wow, it's my first new original writing in what seems like years and years. here's part of the first episode for use in "interview with an angel". for clarification, episodes are intended to be logical delineations on anecdotes, where each episode constitutes one moral or lesson or whatever. also, i'm contemplating changing the pov, which is as i originally intended, but i plan to play with it and see what i like. i haven't decided on what names to use, either.
all that said, i'd now like to make the expected platitudes. blah blah blah school. blah blah blah end of semester. blah blah if i can. i mean, i've taken a break today to work on this, haven't i?
It's a Saturday morning, and Kim and I are playing a game of tennis on our high school's courts. The campus is otherwise empty, unsurprisingly. We're comparably skilled, but it's obvious that I'm putting more effort into the game than she is.
I win the last point and give a quick, triumphant fist pump to the air before shambling to the bench to take a long draft from my thermos. Kim's amusement is plain on her face when she finally joins me at the bench, game balls in hand. She tosses the balls into her bag and sits cross-legged with exaggerated nonchalance.
"Good game" Kim says.
A little short of breath, I reply, "Thanks. You too." I'm as satisfied with myself as Kim is amused.
"Bruce, why don't you ever let me win?"
I jerk my head to emphasize my surprise. "Why should I?"
"'Cause I'm a girl."
"Ha!" I give her a sidelong glance. "You know, if I was just the slightest bit more sexist, you'd've just given me license for all sorts of... sexist shenanigans."
"Tsk. You're too sensitive to be a sexist."
I retort with an abashed "Am not! Take it back." She giggles. "But seriously, why don't you try harder?"
What I hope is a thoughtful frown replaces her laughing. "I don't know, maybe I just like hanging with you."
"Well, of course. I'm awesome." Then she punches me on the arm. To which I respond with a quick rub of my arm and a little pained laughter. "See? If I really was sensitive I'd be blushing instead of blustering."
Now she's smirking. "You are blushing."
I cut my eyes. "Well... Well, can you blame me?" I expect that I'm blushing more.
After a moment, she lightly slaps my arm where she punched me before. "Come on; let's play one more. I think I feel like beating you." She pulls the balls back out from her bag and jogs onto the court.
"That's what I like to hear."
It becomes apparent after only a few points that Kim very much intends to win, so I redouble my efforts and try to make a game of it.
Showing posts with label scene. Show all posts
Showing posts with label scene. Show all posts
Friday, November 14, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
interview with an angel, part 1
some nights i lie awake just waiting for my mind to wind down. it never seems to matter that it almost always dwells on the same tired thoughts: missed opportunities, life's regrets, junk like that. l'esprit de l'escalier. more like l'esprit du lit.
well, a few nights back i began thinking about this pseudo-autobiographical story i'd started writing a while back. i had outlined pretty much the whole thing, but made progress only on the first part. so, since it seems i can't go a week without posting here (maybe a good thing?), below is part one of 'interview with an angel'.
In a stereotypical coffee shop, the early morning sun shines on every species of professional imaginable, ordering or drinking their caffeinated concoctions with biscotti, bagels, and even donuts—pedestrian as they may be. The din of people maneuvering the tables and sitting in their chairs, walking and talking, eating and drinking, carries the feel of a race car engine revving just before the race has begun. On the edge of the dance sits a well-dressed man, sitting relaxed with his attention on the morning's sudoku, and occasionally his watch, but nothing else.
At a glance, he appears indistinguishable from any of the other patrons. But there are several subtle differences. He seems to be in no hurry, or rather he is just where he needs to be. The drink next to him happens to be a Bloody Mary. Also, he’s literally glowing. Not with a blinding glow, but the kind of glow that onlookers dismiss as the sun coming through the window, bathing him. Still, he looks less like the angel he is than a middle management corporate beast of burden.
And despite his faux smile, “finally” is written plainly on the angel's face as he rises to greet the man who's just entered the shop. The newcomer looks the very definition of dapper. He carries himself as if he were under the spotlight in a Broadway play. Everything he does is just slightly exaggerated: his canvassing of the shop until he sees the angel; his near strut to the angel's table; his two-handed hand shake. He removes his coat and carefully lays it folded over one chair, then checks that his tie and suspenders are straight and that his shirt is properly tucked before taking the seat next to it, directly across from the angel.
Where the presence of the angel is dissonance among the crowd, this man is antithesis to the crowd; a wondering eye my hesitate when falling onto the angel, but the man demands attention.
“Sorry I'm late. I swear I must've walked into five other places looking just like this one—on this block alone, no less.”
The angel waves dismissively. “Not at all. Before we begin, would you like a drink?”
The man rubs his chin as if in deep deliberation. “You know... This whole thing has gotten me feeling nostalgic. I'd absolutely love a Comfortable Screw.” The angel hands the man a highball. He takes the familiar drink, not phased in the slightest that the angel seemed to pull it out of air. “Oh, thanks. Yes, that's delicious. Thank you for not totally mucking it up.”
