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I owe you an apology
I’m sorry to my followers, all 8 of you, or at least that’s how many hits I had today.
This week has just been horrible for my writing. Work decided to take over my life this week. I know that’s no excuse, but wanted to post this, my first chapter, or part of it anyway. I’m already behind, but I’m hoping I can put enough time this weekend to catch up.
Thanks for your patience and support. Specially to my daily visitor. You know who you are. ILY.
Chapter 1
Oh my god, she plucked all of her eyebrows off. Michael thought, as he sat down with his date with Amanda. After a few weeks of talking through email and passing the dreaded first phone conversation he finally won a real date. I’m not so sure I really “won” anything. She actually looks like an attractive girl. But painted eyebrows he would never get over that.
How come I didn’t notice that before? He wondered as his mind flashed back to the pictures from her online profile. He has been in his shared of bad dates, but he thought he was getting better. Obviously there were some parts he needed to freshen up. All he could think was of the picture taken at her work, it showed her face and body type, but it was from a few feet away and she did a nice job of painting her eyebrows in that one. But now up close the natural look of them was long gone, and if he paid enough close attention he could actually see the red bumps left from all the plucking. He felt some shivers down his spine. He suppress his goosebumps so that she didn’t notice or at least didn’t react it to them.
Why do women do this to themselves??!!!! Couldn’t help but wondered. As his mind started too wondered off t run adrift for a few moments. Thinking of his upcoming 29th birthday and what his friends might do to surprise him. Spending the date with Felicia wasn’t a possibility anymore, at least something good came out of their break up. With his family back in the West Coast, he had to depend on his girlfriend (now ex) for family. Problem was that he never got along with them. He never really thought too much of it, he didn’t plan on spending time with them and they seem pretty happy with keeping him at arm’s length too. Except on birthdays, they would gather and make him feel part of the family, in a way that never felt quite so inviting.
Now with his new found freedom Michael thought about the possibility of having a simple nice birthday party with friends there. Celebrate with a few bottles of wine and beer, going over to a friends house, he wouldn’t offer his, since he knew he would have to do all the cleaning later on and he wasn’t up to that task, and dance the night away with all the ladies of his life. Specially if she showed up. Which the way his life was going, it definitely meant she would be there. Damn it Michael, pay attention here. Maybe something can be save here. She does have a nice body after all.
He tried his best throughout dinner to laugh at the right moments and ask all the right questions. Conversation was constant, but not natural, at some point he felt like an FBI agent asking questions and hoping for a crack on the case. He knew this date was going to end with a hug and one “I’ll call you soon” before the entrée was delivered to the table. At this point his only question was who was going to be the one to say it. She seems amicable enough that she might say it, but he thought of himself as a gentleman so he would also try to say it. Well, he still had most of the meal to figure it out. The reviews of the restaurant where great, so at least something good can still come out of this. Medium well, anyway.
I name thee…..
I have always wondered how do writers name their characters. But I think that it has to do with another question. Are writers really creating the story? or telling the story?
And I think that, that subtle difference is what is so amazing about people that write for a living. When you are creating a story, it just feels so hard (at least to me) because I feel like it’s so difficult, like the charachters are just looking at you and judging you. I’m being judge by my own characters, and they are looking back at me with disappointment.
That’s the part then, that makes me believe that is about telling the story, and not force it out of yourself, if is a true story. When I was telling the story in my previous post about Premise Vs Story. The names Matt and Jon, I didn’t create them, this characters, this son with an ailing father, and this childhood friend told me their names. It was a revelation for me, because I have always fought, what to name him, always wondered. But on Wednesday, when I was just letting the words come to me, his name also came.
This has now let me to believe, that the whole story is there, in my head, buried among all the crap my brain has gathered. Now the time has come to see if I can tell you a story, and if you want to listen to it.
Premises vs Story
Everyone has an idea, of what would be a good book. But they don’t follow up through with them. I’m one of those people. And even my premises seem lame. If that’s something to be proud of. But let’s see how much we can extract from as little information as we have. And see where does that takes us.
An old friend stops by his former best friend once he’s back in town….unannounced. (This is my premise)
That’s the original line I had at one time. But then you need to start asking questions to know who this people are. And I’ll tell you how far I took this idea (not far).
They are young, early 20’s. 21, or 22. Senior year of college, or recently graduated. This is the dialogue scene I have had in my mind since I came up with this idea, I’ll try to write (finally asshole, I’ve been reading now for 2 WHOLE days!) this scene and see what else (you know, besides, plot, character development, turning point, resolution, etc.) is needed to make this specific scene work.
