I'm listening, in the car for the past four trips somewhere, to a book on CD. It's The Book of Joe by Jonathan Trooper. I've read the book...actually read it...a couple years ago. It's been long enough that I really don't know what is going to happen as I listen. I have a vague recollection of there being a Mrs Robinson kind of thing going and I think someone dies. I'm not sure.
Anyway, it's got me in this frame of mind where as I write this I can hear the narrator speaking my words in my head just like he reads Troopers. It's weird. I really hear him. Trooper writes well and I find myself saying...I can do this....I can rely my life in the same manner; I can put words together in a crafty way where they sound plausible, funny with a bit of familiarity. I can have snappy answers in my dialog of my story too.
For example, yesterday, I saw someone taking a rather large piece of birthday cake out of the kitchen. I had to make a conscience effort to not say what was running though my head....I bit my lip. It was good but the urge to say, "that's a mighty big piece of cake for someone on a diet" hung in the air as he waddled out of the room. I could almost feel him wish to not have me there to witness this transaction; a sort of hesitation with doing it with a desire to say, "f-you, I'm hungry for something sweet. F the diet too" and continuing with the confection get away.
There...that is very Trooperish.
I'm working on a short story, hopefully for True Story magazine. This story does not have the same tone as The Book of Joe. It's really pretty bad in that it's not deep with detail and the flow of the story is a bit choppy. You don't have to describe every single thing...just give the essence and move on.
We'll see.
No comments:
Post a Comment