fancy. I could flip the features on and off at will. I was in the habit of having them off at Tredici. You know, so I could relax a little.

But this was business, and I just had to know what’s going on with this dude, so I flipped on the fancy.

He’s nervous that he’s going to be seen: seen by me, seen by his enemies, seen by anyone. It stems from a long held belief that to be seen is to be vulnerable and to be vulnerable is to be weak and if he’s weak, someone will pounce.

That belief’s not always wrong, by the by, but people like Gilford sitting across from me there tended to exaggerate the danger and, somewhat ironically, leave themselves open to other forms of predatory behavior.

“Why don’t you get some tea, Gil,” I said. “A nice chamomile.”

He squinted at me.

My eyes told me he thinks I’m talking in code. Again with the drug dealie business.

“It’s nothing special, Gil. I just think it’d help you relax.”

Gil’s shocked by that, and I motion to my friend, Warby, to please come over.

She does, right away.

“Hey, what’s up?” Warby asked.

“Could you bring us some chamomile tea, please?” I asked.

“Sure! Two?”

“Two’d be great,” I said.

Warby smiled at me, then at Gil and walked off for the tea.

“I’ve never done this before,” Gil said.

No shit.

“Yeah, I was kind of getting that impression, Gil. How’d you find me?”

“My wife’s friend knows someone named Juice.”

I smiled and nodded.

“Right. Okay,” I said.

“I guess this Juice shares an office with you.”

“That she does,” I said. That would be The House of Secrets, two doors down from Tredici, where I—and a few other privatized secretists like Juicy—ply my trade. You didn’t think I did it in a coffee shop, did you? How scandalous.

“What exactly are we going to do?” Gil asked.

“Well, Gil, that would be telling. And I don’t tell. Ever.” Which’s a bit of an exaggeration. Sure, sure. You could call it a lie, but a lie carries with it some malice, some bad intent. I was just playing with Gil a bit.

“Oh,” Gil said. “Well, how will I know what to do?”

“That’s a practical question, Gil, and better than a lot of ‘em I hear. But just relax. Wait for the tea.”

Warby appeared, on cue, with the tea.

I made a little gesture with my hand.

Gil looked at it, like he’s looking down in a toilet and about to let it all go.

“Everything okay?” Warby asked.

I said yes by blinking my eyes.

Warby smiled and said, “Enjoy!” then she’s off.

“Now what?” Gil asked.

I thought it was obvious.

“Now we drink the tea, Gil.”

“But why?”

“To help you relax.”

“Oh. All right.” He picked up the cup and slurped back most of it. “Tastes weird.”

I shook my head and took a sip.

His second taste polished it off. “Now what?”

I sighed and let my tea sit there, knowing that’s the end of it.

“Let’s go,” I said.

“What? That’s it? I paid a lot of money for this …”

“Simmer down there, Gil. We’re just going next door.”

“To the secretist house?”

For a guy worried about being seen, he said it fucking loud enough. Maybe the tea’s working after all.

“Yeah, Gil. Wanna invite some people?”

He looked around, then back to me. “No?”

“So keep it down and follow me.”

I gave a little wave to Warby and then clicked on tall heels out of the shop and down the side street of Jurgey. That’s short for Jurgentown, which’s a trendy little part of the City of Rivers on the Ministry Homeworld. If you’ve never been, well, I can’t recommend it. But it’s where I was hanging my hat, and so that’s where my living happened.

“I like the trees down here,” Gil said. “Are they real?”

“Some of them,” I said. “Most are holographic.”

The 32nd Century’s not an environmentally conscious time. You’d think people would have learned that shit like using caustic chemicals and tearing the fucking world up for manufacturing wasn’t at all smart. But they hadn’t because why would they? No one was thinking much beyond what they’re doing that moment, much less about the future.

And, jeez, the fucking future. It’s this whole thing with me, okay? I could travel forward and backward in time, true, but I hadn’t grown up like that. I’d grown up like most everyone else—expecting the future to be this impressive fucking spectacle of awesomeness. Instead, it’s a few cool things and shitloads of meh.

Bubble, is not one of those things, nor Swiggle—not as far as I was concerned, anyhow, but you’d never fucking know it by how ever-present and all-consuming these services had become. Everywhere you looked, people had their faces lit up, their head surrounded by a fucking Bubble, so they can stay constantly connected to everyone, everywhere—except of course their immediate physical surroundings and whoever might be unlucky enough to be standing there. Bubble’s handy if you need to reach somebody, though. No arguing that.

Swiggle’s more or less the same thing, but with less emphasis on connecting and more on gawking. Did I mention I had a Swiggle spew with many, many watchers of my swagger? No? Well, I don’t like to brag.

“Here we are,” I said. “My very own little House of Secrets.”

“That’s where we’re gonna do … whatever it is we’re gonna do?”

I let my lips be wide. “It is indeed.”