This is my resemblance of a story, read at your own peril:
Jon has had a long day, taking care of his dad, has been specially difficult this last few months. Pops is not the man he once knew anymore. Trying to get this haunting thoughts of his mind, he surfs through the channels looking for a distraction, til he turns off the T.V. Whatever it is he’s looking for, is not playing right now. Flips the remote into the couch, before remembering to pick it up and put it back on the table. Easy access for his dad to find. Funny how is this little changes, the ones no one would notice that proves to himself, that he’s maturing. In a different era he would be already old, and with a family, hell, even in some cultures he’s already behind the eight ball. This thoughts follow him through the kitchen. He doesn’t have any answers, just more questions. Walking around his house helps push thoughts away, however the moment he stops, they catch up to him, This monkey is fast. He Thinks.
He tries walking past his parents bedroom, but thinks better of it, he checks on his Pops. Door is ajar, and he sneaks his head through the gap, he will always feel guilty walking into his parents bedroom, age be damned. Surveys the bed, nightstand, a clock that marks 4:42pm, the burrow til he finds him. Watching out the window.
“Hey Pops, how are you?” No response. His body follows the head into the bedroom, stepping a little harder, trying to call the attention of his father. No response. Clears throat. No response. Finally he calls again: “POPS!” a little harder than he intended, for a moment he thought it wouldn’t be enough. Dad turns around, he’s been watching out the window, lost in his own thoughts, is it?
“Hey Jon.” Words come out slowly, not quite a question, not quite a statement. Jon can’t help but think at least someone is in the house today. He mentally kicks himself, so much for maturity. “Pops, how are you?” he repeats.
“I’m good Jon, just watching for birds I thought I saw a cardinal today.”
“That’s nice. Just wanted to let you know I’m in the house, been here a while actually. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
“I’m fine son.” This time a little more alive, he even adds an old smile that breaks Jon’s heart. Haven’t seen one in a while. It’s a good day afterall.
********
Downstairs is just a never finished basement. An ongoing built, that even in better days, it wasn’t going to be finish. His bedroom really, without a formal bed, he has spent so much time down here, even the couch has the indentations to prove it. Black cushions on metal, with very little padding, a killer for your back, yet, is the most comfortable place there is.
He turns on the mp3 cradle, speakers roar to life, deafening loud, 311 is playing, it’s been a while since he’s been down here. He lowers the volume, the music goes through him, an oldie song but still very much so a goodie. Jon’s thoughts are drowned by the music, a very welcomed relief. The song jumps randomly to the next track. Something newer, Mumford? No, no, no, that’s Deertick. Time past as the tunes flow. One after the other, greatest hits of his life or even before his life. His musical taste exceeded his age, and like his father said: “A classic knows no boundary”.
By the time Journey comes he’s singing loud, the speakers are back to their original setting, this time without a bother in his ears. Some dance moves are encouraged, and the body replies back with movement. He’s lost in this moment, his problems cease to exist, by the time he’s singing about streetlights all inhibitions are lost.
“Nice moves Beyonce.” A voice breaks through the ending of the song.
Jon can’t quite place the origin of the voice, he let out a yell, and instinctively grab the closest thing he could use as a weapon. A pillow. Fuck! He searches frantically for the voice, and he notices a shape by the stairs. It takes him a moment to place the face with a name. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Matt?”
“Ah-hu” the voice replies back.
“Oh you, son of a bitch. You scare me!”
“Not as much as you scare me with those moves.”
“How long you’ve been there?”
“Enough to not sleep tonight after that display of UNcoordinated twitching.”
Jon flips the finger to his old friend.
“When you got back?”
“Just tonight, I came here to see you. Heard the music coming from down here, so I knew you were down here. I wanted to say hello to your dad, but couldn’t find him.”
“Well, is good seeing your ugly face ar…wait, Pops wasn’t upstairs?”
“No, why?”
“Fuck. Help me find him. He’s not doing well lately.” Moving quicker to the stairs, padding his friend in the back, as a hello as he climbs.
“What’s the matter with him?”
By then Jon is at the top of the stairs. “Let’s find him first, I’ll tell you.”
Matt looks confused, but follows his friend.
End of Chapter.
So, this is as far as I have thought about this story. This time actually, putting it down on paper help give it a little more shape, is not a finish product by any means, and in fact, might never be. But I guess that’s what makes it interesting for me. I have always wondered why Matt (just gave the name today) has come back. He hasn’t been in town in at least 4 years. I don’t know why he left either.
