Monday, May 19, 2014

The Process

Okay. The computer is on. I know it’s on because the light is blinking. The light is blinking because the computer is on and I’m sitting in front of it, ready to write. So what should I write?

Hmmm, the saying goes “write what you something, something, bananas”. That doesn’t sound right. Maybe kumquats are involved? I’m hungry, time for a snack.

Alight, I’m back. The first step is to set the scene and invite the reader into my carefully crafted world.

Even nighttime was no refuge from the summer swelter on St. Johns. The residual heat from the day mingled with that radiating from the bodies of the dancing crowd, which surged and pulsated like the pristine waters that surrounded the island. The multicolored array of lights, strung overhead, flickered and followed the beat of the music, reflected in the glistening sweat of the people, like iridescent dance partners.

Okay. I guess that’s not too bad. Got a whole bunch of imagery up in there. Used some SAT words. What’s next? Let’s introduce a protagonist.

Clark (do I like the name Clark? I hope it’s not too Supermanish) made his way through the crowd, trying to reach the edge of the dance floor. Hours of dancing to the rhythmic, hypnotic island music, by the band Brookside, had wiped him out. He had probably lost at least five pounds through sweating alone. He needed a break and to rehydrate with a Red Stripe beer, (dude, a Red Stripe? Come on man, you can do better than that.) for a rum and coke. During his stay on the island, Clark had developed quite the taste for Cruzan, the local spirit.

Hmmmm, kind of lame, but it’s a start. Time to introduce some conflict!

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a score of ninjas jumped into the crowd! Blood squirted everywhere as the moonlight glinted off of the polished metal of the shurikin and sword blades that buried themselves into the soft flesh of the necks and torsos of the vict… (Nope! Not even close. Let’s try that again.)

It was true that Clark was tired from dancing, but even more so, he was determined. He had just spent the last half hour dancing with a gorgeous stranger. He didn’t know who she was, (No shit. You already established that she’s a stranger.) but she could move better than any other girl on the dance floor. As usual, Clark had gotten lost in the music and had closed his eyes. When he opened them again, she was nowhere to be seen. So he left the dance floor, on a mission.

Meh. It’s something. Kind of got sidetracked with the ninjas, though. Geez, what is it with you and ninjas? So how about describing this mystery girl?

Clark scanned the crowd for her. He’d never forget the way her lithe body moved with the music. Every movement was economical, yet uninhibited. She would twirl and wind both gracefully and intimately seductive, (I meant describe what she looks like.) When she looked at him, her eyes danced with the spirit of the music. They were the same deep brown as her exposed skin. She was wearing a simple, sheer, white dress that probably reached her knees, but Clark couldn’t be sure since she was never still long enough for the dress to settle. And as she twirled, her hair followed along, framing her exotic face perfectly.

God. You’re just full of clich├ęs. Try it again.

Clark scanned the crowd for his dance partner. He knew she’d be easy to spot. She had these really huge boobs that would hit him in the face when she danced. And her ass was so fat that you could use it as a tabl… (Nevermind. We’ll use the first one. What’s next?)
There she was! He spotted her by a food stand and made his way over. She looked up from her food and saw him approach. As he got nearer, she slowly got up from the black couch (Why a black couch? That’s pretty random.) where she was sitting and walked to him. Her beautiful smile was like a beacon, an oasis in the night. Everything else fell away from his vision. The distance between them shrank and his heart pounded as they closed in.

Alright, now bring it on home.

Then she pulled a katana sword out of nothingness and stabbed him through the chest, piercing his heart. He was dead before he hit the ground.


Dammit! Forget it, I’m going to the bar to get drunk.

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