“I'm sorry, but I can't imagine how one can mess up a Comfortable Screw.”
“Well, as often as I'd order one, I'd get a Slow Screw or a Screw up against the Wall, or anything in between—anything but an actual Comfortable Screw. That's why I stopped ordering them all together.”
“I suppose I see—”
“Ha... I just realized what that must say about me. How fitting.”
This surprises the angel, who's only expecting mindless chit-chat. After replaying the last few seconds in his mind, he pulls out a small notebook and begin making scratches on the first page in angelic shorthand.
“Excuse me—it seems that we're just going to jump right in. I know that you're expecting a traditional interview, but let me explain how this will actually work. You will tell me about yourself, no more and no less than you're prepared to disclose. However, be aware that we will make our decision based on what you say here in light of any and all information we have on you. I may prompt for elaboration on any given point. I may not. Do you understand?”
“Sure. That all seems very reasonable to me.”
“Then you may begin whenever you're ready.”
The man puts his drink on the table and leans in towards the angel, as if to physically enter his confidence. “Well, first I just have to satisfy my curiosity. At first, I was just surprised that I was given this opportunity, until I realized that this opportunity was in fact an interview to get into heaven. I have to ask: is this interview process some kind of special mechanism for cases like mine or is this pretty much standard fare?”
The angel sets his pad and pen down and takes a drink before answering. “We’ve only started interviewing entrants very recently—I’d say not longer than a century. It was the first initiative enacted after the organizational restructuring. For several reasons that I can’t go into with you, we’ve needed to become more selective of the people allowed into heaven, hence this interview process. So, to answer your question, it is standard for every potential entrant to justify their entrance to heaven. The actual interview is customized to be culturally appropriate for each individual, but remains fundamentally and functionally universal.”
“Well… If anything my curiosity has been piqued even further. But I'll respect your need for discretion.”
At that, the angel trades his drink for his pad and pen and jots down a few quick scratches. He did not expect that answer, as evidenced by his raised eyebrow, the only crack in his composure.
well, a few nights back i began thinking about this pseudo-autobiographical story i'd started writing a while back. i had outlined pretty much the whole thing, but made progress only on the first part. so, since it seems i can't go a week without posting here (maybe a good thing?), below is part one of 'interview with an angel'.
In a stereotypical coffee shop, the early morning sun shines on every species of professional imaginable, ordering or drinking their caffeinated concoctions with biscotti, bagels, and even donuts—pedestrian as they may be. The din of people maneuvering the tables and sitting in their chairs, walking and talking, eating and drinking, carries the feel of a race car engine revving just before the race has begun. On the edge of the dance sits a well-dressed man, sitting relaxed with his attention on the morning's sudoku, and occasionally his watch, but nothing else.
At a glance, he appears indistinguishable from any of the other patrons. But there are several subtle differences. He seems to be in no hurry, or rather he is just where he needs to be. The drink next to him happens to be a Bloody Mary. Also, he’s literally glowing. Not with a blinding glow, but the kind of glow that onlookers dismiss as the sun coming through the window, bathing him. Still, he looks less like the angel he is than a middle management corporate beast of burden.
And despite his faux smile, “finally” is written plainly on the angel's face as he rises to greet the man who's just entered the shop. The newcomer looks the very definition of dapper. He carries himself as if he were under the spotlight in a Broadway play. Everything he does is just slightly exaggerated: his canvassing of the shop until he sees the angel; his near strut to the angel's table; his two-handed hand shake. He removes his coat and carefully lays it folded over one chair, then checks that his tie and suspenders are straight and that his shirt is properly tucked before taking the seat next to it, directly across from the angel.
Where the presence of the angel is dissonance among the crowd, this man is antithesis to the crowd; a wondering eye my hesitate when falling onto the angel, but the man demands attention.
“Sorry I'm late. I swear I must've walked into five other places looking just like this one—on this block alone, no less.”
The angel waves dismissively. “Not at all. Before we begin, would you like a drink?”
The man rubs his chin as if in deep deliberation. “You know... This whole thing has gotten me feeling nostalgic. I'd absolutely love a Comfortable Screw.” The angel hands the man a highball. He takes the familiar drink, not phased in the slightest that the angel seemed to pull it out of air. “Oh, thanks. Yes, that's delicious. Thank you for not totally mucking it up.”
“I'm sorry, but I can't imagine how one can mess up a Comfortable Screw.”
“Well, as often as I'd order one, I'd get a Slow Screw or a Screw up against the Wall, or anything in between—anything but an actual Comfortable Screw. That's why I stopped ordering them all together.”
“I suppose I see—”
“Ha... I just realized what that must say about me. How fitting.”
