The Squeal by Jack Cummins

If I really did break it was it my fault and did I wish, subconsciously, to wound her? Or, was she wishing to hurt herself by sticking a finger through the doorway?

I kept visiting her large house, covered by dark leaves

Seem unnecessary and out of place, unless the story is read as a casual real life story told in passing, as I mentioned above. Read this way it fits well.

I had spoken about broken relationships and the pain of so much rejection. I descended the staircase in a haze of black and blue melancholy, saying goodbye to my therapist, Charlotte.

As the door closed I thought that I heard a small scream or squeal. It was probably my trickster imagination. I didn't look round and went to the shopping centre, to immerse myself in trivia.

Charlotte opened the door and I noticed that she was wearing a black covering on one finger, like a shiny black condom. I was wondering what happened. I began to worry had I hurt her finger closing the door and hearing a small scream. Of course, she could have tripped over or cut her finger inside the house. But worse, I could have severed her finger and she had to have it regrafted. Beyond the therapy session, in which I went through with my usual moans and groans, the worry prodded at me through the coming week.

'I feel so guilty all the time. When you were off sick I blamed myself' [...] I was often silenced too by the vulnerability of lying on the couch, which seemed like a cot or a pram. The rest of the session was only filled with sporadic interaction.

She never wore the black covering again but wore a small plaster for a while. I kept visiting her large house, covered by dark leaves, for another year. [...] I couldn't afford to keep paying for therapy indefinitely. When I said I was terminating, Charlotte queried this but seemed a bit relieved, stating that she planned to retire fairly soon.

If I really did break it was it my fault and did I wish, subconsciously, to wound her? Or, was she wishing to hurt herself by sticking a finger through the doorway? I don't know how to separate pain, mine and hers, physical and emotional. It all seems hazy, like the uncertainty of hearing the squeal. Perhaps, Charlotte represents the phallic mother, poking her finger in an accusational, punishing way. Did she wish to castrate me of my ego power and fragile male identity?

I feel that I wish to get to know her and her pain, as if destiny is calling me. I invite her to a cafe for a coffee. She nods and smiles. She clutches hold of my arm as we cross the busy road and I am unsure whether we will help each other or whether I am meeting a seductive sorceress, lured by the wounded finger and my need to make amends for Charlotte's wound.

I agree with your review except for this part. It seems weirdly backwards: if a friend was telling you this story, it would be incredibly odd for them to point that out. This kind of detail only has a place in a written story.

once you're in the analysis mind-set, everything becomes a psychological investigation. that's deftly depicted here;

i was convinced, too, by the protagonist's reluctance to ask : it's the therapist supposed to delve into the patent's life, not the other way.

But the hurt finger is such a minor thing to ask about. It's not as if he's delving into her sex life. Maybe the subtext tells us as much, that this relationship is ambiguously sexualized if only in the mind of the neurotic protagonist. If he believed he caused the injury he should press the issue, unless both therapist and client really know what is going on.

But the hurt finger is such a minor thing to ask about. It's not as if he's delving into her sex life. Maybe the subtext tells us as much, that this relationship is ambiguously sexualized if only in the mind of the neurotic protagonist. If he believed he caused the injury he should press the issue, unless both therapist and client really know what is going on and we aren't in on it.

it's like a child's relationship to a teacher: you constantly wonder and conjecture about their personal life, but you never, ever get personal. it's like a taboo

dwelling on this thing hurts his ability to engage in his therapy

It's odd that one could organize enough to go to therapy, spend the dough, establish a rapport over years, and then not be able to ask about a such a trifle.

it's like a taboo - probably because in the patient's mind, the relationship very often is sexualized. in reality, and the patient knows this, the power balance is heavily lopsided. and ambiguous. it doesn't matter what an objective observer thinks he ought to do; he can only see the situation from his own skewed pov.

It is interesting to wonder what a squeal represents, whether it is a cry of pain or pleasure, or even ambiguity of the two. The story looks at ambiguity, such as in idea of the phallic mother.

Generally, I see the story as being a questioning of therapy and the relationship between the analyst and client. The narrator definitely seems to be an over thinker, despite a long period of therapy and lying on the couch.

So much for open conversation.

When arriving for this, Charlotte opened the door and I noticed that she was wearing a black covering on one finger, like a shiny black condom. I was wondering what happened. I began to worry had I hurt her finger closing the door and hearing a small scream. Of course, she could have tripped over or cut her finger inside the house. But worse, I could have severed her finger and she had to have it regrafted. Beyond the therapy session, in which I went through with my usual moans and groans, the worry prodded at me through the coming week.

The incident that initiates the narrative has potential, but I think the story could have been developed more to get the reader more interested in the main characters.

He reaches out eventually but to a 'girl', who is 'homeless', contrary to the names, feminine, well housed Charlotte. The story is about a man who does not play the game of recognition because he is frightened about it. He only dares this with a figure devoid of any power and even then he is afraid of being 'seduced' by a 'sorceress'....

I appreciate criticisms because I don't see this as a finished 'polished' story. It is more of a work in progress, which I started in a creative writing group and developed a little further.

In a 1984 interview with Georges Van Den Abbeele, Lyotard discusses how he views all the work he's published as rough drafts, noting that,"Even Le différend (1984), which I spent nine years elaborating and writing, remains a sketch, whose master I have not been. And in this sense, I can without lying plead limited responsibility. That is to say: a reader cannot incorrectly locate in a piece of writing an aspect which, according to me, is not at all there.

It is not that I am too lazy to write more, but struggling with doing all of this on my phone. Maybe I will get a new digital device, although I actually find prefer writing in pen in notebooks.

it was meant to be a snapshot into the world of therapy, as I did wish and begin training in therapy at one stage. Training to be a therapist is a long and hard quest and I didn't finish the training.

What I was really wishing to explore was the psychotherapy idea of transference and countertransference. This is the way in which so much is projected onto the therapist as the transference. Alongside this, there is the concept of the countertransference which is the way the inner world of the client is felt by the therapist.

It can be painful though, as I can remember having to make changes on dissertations. Perhaps, it can be more fun with stories as they can be revisioned and even evolve into something entirely new.

There are many forms of therapy based on cognitive behavioral therapy techniques.

For that reason, I go to groups, including creative writing. Using sites, such as this one are good but need a balance. Community hubs are becoming popular because people need people rather than digital interaction alone.

The question as to whether people may wish to see into the therapist's inner one is a good one. That is because it may interfere with the mystique surrounding therapy and the therapist which is at the centre of psychodynamic therapy.

What I was really wishing to explore was the psychotherapy idea of transference and countertransference.

What I was really wishing to explore was the psychotherapy idea of transference and countertransference. This is the way in which so much is projected onto the therapist as the transference. Alongside this, there is the concept of the countertransference which is the way the inner world of the client is felt by the therapist.

I don't think that I managed to pull this off fully in the story. It probably would need to be much longer( and my story was much shorter than most here).

I am not sure to what extent I will follow through with the story further although I do see therapy as a fascinating topic for fiction and, will wait and see what erupts in my life and subconscious

Judith Rossner wrote a novel titled 'August' , back in 1983;

I can't think why this still holds a fascination for me after all these years. Minds, I guess; what makes people tick.

don't know if you believe the findings that show that there's a good number of people in high-powered positions within an organization that have sociopathic tendencies.