I was more or less told by at least three sources to get my act together and start sharing something about my journey as a writer on this blog. Their logic: “That’s what your blog is about, right?”
“Tell us about you,” one said. “Share some of your work,” said another.
Okay. Okay. I get the message.
So how’s this for starters?
Something I wrote for an advanced fiction workshop in response to the prompt: Write a scene using “the absolute truth” in the opening line.
The Absolute Truth
“I just thought it would be okay if I told your wife the absolute truth,” Jimmy said.
Maurice drew on his cigarette and held the smoke in his lungs for what seemed a second or two longer than usual, as if taunting the nicotine, Go ahead. Do your worst, before releasing a slow, steady breath. “We’re all going to die sometime.
As if to emphasize the point, AC 360 host Anderson Cooper announced that the Swine Flu had killed 19 people in Mexico and was reaching the pandemic stage. Jimmy wondered if Anderson smoked, too. Judging by his wheezing deep breaths, the answer was probably yes. Another smart, stupid man. “Mary Lou wasn’t surprised. Said the decision is ultimately up to you.”
Maurice’s response, another drag on his cigarette, Capri Ultra Light, the sissy kind, its extra leanness implying less tobacco, thus less harm to the body and lungs.
But by the sweet, toxic smell of all that secondhand smoke, Jimmy judged the implication false. The shape of a cigarette hardly mattered in the long run. “I’ll be waiting in line, you know, to snatch her up when you’re gone.”
Maurice shrugged. “She’s a lousy cook.”
“She’s a saint.”
“Have you ever lived with a saint?”
Recognizing failure when it stared him in the face, Jimmy rose from the couch to leave. “Asshole.”
Just then, Anderson Cooper switched from his coverage of the Swine Flu to Obama’s first 100 days in office, which stalled Jimmy’s progress to the door. Though Jimmy hadn’t voted for the man, it would be interesting to hear how the new president was doing.
David Gergon, senior analyst for CNN posed the question, “Is Obama an ideological, left-of-center liberal, or is he trying to look for a middle ground?”
Left-of-center liberal, Jimmy thought.
“Looking for a middle ground” Maurice said. He held the smoldering cigarette next to his head like a smoking gun, a reminder that this conversations wasn’t about to go Jimmy’s way any time soon. “I don’t own Mary Lou, and she doesn’t own me.”
“Soon it won’t matter,” Jimmy said.
Maurice chuckled, followed by two dry, raspy coughs. “To you it might.”
“You’d haunt me to my grave.”
“I don’t believe in the afterlife.”
“Who’s talking about the afterlife, damn it?” The sight of his brother lounging in the Lazy Boy with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of brandy within easy reach of the other, caused Jimmy’s hands to tighten into fists. “I couldn’t live with myself.”
After a commercial break for an erectile dysfunction drug that promised miracles (A husband and wife sitting in claw-foot bathtubs on the beach holding hands; what a crock), Anderson Cooper returned with Obama’s national report card, a B+. “This is a new world,” he said. “We have a seat at the table.
Cigarette hugged between his lips, Maurice picked up the remote and switched from CNN to HBO. “Bill Maher time.”
Jimmy stepped away from the couch and snatched Maurice’s brandy from the TV tray next to the Lazy Boy. “Cheers.” He downed half the glass, accomplishing little other than irritating his throat, nose, and stomach.
“Want my cigarette, too?” Maurice asked, straight-faced.
“Your brandy, your cigarette, your wife. Sure, why not?”
“And my Lazy Boy and plasma TV.”
“Just put me in you will,” Jimmy said, only half listening. Bill Maher had caught his attention. Couldn’t help but like the guy. He had a way of putting a funny spin on things, even the most desperate, depressing, and tragic.
“The swine flu virus has infected the immigration debate,” Bill said, shaking his head. “Some suggest we call it the ‘fajita flu,’ attributing illegal aliens the carriers. Guess that finally proves immigration from Mexico threatens Americans.”
“This isn’t about immigration.” Jimmy said, feeling the heat of frustration further abuse his throat and stomach. “It’s about health.”
“Some people just get a kick out of sirring up fear,” Maurice said, emphasizing the word some as if including Jimmy in that group.
“So you’re still doing the cancer run tomorrow?” Jimmy asked, finally releasing the responsibility of convincing his brother otherwise. As Mary Lou said, the decision was ultimately his. That stubborn son-of-a-bitch.
“Rain or shine.”
“I’ll be there, just in case.”
“I knew you would.”
“Maurice?”
“Yeah.”
“You can’t bring him back, you know.”
Maurice laughed. “Wrong again, Jimmy boy.”
Jimmy downed the last of the brandy and nearly gagged on the fiery taste of burnt grapes. His brother was risking his life, and to what end? The doctor had warned him repeatedly that high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and running marathons simply didn’t mix, even without the added risk of his two-pack-a-day habit.
“When my heart’s pumping so hard I think it’ll stop, when my legs feel like there’s no blood left circulating in them, and when my mind’s blank and I can no longer see, that’s when Casey comes back.” Maurice stubbed the butt of his cigarette in the ash tray and then lit up another. “That’s when I can think of him without feeling the pain.”
The TV audience laughed at something Bill Mohr said, but to Jimmy’s mind, they were laughing at him, at his brother, at life.
Bill grimaced and then looked straight into the camera and said, “And that’s the absolute truth.”
Wow, I love your writing style! Part of me craves to write adult fiction, but my mind-set is in Kiddie lit. Maybe my brain isn't up to full capacity to playing with the big kids yet. However, I have a few ideas that would make interesting young adult or perhaps even adult ficition novels. One day, I'll develop those concepts into thought-provoking splashes across my computer screen and maybe, just maybe those stories will be published one day.Until that time, I'll read your posts learning from your techniques.
Thanks so much Cathy. In the advanced fiction classes I took through UC Davis Extension, the assignments inspired me to write in ways new to me. I'd never written in a male point of view before and never about some of the subjects that came to me as a result of the teachers' prompts. Over and over, I surprised myself. So though you're writing Kiddie lit, there's no reason why you can't write from prompts in a journal in different voices and see what happens. It's wonderfully freeing.