“What if I don’t like it?” Gil asked.

“You may not,” I said.

His confusion at my response gave me a natural pause to turn and open the door. It’s nothing for me, but anyone not skilled in ghosting would be shit out of luck trying to get into this place. What’s ghosting? Simply not being seen. That’s it. Just jargon, so you can relax, okay? Sip your tea.

The door’s ancient creak disturbed Gil.

“Uh, I dunno,” Gil said. “Maybe we should reschedule.”

“We can if you want,” I said, “but you’re looking at least a month.”

Gil wrung his hands out. Poor guy. I could have said something to put him at ease, I guess …

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He took a big step forward, then two more up the steep steps, and a final one into the dark maw of my office.

Then I trotted right up behind him and closed the door.

That’s the end of chapter one. You’re still reading, so that’s good. It’s been a long winter. My show’s been canceled. I gotta sell some books. More on that in chapter two. Maybe. I’ve been known to change my mind.

Next time I’ll give y’all a very brief synopsis of each of the Secrets novels. I don’t expect you to read them, okay? That’s huge ask. But I do want you to be in the know, generally, about what I’ve written and am writing.

T-REX

Folks to follow

Have a look at the art and writing of Veronique Benedictson. You can follow her on Ello, Insta, and Medium!

The FLARE is a cool nl, with poetry and great short fiction. Subscribe and pay!

other great subbies to check out:

I told y’all about Sarah’s last time, but it bears repeating: check out Bombastic Frippery!

Fiction in 50 is a very short fiction newsletter, with stories often told in 50 words or less and other interesting restrictions. It’s similar to the nanoficition writing prompts I do on Ello. Give it a read!

My fellow Richmonder, Cat Baab-Muguira (who was also one of the first people to read Everything Fails, incidentally), has an Eddy Poe-themed advice newsletter that's also about the writing life. You can snag her book about the same over on the ‘Zon.

Movies

While I’m gaga for the new Matrix movie, imma suggest a few you’re less likely to have heard of and where they are currently streaming:

If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power (HBOMax), which is a music video/feature film hybrid starring Halsey (with some musical support from Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross). It’s surprisingly good, but don’t watch it on a day you can’t handle a downer. Cf. Janelle Monáe’s Dirty Computer (Tubi), which was made earlier, is also awesome, and is sf/dystopian.

Personally, I recommend a pass on Ridley Scott’s The Last Duel (HBOMax), unless you’re super into seeing Adam Driver’s lowkey audition for BOB from Twin Peaks or like especially stilted period performances by Matt & Ben. The actual duel is pretty okay, I guess.

Maggie Gyllenhaal’s directorial debut, The Lost Daughter (Netflix), is pretty great and not at all what you’ll think it’s going to be. It’s positioned as a noir-y, thriller, missing person kina deal, but it’s really a complex psychological character study that dangles some of those elements. Based on the book by the secretest of all secretists, Elena Ferrante. No one has any idea who they are, which is baller.

If you’ve just gots to know my every thought on movies, check me out on Letterboxd.

Television

Station Eleven is on HBOMax (and just Cinemax, I’m guessing, since it’s a Max Original) and is probably one of the best-made speculative fiction shows–certainly as of late, maybe just period. Also, Mackenzie Davis and Lori Petty? Uhhh yes pls! There’s a book, too, but I haven’t read it. I hear it’s good, but the synopsis makes me think I’ll like the show better. Wish they’d put out the graphic novel!

We’re rewatching Fringe, which starts out as JJ’s X-Files but gets cooler. It also has Pacey, so. Feel however you want about that. Still, it’s one of the more ambitious sci-fi tv shows that isn’t set in space. Currently on HBOMax and Amazon Prime.

Books

Slowly reading and savoring three books right now: Melissa Broder’s The Pisces, The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson, and Outline by Rachel Cusk. More on each of those in coming ishes. I have literally a thousand books around here, so who knows what I’ll move on to. If you have a recommendation, give T a shout!

Charities

Please make a donation to the Transgender Law Center. Doing good work for transfolks.

Routine lack of food is foundational failing in our societies. Support hunger in Central Virginia by giving to Feed More, worldwide with the World Food Program.

Comin’ next ish: Azza-Jono! Destroying world-building! An Introduction to Meta! And much much more!

See ya then, mah babes!

xoxo

T

If you wanna chill with me, come find me on Ello where I have over 7 million views supposedly.

If you’re pro-capitalist, this is the sales pitch section. If you’re not, it’s where I remind you how fucked up it is that we don’t support independent artists financially. I am asking for your paid support, don’t get that wrong, but I’m also asking you to support other artists, too, especially ones who are trying to earn their living solely through their artistic output. So do that, pls! Pay artists so they can keep making great things for you and the world!

AIS 0002 - Adventures in Secrecy with T Van Santana - Issue 2