Another thing I have come to notice about my stories, at least the one from yesterday and today, is that, there’s no Mom figure in either one. Guess Freud might have a field day with that one, but is not done on purpose, that much I can assure you.
So, I guess this is how you build a story, you ask questions, and you try to find the answers. What’s wrong with Jon’s dad? Depression? Alcoholism? Does it matter to the overall of the story?
As far as Matt is concerned, like I said, I don’t know why he come back, but I know he didn’t go to college, or if he did, he didn’t finish. I know he smokes weed, so did Jon, but he also has experimented with other drugs. So I think that’s part of the reason for his comeback. Where is the rest of their respective families? Why come to Jon?
Another day of blogging, and all I give you are more questions. If you want the answers, well, good luck, because I don’t know them. That’s why this post is about premises. Is just an idea put in paper (or blog) form. The story is what follows and a good storyteller will be able to follow through those doors. Can I cross that door frame? We’ll know soon.
Thanks for reading. Comments are encouraged.
Who am I?
Welcome to my home!
I don’t have a pen name, so for the time being, just know my initials RM. Maybe I’ll use a pen name to keep some sense of privacy, or eventually I will let you know who I am. So I guess, that should be my first post about.
I’m a 30 something average guy. Average problems, average life. In fact, I thought of naming this website something along the lines of Average You, or Just Another Person. But I think we all need a little sense that we are more than that. We are special to a group of people, or at least to someone. We want a level of validation that we matter, right? If not, then why are we here?
So, why are we here? Why should you be interested in my blog? – Well, I don’t have a compelling reason, except that I always wanted to write. And that’s where it gets interesting. Because I know I don’t want to write a thousand books like Dean Koontz or create a fantasy world a la Tolkien. I know my limitations, and I know that’s not what I want to write. I just want to believe that I can write a few a stories and that a few people will like them. What genre? Well I don’t know. Short stories or novels? I don’t know. Contemporary times or past? I don’t know.
What the fuck do you know then? -I don’t know, that’s why I named it, Don’t Follow My Lead. I have never taken a writing course. In fact, English is not even my native tongue. I have been in the U.S. for a while now though. And growing up, I didn’t like reading. It wasn’t until AFTER college that my interest in reading started growing. I’ve always been more of a movie, or music lover. As I started reading, couldn’t help but feel that certain stories where taking shape in my head. Certain scenarios I would see them play out, and at first I thought they should be maybe a movie, after all that’s my first love.
But I noticed that, the level of detail and emotion of these scenes went a little deeper than what a film can capture. They were more complex, and I started saving these scenes in my head. And I would try to write them down, but not much has come up from them. In fact I have forgotten some of them before they ended in paper. And that’s where I guess is the crux of the matter for me. Maybe my stories won’t hold the interest of every person that reads them. Hell, as much as I love certain of my authors, I know they are not love by everyone, and they make a living out of this! So, again, is not that you should read this stories or that they’ll be beacons of your life. But hopefully, just hopefully they’ll brighten your day enough for you to come back.
Does that mean you are going to give me a story per day? – NO! Are you fucking insane? you know how much time that would take? I still have to do my day to day work and pay my bills. But I have good friends, that always push me to be better and to follow up on my ideas. I have a supportive girlfriend too, that wants me to succeed and is also a writer, that actually has been publish.
So a good friend of mine, who also aspire to be a writer herself, put my attention towards this site: www.nanowrimo.org. The National Novel Writing Month, in it, you will be part of a network of people that want to write too, and for the 30 days and 30 nights of November you are expected to write, and write until you have a very, very rough draft of something that kind of looks like a novel.
Since I’ve never taken a writing class, and all I have to follow is my own guidance, then I decided to do it in blog form. That way I can write at my heart content, and see the pitfalls I’ll have to drag myself out of. For the last few weeks, and as November draws nearer I’ve been thinking on what exactly what I want to do with this blog, is not finished by any means, and if you want to add your 2 cents I’ll listen (can’t guarantee I’ll follow though).
I’ll be posting my ideas for my stories, I have one, that I have a pretty good idea on how it goes, I just don’t see any of the finer details, that actually make a story a novel, and I’m hoping that through this process I can unraveled this gumbo of words and make something that resembles a readable tell.
Wish me luck as I embark on this journey, and who knows, maybe you’ll be the CO (Commanding Officer) in my tell, and see if I can sail this baby….or hit an iceberg.
Don't Follow My Lead 