(story) That Was Now, This Is Then (3100 words)
D.B. Metallo
think I focused on it the act too much. I think this may have novella/novel
potential, and I'd focus on the decisions made/not made. This is more or
less the opening/set-up. Thanks for looking at it.
That was Now, This is Then
Something was amiss. I was just getting up, and I felt somewhat
peculiar. Not exactly strange, but different nonetheless. I couldn't quite
put my finger on it. The room was strangely familiar. I made out an old
Grateful Dead "Europe '72" poster on the far wall. Looking down to see what
I was wearing, I saw I was dressed in a "Property of New York Yankees"
t-shirt and a pair of old jeans, the same clothes that I was wearing in
Faith's apartment, albeit looser-fitting. I quickly went to the mirror, and
looked at the image reflected to me. It was me all right, but my hair was
a bit longer, and the beer belly was gone. Along with my moustache.
Interesting to say the very least, I thought to myself. Am I dreaming?
I mulled over the events that led to this moment. My heart pounded
accordingly.
I remembered helping a woman escape an intoxicated man harassing her at
the tavern where I was having a beer or three, watching the World Series on
TV. Looking at the Yankees putting away the Diamondbacks in game five, I
noticed a rather disheveled drunken man tormenting her. The woman was very
attractive, although I was at a loss to put into words exactly why. Her
face is probably what initially drew me to her, with its angular lines, high
cheekbones, and she had these captivating cobalt-blue eyes that seemed to
shine. She was somewhere between twenty-five and middle-age; it was
difficult for me to determine. She had barely noticeable streaks of gray
just beginning to appear in her light brown hair, which fell past the middle
of her back. She appeared to have medium-sized breasts that appeared to be
quite perky beneath her grey wool sweater. She was wearing loose-fitting
khakis that complimented an inviting ass. She seemed to be vaguely
familiar, but I couldn't quite place exactly where from. It wasn't an
attraction to her that prompted me to help her; I was merely inclined to be
chivalrous. Of course, the allurement most likely didn't hurt matters.
I walked over to the man, who was peering very closely into the woman's
face. He appeared to be spraying her face with loose spittle, from her looks
of displeasure as she wiped her hand across her face. I walked up in time
to hear the man slur "All'sh I wansh ish a piecsh of ash, baby!", and then
placed his hand on the woman's behind. I grabbed the man's wrist, and
forced his arm far up behind his back. The man grimaced in pain as I led him
outside of the establishment, and I warned him not to bother the woman again
and to go home. I watch him as he slunk off across the road, his arm
dangling from his side.
Coming back inside the tavern, I took notice of the woman grinning
broadly at me, waving me over to her booth. She quickly told me that her
name was Faith, and that the man I rescued her from was her ex-husband. We
had a brief and for the most part superfluous conversation, talking about
the game and the music on the jukebox that was drowning out the
play-by-play, and making small talk. She bought me a shot of bourbon and a
beer, saying that she'd like to thank me. She treated me to an inviting
smile, then leaned forward and quietly invited me to her place. I quickly
drank the "boilermaker", and we slipped from the bar. She told me that she
lived in a townhouse very close to the bar, and we walked there mostly in
silence, with a few awkward words exchanged between us.
When we arrived at her place, a spacious and airy apartment, we talked
casually initially. She put on some modern jazz, and we sat on her couch,
laughing about the recent events in the bar. She rested her hand on my
thigh, looked me in the eyes, and said that she'd like to show her gratitude
. She brought her face close to mine and kissed me softly, and whispered to
me to relax and enjoy myself. She moved her hand lightly over the bulge in
my pants, undoing the zipper, and retrieved my rapidly hardening tool from
my pants. She knelt in front of me and ran her tongue slowly around the head
of my swollen shaft. She looked directly into my eyes as she took me into
her mouth, and I felt an unfamiliar tingling throughout my body. She
continued to move her mouth up and down my length, not once breaking eye
contact. Her eyes entranced me. They sparkled. They glimmered. They
beamed. They seemed to resonate with passion, with desire, and, for lack of
a better word, love. I suddenly was overcome with memories of my past,
racing within my mind. As I neared orgasm, I detected a trace of a smile in
her eyes. She looked intently into my face, her pupils dilating as I
exploded into the recesses of her mouth, and I was overwhelmed by a blinding
flash of intense white light. When I came to, I felt different.
As I waited for my eyes to become accustomed to the lack of light in
the room, I realized that I was in my bedroom -- my bedroom of twenty years
ago! I looked at the clock and it was 12:01am, the exact time I had left
2001. I perceived that there was a woman sleeping in bed beside me, and
recognized her as Madison, a thin, blonde, waif-like young woman. She was
very intelligent and really spiritual at the same time, a combination you
didn't see often. At least I didn't. I remembered her as being about
average height, with flaring hips and with an ass to write home about. She
leaned toward the insatiable in bed. We were "involved" for about a couple
of years in 1981-83, before she left me because I wouldn't commit to
marriage. This might not be so bad, I thought to myself. I eased out of
bed and walked into the room where a television was on.
If my memory serves me well, I'd be in Baltimore, a place I'd left in
1985, I reflected. I reached for my wallet and found $142 dollars, a 1980
Maryland driver's license with a very youthful photo of me on it, and a
current library card. I didn't believe in credit cards, even then. I found
a pack of Marlboro Reds in my shirt pocket, and although I had quit when I
was 33, felt compelled to light one up. I gazed at the blurry television
screen through curls of wispy smoke rising from my half-smoked cigarette. I
was trying to absorb what the announcer on the screen was saying, but I was
too preoccupied with the thoughts running through my head. What the fuck?
How did this shit happen?
I decided to walk to an all-night coffee shop that had the rather apt
name of "Sufficient Grounds", that if I remembered correctly, was just down
the street on the corner. Perhaps it would help me "get my head together",
to use the vernacular that was going out of vogue at the time. I grabbed an
old leather bomber jacket that was hanging on a hook by the door. Damn,
I've missed that jacket, I thought to myself. As I was walking to the "The
Grounds", I marveled at the 1970s automobiles I hadn't seen much of in
years, although my concept of time was very distorted now. When I reached
the restaurant, I glanced at the newspaper in the machine outside, and it
had a November 1, 1981 dateline upon it. I reached in my pocket for some
change, found some, and bought a paper, figuring that I'd better review the
current issues of the day.
