Okay, I’m back. I haven’t updated for a while because I’ve been busy working around the clock on my new story, trying to get it polished up in time for the first student reading series of the semester last friday. A huge crowd showed up, and I was a bit apprehensive about reading my new story, which I had literally just finished and hadn’t gotten any reaction to from a single person, but the crowd’s response was extraordinarily enthusiastic. I’m quite fond of the story myself. Hopefully some kindly editor out there will feel the same way.
After the reading we all went out to a night spot. One member of my posse, who is quickly becoming a legend in his own time, is a young lad I shall refer to by the impenetrable pseudonym of “Mr. Buckles.” Mr. Buckles has a bit of a drinking problem … and I only say this because last year while drunk he totaled his car by crashing it into a motor boat that was parked at the side of the road, and he is now without a driver’s license and is undergoing court-mandated alcohol counseling. Near closing time, Mr. Buckles was cruising the bar looking for half-finished glasses of beer that less thorough drinkers had simply abandoned. He raised one such vessel to his lips and detected some solid object floating amidst the liquid. He reacted by spewing warm beer all over the back, skirt, and stool of the classiest and best-dressed member of our party. As she squirmed in revulsion, Mr. Buckles scrutinized his beverage and remarked, “Whew. It was just a lime. That’s a relief.” Oh, Mr. Buckles, what will he do next?
Another member of my party described a screenplay he had written based on a series of interviews he did with a real-life junkie and small-time crook. This junkie had once been fleeing from the police and had crashed his pickup truck off a bridge and gone into the river. He swam to shore and took off down the bank. When a police helicopter started circling overhead, he smeared mud all over his body and stood with his arms outstretched, pretending to be a tree. This was apparently sufficient to fool his pursuers, who were looking for movement on the ground, and he got away. I’ll have to remember that one.
A while back I mentioned that I had shoved all the furniture in my bedroom into the middle of the floor, creating a “track” along the wall for me to pace. This has turned out to be one of my best ideas ever. Now when I’m writing a story, I’ll put on my iPod, dial up whatever current song gets my emotions flowing the most, then pace around and around the room, thinking over the events of the story and trying to get my emotional state ratcheted up as high as possible. Then, when I know exactly how the next few paragraphs or the next scene is supposed to go, I’ll sit down and type it out, then go back to pacing. This has meant composing my last few stories in a constant state of adrenaline-charged euphoria, which is fun for its own sake even if the story turns out to be crap. I’ve also gotten into pretty great cardiovascular condition doing this. Seriously, give it a try.
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