This surprises the angel, who's only expecting mindless chit-chat. After replaying the last few seconds in his mind, he pulls out a small notebook and begin making scratches on the first page in angelic shorthand.
“Excuse me—it seems that we're just going to jump right in. I know that you're expecting a traditional interview, but let me explain how this will actually work. You will tell me about yourself, no more and no less than you're prepared to disclose. However, be aware that we will make our decision based on what you say here in light of any and all information we have on you. I may prompt for elaboration on any given point. I may not. Do you understand?”
“Sure. That all seems very reasonable to me.”
“Then you may begin whenever you're ready.”
The man puts his drink on the table and leans in towards the angel, as if to physically enter his confidence. “Well, first I just have to satisfy my curiosity. At first, I was just surprised that I was given this opportunity, until I realized that this opportunity was in fact an interview to get into heaven. I have to ask: is this interview process some kind of special mechanism for cases like mine or is this pretty much standard fare?”
The angel sets his pad and pen down and takes a drink before answering. “We’ve only started interviewing entrants very recently—I’d say not longer than a century. It was the first initiative enacted after the organizational restructuring. For several reasons that I can’t go into with you, we’ve needed to become more selective of the people allowed into heaven, hence this interview process. So, to answer your question, it is standard for every potential entrant to justify their entrance to heaven. The actual interview is customized to be culturally appropriate for each individual, but remains fundamentally and functionally universal.”
“Well… If anything my curiosity has been piqued even further. But I'll respect your need for discretion.”
At that, the angel trades his drink for his pad and pen and jots down a few quick scratches. He did not expect that answer, as evidenced by his raised eyebrow, the only crack in his composure.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
some dialogue
i wrote this a while back. it's my first attempt at writing dialogue. yes, my first. and forgive the formatting.
Woman, on top of Man in bed (both clothed), with hair disheveled from tussle. Man, with arms pinned above his head by Woman, with his head turned to the side, tongue slightly appearing out of the side of his mouth, has his eyes closed and is trying to hold his breathe.
Woman: “what are you doing?”
Man: “playing dead.”
With that, Woman releases his arms, a little dejected. Man quickly rises up and envelopes Woman in his arms, turns and throws her down and pins her arms. Woman is shocked, but the look of disappointment remains.
Man: “oh, how the tables have turned.”
Woman: “get off of me.”
Man: “it seems you are at my mercy now.”
Surprise has left her face, and is replace with a mix of anger and annoyance.
Woman: “get off me now.”
Woman’s tone makes Man a little annoyed.
Man: “seriously?”
Woman: “yes.”
Man sighs as he releases Woman’s arms. Woman quickly rises up and envelopes Man in her arms, turns and throws him down and pins his arms again. Woman laughs triumphantly. Man exclaims.
Man: “damn you and damn my sense of fair play”
Woman: “you’ll never get the best of me.”
Man: “so true. name your terms.”
Woman: “will you surrender so easily?”
Man’s and Woman’s tone soften, breathes deepen.
Man: “if the terms are agreeable.”
Woman: “so you’re hoping for a benevolent queen?”
Man: “maybe not too benevolent.”
Woman looks down with a moan, then back at Man’s face with a smirk.
Woman: “well, one of my terms has been met.”
Man: “you know how wit turns me—“
Neither Man nor Woman say any more, as Woman quickly and deeply kisses Man.
Woman, on top of Man in bed (both clothed), with hair disheveled from tussle. Man, with arms pinned above his head by Woman, with his head turned to the side, tongue slightly appearing out of the side of his mouth, has his eyes closed and is trying to hold his breathe.
Woman: “what are you doing?”
Man: “playing dead.”
With that, Woman releases his arms, a little dejected. Man quickly rises up and envelopes Woman in his arms, turns and throws her down and pins her arms. Woman is shocked, but the look of disappointment remains.
Man: “oh, how the tables have turned.”
Woman: “get off of me.”
Man: “it seems you are at my mercy now.”
Surprise has left her face, and is replace with a mix of anger and annoyance.
Woman: “get off me now.”
Woman’s tone makes Man a little annoyed.
Man: “seriously?”
Woman: “yes.”
Man sighs as he releases Woman’s arms. Woman quickly rises up and envelopes Man in her arms, turns and throws him down and pins his arms again. Woman laughs triumphantly. Man exclaims.
Man: “damn you and damn my sense of fair play”
Woman: “you’ll never get the best of me.”
Man: “so true. name your terms.”
Woman: “will you surrender so easily?”
Man’s and Woman’s tone soften, breathes deepen.
Man: “if the terms are agreeable.”
Woman: “so you’re hoping for a benevolent queen?”
Man: “maybe not too benevolent.”
Woman looks down with a moan, then back at Man’s face with a smirk.
Woman: “well, one of my terms has been met.”
Man: “you know how wit turns me—“
Neither Man nor Woman say any more, as Woman quickly and deeply kisses Man.
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