Twenty years to the day, I noted before entering.
I walked into the coffee shop, trying to collect my thoughts and to
consider the ramifications of this event, and recognized the two persons at
the counter, in addition to a waitress I was familiar with in those days. Or
I guess I should say "these days".
"Hey Dylan -- how's it hanging? See you manana, amigo," a man said
casually to me. I remembered him as Rick as he was going out of the door.
He happened to play the drums for the band I was in, "One Hand Clapping".
He was an accomplished drummer. I had always kidding him that drummers were
"a dime a dozen". He didn't think much of that comment.
"Hey Rick, long time, no see," I said. The door swung closed as he walked
through.
If he only knew.
I was pretty friendly with Rick when we were in the band together, and
we had smoked quite a few bones together. Eventually he would overdose on
cocaine and die. In 1985. Just as the band was beginning to take off. A
by-product of fame, I guess.
"Yo' Dylan! Aren't you going to say anything to me? Or is the fame of
being in a rising blues-rock band going to your head?" a voice on the other
side of me said. "Same ol', same ol', I guess."
"Hey there," I said. I turned to face him, and recognized him as Dave.
He had been one of my closest friends in high school. "What's kickin',
Dave?"
"Well, you know, I've been tiltin' a few'," he told me. He smiled as he
pantomimed drinking from a bottle. "I thought that I'd get a cup of coffee
before I want home. You take care, Dylan." He paid his tab and walked
toward the door.
Dave had eventually turned into an alcoholic, partially the result of a
bad marriage, and eventually killed himself and two other people in a
gruesome auto accident.
I found myself alone with the girl behind the counter in the coffee
shop, slowly sipping my coffee while I thought about the complications and
advantages of my predicament. 'What now? Will everything go exactly as it
did twenty years ago? Obviously not. I had free will, obviously enough.
Should I alter the course of someone's life? What if I do? What
repercussions will arise?' As I was pondering those questions, the waitress
approached and refilled my cup.
"Would you like anything to eat? I could fix you an order of fries and
gravy in no time. How are you and Madison doing, Dylan?" the waitress
asked. She had a pretty smile.
I looked at her name tag to see that her name was Brittany. It came to
me then. She was a pretty red-haired girl, very slight of build, almost
anorexic, it seemed. If I wasn't mistaken, she had conceived four different
children by three assorted fathers, and ended up a single mother. At a
fairly young age. I guess she might have been Catholic, or merely wanted
children. The exercise hadn't treated her body very well at all.
"No thanks. I really don't have much of an appetite. And we've been
okay, I guess. And how have you been, Brittany? It's been a while."
I really couldn't remember how Madison and I were. I suppose I would
find out when I got home. Boy, this could get strange, I thought. As if
this wasn't strange enough.
"Call me 'Brit', Dylan. You know that," she told me. She flashed a
flirtatious grin. "And you were just in here a couple of nights ago, you big
silly!"
She reminded me that I had been to "The Grounds" a couple of nights
before this one, as Madison had wanted a slice of their renowned strawberry
cheesecake. I remember hoping that she wasn't pregnant. My memory seemed
to be getting accustomed to "real-time".
"Hey 'D'! I thought we were supposed to meet at The Horse tonight?"
A person who I immediately recognized as Danny asked me that, as he
was the only person who called me 'D'. He was like a big brother to me
throughout my entire life, even though he was merely two years older than I
was. Danny was one of the most intelligent people I had ever encountered in
my life. He was referring to a bar called "The Horse You Rode In On",
located in what was a rather Bohemian section of Baltimore city known as
Fells Point, with lots of watering holes and live music lining the historic
cobblestone streets. It was to be overrun by yuppies by the mid-eighties;
the price of being trendy, I guess. If I had ever had a "best friend" in my
life, it would have to have been Danny.
"Hey Danno," I responded immediately. I had dubbed him with that
nickname when we were kids, taken from 'Hawaii 5-0'. It stuck. "Umm,
sorry Ace. I was kind of held up." I wasn't about to tell him that I had
been watching the Diamondbacks play the Yankees in the World Series -- in
2001. But it was good to see him though. It really was.
"So, how do you think band practice is going to go tomorrow? It could
be pretty big. According to some rumors I've heard, some pretty influential
people will be there," he told me. I quickly remembered that Danny was sort
of our band's "de facto" manager. He's the one who came up with the name
"One Hand Clapping". He was sort of the "mystical" one in my circle of
friends. We had been going by the name "Yo' Mama" -- as in "What's the name
of your band, man?" -- "Yo' Mama." I think that Rick had come up the name
"Buster Hymen and the Thin Membranes". Which was quickly vetoed.
"We'll rock. More or less."
Great, I thought. I hadn't played the electric guitar seriously in
years. I wonder how I'll do? If I recalled correctly, it went pretty well.
Then. Can history be changed? And where do I fit in? Boy, I had a lot of
thinking to do.
"Did you walk here? C'mon, I'll give you a lift home," he said. "I
have something I want to show you, man. I'll get the tab."
I quickly took a last sip of my coffee and started toward the door
with Danny.
"Thanks for stopping by, Dylan. Take care, Danny," Brit told him. She
winked at him as she did. "Hey Dylan! Don't forget your coat."
"Thanks, Brit. Take care. I'll probably see you later." I retrieved
my jacket and followed Dylan out of the door to his car.
I said 'probably' because I hadn't been to sleep yet, and I didn't
know if this was just going to an "overnight sensation" type of thing.
Maybe it was an incredibly realistic dream. I could wake up back home in
2001, waiting for game six of the Series, for all I knew. I guess both
sides of the equation had their strong points. After all, I was twenty
years younger. The downside was that I was twenty years poorer as well. I
think any sane man would have taken the twenty years younger part of the
deal, without question.
When we got to the apartment, and Danno grabbed what appeared to be
six bottles of Beck's from the backseat. He always had a certain
predilection for German lager. Throughout his life. As we were walking to
the door, he spoke up.
"Is Madison here, man?"
"She was when I left. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I don't know. I just think that she's not real keen on me. That's
all, man," he told me. We got to the door and entered my apartment.
It had been a while since I'd been addressed as "man" so much.
"Be quiet, Danno," I whispered. "I think Madison's still asleep."
We went and sat on the couch in front of the television that was still
on, and Danno opened two beers with his ever-present Swiss Army Knife.
"Check this out, 'D'," Danno said quietly as he pulled a 33mm film
canister from his pocket. "Fucking Thai weed, man. It's opiated; it's gonna
fuck you up," he told me with a grin. "I picked it up from this friend of
mine in Manhattan."
Danno was just beginning what was to be a very successful commodities
career. As it turned out, he had made most of his money early on trading in
coffee and gasoline futures.
"Madison's okay with you, Danno. She's just sort of quiet.
Introspective." I was being truthful in my assessment. "Wow! I haven't
smoked dope in a while."
I had stopped smoking anything when I was 33, along with cigarettes.
It must have been that health thing that was in vogue in the early-nineties.
"Yeah, right... and I'm a Harley Davidson. We just smoked a righteous
joint that you had with you the other night," Danno pointed out. "Here are
the papers. Twist up a pinner. That's all we'll need, I assure you." Danny
had always been known to have a variety of good "illicit commodities", as he
termed them, on hand, and the band was never without.
"Caught me, huh?" I asked with a shy smile. I realized that I had to
watch what I said. Everything that I said. My memories of twenty years ago
weren't all that clear. I wondered if I could still roll a bone as it had
been so long, but it came right back to me. I finished rolling the joint
and handed it to Danno. He handed it back to me.
"You light it, Ace. Taste this shit. It's incredible."
I lit the bone, and he was right -- it did have an especially
pungent taste to it -- even considering the fact that I hadn't smoked any
dope in nine years "my time". I could feel the effects of the opium-laced
weed almost immediately. We passed the diminutive joint between us until it
was spent.
"Hey thanks, Danno. I'm higher than a motherfucker," I told him. I
grinned broadly. I wondered silently if I should tell him the circumstances
of my being here at that moment. I was really high. I didn't know if I was
capable of putting my predicament into words that resembled anything near
sane.
"Don't mention it, man. You're always there for me.
"He who does not know history is *doomed* to repeat it,"
"Okay; who's going to win the Superbowl this year?"
"San Francisco. They beat the Bengals. I don't recall the exact score.
It was a low scoring game. Montana pulled it out in the final minutes. It
was 21 to 17, or something like that,"
"Okay, something more substantial: The stock market,"
"I didn't really follow the market until 1984. That was the time I
got involved with you in that buying short/selling long idea you had. If I
remember correctly, we lost our asses."
--
Take care,
Danny
"Opportunity knocks once; temptation leans on the doorbell."
Rat Sass Online
http://members.fortunecity.com/metallo2/index.html
Archer070
> Something was amiss. I was just getting up, and I felt somewhat
>peculiar. Not exactly strange, but different nonetheless. I couldn't quite
>put my finger on it.
BANG! Book shut! If you took this many words to say nothing at all, how many
words will you take to tell us something?
However:
>
>Okay, maybe I chose a not-so-expected vehicle for time travel, but I don't
>think I focused on. . . the act too much.
Now THERE is a decent opening line, full of information and mystery not only
about the story, but about the narrator. Indeed, when I read it, I thought:
"Hey, a writer."
Danielle Love
"Archer070" <arch...@aol.com> wrote in message
news:20020204145209...@mb-mf.aol.com...
I felt that I had to get the opening circumstances out of the way. I
mean, it's still in very rough draft, but in the next portion I thought
I would focus on relationships before/after, the band, and what
direction he might lead it, him being aware of the future trends and
all.
I simply wasn't aware that I was to instill moral values and a reason
for living in the first few pages. My apologies.
(I still think it's a bitchin' title though...<g>)
H. Danson
Hi Dan,
Going back in time is a facsinating concenpt and has tempted many a writer. Your
initial efforts are good, but you need to work on it. I've pointed out a few
things in the text. Some of them can be regarded as genenral comments, some of
them might be a matter of taste.
Kind regards
Danson
On Mon, 4 Feb 2002 08:39:55 -0500, "D.B. Metallo" <db_me...@hotmail.com>
wrote:
>Okay, maybe I chose a not-so-expected vehicle for time travel, but I don't
>think I focused on it the act too much. I think this may have novella/novel
>potential, and I'd focus on the decisions made/not made. This is more or
>less the opening/set-up. Thanks for looking at it.
>
>
>
> That was Now, This is Then
>
> Something was amiss. I was just getting up, and I felt somewhat
>peculiar. Not exactly strange, but different nonetheless. I couldn't quite
>put my finger on it. The room was strangely familiar. I made out an old
>Grateful Dead "Europe '72" poster on the far wall. Looking down to see what
>I was wearing, I saw I was dressed in a "Property of New York Yankees"
>t-shirt and a pair of old jeans, the same clothes that I was wearing in
>Faith's apartment, albeit looser-fitting. I quickly went to the mirror, and
No comma after mirror.
>looked at the image reflected to me. It was me all right, but my hair was
>a bit longer, and the beer belly was gone. Along with my moustache.
Comma after gone.
>
> Interesting to say the very least, I thought to myself. Am I dreaming?
>I mulled over the events that led to this moment. My heart pounded
>accordingly.
>
> I remembered helping a woman escape an intoxicated man harassing her at
>the tavern where I was having a beer or three, watching the World Series on
>TV. Looking at the Yankees putting away the Diamondbacks in game five, I
>noticed a rather disheveled drunken man tormenting her. The woman was very
>attractive, although I was at a loss to put into words exactly why. Her
>face is probably what initially drew me to her, with its angular lines, high
>cheekbones, and she had these captivating cobalt-blue eyes that seemed to
>shine. She was somewhere between twenty-five and middle-age; it was
>difficult for me to determine. She had barely noticeable streaks of gray
>just beginning to appear in her light brown hair, which fell past the middle
>of her back. She appeared to have medium-sized breasts that appeared to be
>quite perky beneath her grey wool sweater. She was wearing loose-fitting
>khakis that complimented an inviting ass. She seemed to be vaguely
>familiar, but I couldn't quite place exactly where from.
the detailed description of the woman is overkill. Do the reader need this
listing of physical features? Kick the habit.
>It wasn't an
>attraction to her that prompted me to help her; I was merely inclined to be
>chivalrous. Of course, the allurement most likely didn't hurt matters.
>
> I walked over to the man, who was peering very closely into the woman's
>face. He appeared to be spraying her face with loose spittle, from her looks
>of displeasure as she wiped her hand across her face. I walked up in time
Awkward. Try: "from the looks of displeasure as she wiped her hand across her
face, he appeared to be spraying her face with loose spittle."
>to hear the man slur "All'sh I wansh ish a piecsh of ash, baby!", and then
>placed his hand on the woman's behind. I grabbed the man's wrist, and
>forced his arm far up behind his back. The man grimaced in pain as I led him
>outside of the establishment, and I warned him not to bother the woman again
>and to go home. I watch him as he slunk off across the road, his arm
>dangling from his side.
>
> Coming back inside the tavern, I took notice of the woman grinning
>broadly at me, waving me over to her booth. She quickly told me that her
Mind the tense.
>name was Faith, and that the man I rescued her from was her ex-husband. We
>had a brief and for the most part superfluous conversation, talking about
>the game and the music on the jukebox that was drowning out the
>play-by-play, and making small talk. She bought me a shot of bourbon and a
Skip "and making small talk." that's what you have just described.
>beer, saying that she'd like to thank me. She treated me to an inviting
>smile, then leaned forward and quietly invited me to her place. I quickly
>drank the "boilermaker", and we slipped from the bar. She told me that she
>lived in a townhouse very close to the bar, and we walked there mostly in
>silence, with a few awkward words exchanged between us.
>
> When we arrived at her place, a spacious and airy apartment, we talked
>casually initially. She put on some modern jazz, and we sat on her couch,
May I suggest something like: "Her apartment was spacious and airy. She put on
some . . . "
You should try to avoid turning your story into a chronological listing of
events.
>laughing about the recent events in the bar. She rested her hand on my
>thigh, looked me in the eyes, and said that she'd like to show her gratitude
>. She brought her face close to mine and kissed me softly, and whispered to
A little dialog might fit nicely?
>me to relax and enjoy myself. She moved her hand lightly over the bulge in
>my pants, undoing the zipper, and retrieved my rapidly hardening tool from
>my pants. She knelt in front of me and ran her tongue slowly around the head
>of my swollen shaft. She looked directly into my eyes as she took me into
>her mouth, and I felt an unfamiliar tingling throughout my body. She
>continued to move her mouth up and down my length, not once breaking eye
>contact. Her eyes entranced me. They sparkled. They glimmered. They
>beamed. They seemed to resonate with passion, with desire, and, for lack of
>a better word, love. I suddenly was overcome with memories of my past,
>racing within my mind. As I neared orgasm, I detected a trace of a smile in
>her eyes. She looked intently into my face, her pupils dilating as I
>exploded into the recesses of her mouth, and I was overwhelmed by a blinding
>flash of intense white light. When I came to, I felt different.
>
Consider the level of secual details. Does it fit in with your aim with this
story?
> As I waited for my eyes to become accustomed to the lack of light in
>the room, I realized that I was in my bedroom -- my bedroom of twenty years
>ago! I looked at the clock and it was 12:01am, the exact time I had left
>2001. I perceived that there was a woman sleeping in bed beside me, and
>recognized her as Madison, a thin, blonde, waif-like young woman. She was
>very intelligent and really spiritual at the same time, a combination you
>didn't see often. At least I didn't. I remembered her as being about
>average height, with flaring hips and with an ass to write home about. She
>leaned toward the insatiable in bed. We were "involved" for about a couple
>of years in 1981-83, before she left me because I wouldn't commit to
>marriage. This might not be so bad, I thought to myself. I eased out of
>bed and walked into the room where a television was on.
>
> If my memory serves me well, I'd be in Baltimore, a place I'd left in
>1985, I reflected. I reached for my wallet and found $142 dollars, a 1980
Skip "I reflected." It's understood.
>Maryland driver's license with a very youthful photo of me on it, and a
>current library card. I didn't believe in credit cards, even then. I found
>a pack of Marlboro Reds in my shirt pocket, and although I had quit when I
>was 33, felt compelled to light one up. I gazed at the blurry television
>screen through curls of wispy smoke rising from my half-smoked cigarette. I
>was trying to absorb what the announcer on the screen was saying, but I was
>too preoccupied with the thoughts running through my head. What the fuck?
>How did this shit happen?
>
> I decided to walk to an all-night coffee shop that had the rather apt
>name of "Sufficient Grounds", that if I remembered correctly, was just down
>the street on the corner. Perhaps it would help me "get my head together",
>to use the vernacular that was going out of vogue at the time. I grabbed an
>old leather bomber jacket that was hanging on a hook by the door. Damn,
>I've missed that jacket, I thought to myself. As I was walking to the "The
>Grounds", I marveled at the 1970s automobiles I hadn't seen much of in
>years, although my concept of time was very distorted now. When I reached
>the restaurant, I glanced at the newspaper in the machine outside, and it
>had a November 1, 1981 dateline upon it. I reached in my pocket for some
>change, found some, and bought a paper, figuring that I'd better review the
>current issues of the day.
>
> Twenty years to the day, I noted before entering.
>
> I walked into the coffee shop, trying to collect my thoughts and to
>consider the ramifications of this event, and recognized the two persons at
Full stop after "Event I recognized . . . " You are trying to link two seperate
sentenses.
>the counter, in addition to a waitress I was familiar with in those days. Or
>I guess I should say "these days".
>
> "Hey Dylan -- how's it hanging? See you manana, amigo," a man said
>casually to me. I remembered him as Rick as he was going out of the door.
>He happened to play the drums for the band I was in, "One Hand Clapping".
"Play the drums in the band . . "?
>He was an accomplished drummer. I had always kidding him that drummers were
"I was always . . . "?
>"a dime a dozen". He didn't think much of that comment.
>
> "Hey Rick, long time, no see," I said. The door swung closed as he walked
>through.
>
> If he only knew.
>
> I was pretty friendly with Rick when we were in the band together, and
>we had smoked quite a few bones together. Eventually he would overdose on
>cocaine and die. In 1985. Just as the band was beginning to take off. A
>by-product of fame, I guess.
>
> "Yo' Dylan! Aren't you going to say anything to me? Or is the fame of
>being in a rising blues-rock band going to your head?" a voice on the other
Sounds wrong. Skip the "blues-rock." He would never say that, just band.
>side of me said. "Same ol', same ol', I guess."
>
> "Hey there," I said. I turned to face him, and recognized him as Dave.
>He had been one of my closest friends in high school. "What's kickin',
>Dave?"
>
> "Well, you know, I've been tiltin' a few'," he told me. He smiled as he
>pantomimed drinking from a bottle. "I thought that I'd get a cup of coffee
>before I want home. You take care, Dylan." He paid his tab and walked
>toward the door.
>
> Dave had eventually turned into an alcoholic, partially the result of a
>bad marriage, and eventually killed himself and two other people in a
>gruesome auto accident.
>
> I found myself alone with the girl behind the counter in the coffee
>shop, slowly sipping my coffee while I thought about the complications and
We know you are in the coffee shop. No need to repeat it.
>advantages of my predicament. 'What now? Will everything go exactly as it
>did twenty years ago? Obviously not. I had free will, obviously enough.
>Should I alter the course of someone's life? What if I do? What
>repercussions will arise?' As I was pondering those questions, the waitress
>approached and refilled my cup.
Consider the tense here. It sounds wrong to suddenly use present tense, even
thought it is his thoughts.
>
> "Would you like anything to eat? I could fix you an order of fries and
>gravy in no time. How are you and Madison doing, Dylan?" the waitress
>asked. She had a pretty smile.
>
> I looked at her name tag to see that her name was Brittany. It came to
>me then. She was a pretty red-haired girl, very slight of build, almost
>anorexic, it seemed. If I wasn't mistaken, she had conceived four different
>children by three assorted fathers, and ended up a single mother. At a
No full stop after mother. "at a fairly young age" belong in the same sentence..
Drop "Quickly".
>
> "Thanks for stopping by, Dylan. Take care, Danny," Brit told him. She
>winked at him as she did. "Hey Dylan! Don't forget your coat."
>
> "Thanks, Brit. Take care. I'll probably see you later." I retrieved
>my jacket and followed Dylan out of the door to his car.
Unless he has parked car inside, it is understood that you went out the door.
" ... and followed Danny to his car." The narrator is Dylan, right? :-)
>
> I said 'probably' because I hadn't been to sleep yet, and I didn't
>know if this was just going to an "overnight sensation" type of thing.
" ...going to be .."
>Maybe it was an incredibly realistic dream. I could wake up back home in
>2001, waiting for game six of the Series, for all I knew. I guess both
>sides of the equation had their strong points. After all, I was twenty
>years younger. The downside was that I was twenty years poorer as well. I
>think any sane man would have taken the twenty years younger part of the
>deal, without question.
No comma after deal.
>
> When we got to the apartment, and Danno grabbed what appeared to be
>six bottles of Beck's from the backseat. He always had a certain
>predilection for German lager. Throughout his life. As we were walking to
"Throughout his life he had a predilection for German bear." The short
fracmented sentense doesn't look good.
>the door, he spoke up.
>
> "Is Madison here, man?"
>
> "She was when I left. Why do you ask?"
>
> "Oh, I don't know. I just think that she's not real keen on me. That's
>all, man," he told me. We got to the door and entered my apartment.
>
> It had been a while since I'd been addressed as "man" so much.
>
> "Be quiet, Danno," I whispered. "I think Madison's still asleep."
>
> We went and sat on the couch in front of the television that was still
>on, and Danno opened two beers with his ever-present Swiss Army Knife.
>
> "Check this out, 'D'," Danno said quietly as he pulled a 33mm film
>canister from his pocket. "Fucking Thai weed, man. It's opiated; it's gonna
>fuck you up," he told me with a grin. "I picked it up from this friend of
>mine in Manhattan."
>
> Danno was just beginning what was to be a very successful commodities
>career. As it turned out, he had made most of his money early on trading in
>coffee and gasoline futures.
"As it turned out" and "early on" contradicts each other. Make up your mind.
>
> "Madison's okay with you, Danno. She's just sort of quiet.
>Introspective." I was being truthful in my assessment. "Wow! I haven't
>smoked dope in a while."
>
> I had stopped smoking anything when I was 33, along with cigarettes.
"even cigarettes." ?
>It must have been that health thing that was in vogue in the early-nineties.
"early nineties."
>
> "Yeah, right... and I'm a Harley Davidson. We just smoked a righteous
>joint that you had with you the other night," Danno pointed out. "Here are
>the papers. Twist up a pinner. That's all we'll need, I assure you." Danny
>had always been known to have a variety of good "illicit commodities", as he
>termed them, on hand, and the band was never without.
>
> "Caught me, huh?" I asked with a shy smile. I realized that I had to
>watch what I said. Everything that I said. My memories of twenty years ago
>weren't all that clear. I wondered if I could still roll a bone as it had
>been so long, but it came right back to me. I finished rolling the joint
The reader knows "it had been so long". No need to tell him agian.
D.B. Metallo
"H. Danson" <h_da...@hotmail.remove.com> wrote in message
news:3c5fa6a8...@news.dk.uu.net...
> Hi Dan,
> Going back in time is a facsinating concenpt and has tempted many a
writer. Your
> initial efforts are good, but you need to work on it. I've pointed out a
few
> things in the text. Some of them can be regarded as genenral comments,
some of
> them might be a matter of taste.
First off, thanks for the suggestions and pointers. I truly appreciate them.
I know it needs a bunch of work, but I wanted to get a few pages down as a
set-up for the rest of the story. I had a few ideas with this one. One was
to have his band get fairly popular, on a national, maybe even international
level. And since Dylan had knowledge of MTVs rise in the early 80s, he
would have the video concepts and cameras at the ready.
For the ending, I was considering a couple of things. I was thinking of
have him him tip off the authorities to the Sept. 11 incident. From there I
could go two ways: one, have one of the persons who would have died on the
plane kill him in a DWI accident, a "no good deed goes unpunished" sort of
thing; the second I was thinking of having those calls being traced, and he
writes the whole story from prison, after being jailed for conspiracy, as no
one would believe his "back from the future" story. Another variation of the
"no good deed goes unpunished" theme. I'm leaning toward the former.
I planned to focus on the repercussions of decisions made/not made. I'm
having in to do a bit of research on the early 80s just to pull off the
opening.
> On Mon, 4 Feb 2002 08:39:55 -0500, "D.B. Metallo" <db_me...@hotmail.com>
> wrote:
> > I walked over to the man, who was peering very closely into the
woman's
> >face. He appeared to be spraying her face with loose spittle, from her
looks
> >of displeasure as she wiped her hand across her face. I walked up in
time
>
> Awkward. Try: "from the looks of displeasure as she wiped her hand across
her
> face, he appeared to be spraying her face with loose spittle."
Yet another good catch. Thanks a bunch.
<snip>
>
> >name was Faith, and that the man I rescued her from was her ex-husband.
We
> >had a brief and for the most part superfluous conversation, talking about
> >the game and the music on the jukebox that was drowning out the
> >play-by-play, and making small talk. She bought me a shot of bourbon and
a
>
> Skip "and making small talk." that's what you have just described.
Another good catch. I very much appreciate your efforts.
Yeah, old habits die hard. I tried to make it unerotic, but I see I'll
have to go back and minimalize it even more. I was thinking of that before.
<snip>
> >
> > If my memory serves me well, I'd be in Baltimore, a place I'd left in
> >1985, I reflected. I reached for my wallet and found $142 dollars, a
1980
>
> Skip "I reflected." It's understood.
I really do appreciate your catches.
<snip>
I really do appreciate this.
>> >He was an accomplished drummer. I had always kidding him that drummers
were
>
> "I was always . . . "?
Ibid =- )
> >"a dime a dozen". He didn't think much of that comment.
> >
> > "Hey Rick, long time, no see," I said. The door swung closed as he
walked
> >through.
> >
> > If he only knew.
> >
> > I was pretty friendly with Rick when we were in the band together,
and
> >we had smoked quite a few bones together. Eventually he would overdose
on
> >cocaine and die. In 1985. Just as the band was beginning to take off. A
> >by-product of fame, I guess.
> >
> > "Yo' Dylan! Aren't you going to say anything to me? Or is the fame
of
> >being in a rising blues-rock band going to your head?" a voice on the
other
>
> Sounds wrong. Skip the "blues-rock." He would never say that, just band.
Thanks again.
Duly considered. Thanks.
> > "Would you like anything to eat? I could fix you an order of fries
and
> >gravy in no time. How are you and Madison doing, Dylan?" the waitress
> >asked. She had a pretty smile.
> >
> > I looked at her name tag to see that her name was Brittany. It came
to
> >me then. She was a pretty red-haired girl, very slight of build, almost
> >anorexic, it seemed. If I wasn't mistaken, she had conceived four
different
> >children by three assorted fathers, and ended up a single mother. At a
>
> No full stop after mother. "at a fairly young age" belong in the same
sentence..
I think that the inclusion of "At a fairly young age" is something of a
stylistic thing on my part. I also feel that it emphasizes "fairly young
age". I could be wrong
Again, thanks for the catches and pointers. I'm in the middle of doing
some research on '81,'82,'83, and ''84. I have some general 80s sites, but
I'm still looking for the headlines of the day on November 1, 1981. The NY
and the LA Times only go back 5 years.
I appreciate it,
Danny
H. Danson
wrote:
>
>"H. Danson" <h_da...@hotmail.remove.com> wrote in message
>news:3c5fa6a8...@news.dk.uu.net...
>
>> Hi Dan,
>
>> Going back in time is a facsinating concenpt and has tempted many a
>writer. Your
>> initial efforts are good, but you need to work on it. I've pointed out a
>few
>> things in the text. Some of them can be regarded as genenral comments,
>some of
>> them might be a matter of taste.
>
>First off, thanks for the suggestions and pointers. I truly appreciate them.
>I know it needs a bunch of work, but I wanted to get a few pages down as a
>set-up for the rest of the story. I had a few ideas with this one. One was
>to have his band get fairly popular, on a national, maybe even international
>level. And since Dylan had knowledge of MTVs rise in the early 80s, he
>would have the video concepts and cameras at the ready.
Good idea. Buggles? (Not really sure it's spelled that way.)
>
> For the ending, I was considering a couple of things. I was thinking of
>have him him tip off the authorities to the Sept. 11 incident. From there I
>could go two ways: one, have one of the persons who would have died on the
>plane kill him in a DWI accident, a "no good deed goes unpunished" sort of
>thing; the second I was thinking of having those calls being traced, and he
>writes the whole story from prison, after being jailed for conspiracy, as no
>one would believe his "back from the future" story. Another variation of the
>"no good deed goes unpunished" theme. I'm leaning toward the former.
>
I would go for the second, especially because it will be possible to have the
reader wonder as to whether his time-travel is real or an illusion. If sep. 11
goes on as it did in the real world, the reader might even wonder if Dylan is
still in his rubber cell somewhere. I think you need to think about an
underlying theme to avoid writing something that has already been exploited
fully in both books and movies. "No good deeds go unpunished " might not be
enough to pull the story through.
> I planned to focus on the repercussions of decisions made/not made. I'm
>having in to do a bit of research on the early 80s just to pull off the
>opening.
>
Snip
>> > I looked at her name tag to see that her name was Brittany. It came
>to
>> >me then. She was a pretty red-haired girl, very slight of build, almost
>> >anorexic, it seemed. If I wasn't mistaken, she had conceived four
>different
>> >children by three assorted fathers, and ended up a single mother. At a
>>
>> No full stop after mother. "at a fairly young age" belong in the same
>sentence..
>
> I think that the inclusion of "At a fairly young age" is something of a
>stylistic thing on my part. I also feel that it emphasizes "fairly young
>age". I could be wrong
If you want ot emphasise "fairly young age" I think you should write it as
"...children by three assorted fathers and ended up a single mother, and did so
at a fairly young age." Setting it of in a seperate sentense is grammatically
wrong, in my humble opinion and it reads awkward.
>>
>>
> Again, thanks for the catches and pointers. I'm in the middle of doing
>some research on '81,'82,'83, and ''84. I have some general 80s sites, but
>I'm still looking for the headlines of the day on November 1, 1981. The NY
>and the LA Times only go back 5 years.
>
> I appreciate it,
> Danny
Try here: http://www.scopesys.com/today/
Kind regards
Danson
Alaric
I think you need to clear your head of sex. Hard advice, but honest. Most
stories don't need the fine detail. Sometimes one sentence is okay.
Sometimes a hint. And describing people by their bum 'n boobs is a porn
story staple. It REALLY doesn't work in mainstream fiction. This is not a
good story with spice. This is a good story ruined by spice. I'll try to
show you what I mean as we go.
> Something was amiss. I was just getting up, and I felt somewhat peculiar.
Not exactly strange, but different nonetheless. I couldn't quite put my
finger on it.
I agree with another reviewer that this is a weak beginning.
> I quickly went to the mirror, and looked at the image reflected to me. It
was me all right, but my hair was a bit longer, and the beer belly was gone.
Along with my moustache.
What would make him go to the mirror?
> The woman was very attractive, although I was at a loss to put into words
exactly why. Her face is probably what initially drew me to her, with its
angular lines, high cheekbones, and she had these captivating cobalt-blue
eyes that seemed to shine.
He says he can't understand why he found her attractive, then goes on to
tell us.
> She appeared to have medium-sized breasts that appeared to be quite perky
beneath her grey wool sweater. She was wearing loose-fitting khakis that
complimented an inviting ass.
Breast 'n ass. We've only just met this character, and I'm more interested
in her bearing, her impression.
> I walked up in time to hear the man slur "All'sh I wansh ish a piecsh of
ash, baby!", and then placed his hand on the woman's behind.
Walked twice, too close together.
> I watch him as he slunk off across the road, his arm dangling from his
side.
Watched.
> She quickly told me that her name was Faith, and that the man I rescued
her from was her ex-husband.
Cut quickly. Useless and confusing.
> We had a brief and for the most part superfluous conversation, talking
about the game and the music on the jukebox that was drowning out the
play-by-play, and making small talk.
Why superfluous?
> When we arrived at her place, a spacious and airy apartment, we talked
casually initially.
Cut initially.
> She put on some modern jazz, and we sat on her couch, laughing about the
recent events in the bar.
Ian Carr's Nucleus, I hope.
> She rested her hand on my thigh, looked me in the eyes, and said that
she'd like to show her gratitude .. She brought her face close to mine and
kissed me softly, and whispered to me to relax and enjoy myself.
When you get to the sex, not only do you chuck realism out of the window -
said that she'd like to show her gratitude pshaw - but you go into superheat
mode. We don't know either of these characters. What do we care about the
physical details of their coupling? Later we might. Just possibly. Now, we
don't. Turned off (rather than on) here..
> She looked intently into my face, her pupils dilating as I exploded into
the recesses of her mouth, and I was overwhelmed by a blinding flash of
intense white light.
.To here. I'd rewrite:-
She rested her hand on my thigh, looked me in the eyes. She brought her face
close to mine and kissed me softly...
And why not let the kiss be the time travel trigger? That said, you're
plagiarising me <g>. I'll send you the secret web link if you want. Or you
could bribe H. Danson.
> I remembered her as being about average height, with flaring hips and with
an ass to write home about.
Hips 'n ass again. I care why?
> If my memory serves me well, I'd be in Baltimore, a place I'd left in
1985, I reflected.
Tense confusions here.
> "Yo' Dylan! Aren't you going to say anything to me? Or is the fame of
being in a rising blues-rock band going to your head?"
Aaaargh on the tell the reader dialogue.
> Great, I thought. I hadn't played the electric guitar seriously in years.
Good reference to Back To The Future (if intended.)
> "Hey thanks, Danno. I'm higher than a motherfucker," I told him. I grinned
broadly. I wondered silently if I should tell him the circumstances of my
being here at that moment. I was really high. I didn't know if I was capable
of putting my predicament into words that resembled anything near sane.
"Don't mention it, man. You're always there for me. "He who does not know
history is *doomed* to repeat it," "Okay; who's going to win the Superbowl
this year?" "San Francisco. They beat the Bengals."
Er. where in here does he tell Dan about the time travelling?
Hard review, Dan. Sorry. For what it's worth, the rest is smooth,
entertaining and captures the imagination. But you have to kill the Behind
The Green Door writer hiding in the back of your head.
D.B. Metallo
>
> I think you need to clear your head of sex. Hard advice, but honest. Most
> stories don't need the fine detail. Sometimes one sentence is okay.
> Sometimes a hint. And describing people by their bum 'n boobs is a porn
> story staple. It REALLY doesn't work in mainstream fiction. This is not a
> good story with spice. This is a good story ruined by spice. I'll try to
> show you what I mean as we go.
>
> > Something was amiss. I was just getting up, and I felt somewhat
peculiar.
> Not exactly strange, but different nonetheless. I couldn't quite put my
> finger on it.
>
> I agree with another reviewer that this is a weak beginning.
It was only a tentative beginning. It's still in very rough draft form.
And that other reviewer was biased...<g>
>
> > I quickly went to the mirror, and looked at the image reflected to me.
It
> was me all right, but my hair was a bit longer, and the beer belly was
gone.
> Along with my moustache.
>
> What would make him go to the mirror?
I thought that the fact of him feeling peculiar led him there. I guess I
could just have the mirror on the way to getting a drink of water.
>
> > The woman was very attractive, although I was at a loss to put into
words
> exactly why. Her face is probably what initially drew me to her, with its
> angular lines, high cheekbones, and she had these captivating cobalt-blue
> eyes that seemed to shine.
>
> He says he can't understand why he found her attractive, then goes on to
> tell us.
I don't know. Granted, I do have my roots in the smut/porn/erotica side
of the coin(well, kinda; I did some sportswriting before that), but I
thought it would be painting a more detailed picture of the scene. The
average reader isn't interested at all what she looks like? I beg to
differ. And i thought it helped explain his intervention.
>
> > She appeared to have medium-sized breasts that appeared to be quite
perky
> beneath her grey wool sweater. She was wearing loose-fitting khakis that
> complimented an inviting ass.
>
> Breast 'n ass. We've only just met this character, and I'm more interested
> in her bearing, her impression.
I was getting to that...<g> I merely wanted to explain the attraction.
>
> > I walked up in time to hear the man slur "All'sh I wansh ish a piecsh of
> ash, baby!", and then placed his hand on the woman's behind.
>
> Walked twice, too close together.
So instituted. Thanks for the catch.
>
> > I watch him as he slunk off across the road, his arm dangling from his
> side.
> Watched.
Again, thanks for the catch.
>
> > We had a brief and for the most part superfluous conversation, talking
> about the game and the music on the jukebox that was drowning out the
> play-by-play, and making small talk.
>
> Why superfluous?
Superfluous in the sense that they were just talking talking to one another
for the first time; No?
>
> > When we arrived at her place, a spacious and airy apartment, we talked
> casually initially.
>
> Cut initially.
Thanks again.
> > She put on some modern jazz, and we sat on her couch, laughing about the
> recent events in the bar.
>
> Ian Carr's Nucleus, I hope.
Actually, I'm not all that hip to modern jazz, listening to Miles Davis,
Weather Report, and this cat named Joshua Redman. That's why I kept it
generic. Now that I think of it, I might change it to Miles Davis. Put a
"be-bop" ambience in the room.
>
> > She rested her hand on my thigh, looked me in the eyes, and said that
> she'd like to show her gratitude .. She brought her face close to mine and
> kissed me softly, and whispered to me to relax and enjoy myself.
>
> When you get to the sex, not only do you chuck realism out of the window -
> said that she'd like to show her gratitude pshaw - but you go into
superheat
> mode. We don't know either of these characters. What do we care about the
> physical details of their coupling? Later we might. Just possibly. Now, we
> don't. Turned off (rather than on) here..
Hey! I've been fellated for less...<g> The scene actually wasn't meant to
turn anyone on, it was merely a description of the act. That said, I've cut
it back to about half of the original. I'm just not sure a kiss would work
as a time travel vehicle; i thought an act with where some bodily fluids
were exchanged would serve the purpose better; make it more "real", if you
will.
> > I remembered her as being about average height, with flaring hips and
with
> an ass to write home about.
>
> Hips 'n ass again. I care why?
I took it for granted that the reader would want to get the most complete
image of the character as they could. In the United States at least, "hips
n' ass" are a commopn reference point. Would it have been better if I had
written "with hips suited to child-bearing, and a bottom that would stop
traffic"?
> > "Yo' Dylan! Aren't you going to say anything to me? Or is the fame of
> being in a rising blues-rock band going to your head?"
>
> Aaaargh on the tell the reader dialogue.
Please, explain.
>
> > Great, I thought. I hadn't played the electric guitar seriously in
years.
>
> Good reference to Back To The Future (if intended.)
Unintended. In the skimpy outline that I have, the band is pretty close to
arriving. Another thought was to have "Faith" show up early at one of his
gigs as a major promoter.
I planned to look at the world through the four band members eyes, and have
a possible split after a spell.
>
> > "Hey thanks, Danno. I'm higher than a motherfucker," I told him. I
grinned
> broadly. I wondered silently if I should tell him the circumstances of my
> being here at that moment. I was really high. I didn't know if I was
capable
> of putting my predicament into words that resembled anything near sane.
> "Don't mention it, man. You're always there for me. "He who does not know
> history is *doomed* to repeat it," "Okay; who's going to win the
Superbowl
> this year?" "San Francisco. They beat the Bengals."
>
> Er. where in here does he tell Dan about the time travelling?
Those were just rough notes. I'm still deciding on who to tell and when. I
figure "Danno", because it's his best friend and manager, but I'll probably
wait until the following day. I'm still mulling over whether to tell Madison
or not, but I'm leaning toward it, having it transpire in "pillow talk".
And due to research constraints, he'll be going back to 1986 instead(I need
the headlines of the paper on Nov. 1, 1986). The Atlanta Constitution
Journal has them. It's tough to find a 20 year old headline.
>
> Hard review, Dan. Sorry. For what it's worth, the rest is smooth,
> entertaining and captures the imagination. But you have to kill the Behind
> The Green Door writer hiding in the back of your head.
No, I appreciate it. I didn't come here to be coddled. I realize I have
to tone back the erotic side of my nature. That said, I believe that fiction
doesn't have to be necessarily "pristine", either. What about Charles
Bukowski? Henry Miller? I'm even told that one of Somerset Maugham's books
is fairly erotic(I'm not sure which one, be he pens some pretty large
paragraphs in "Of Human Bondage").
I am just not one to think that sexuality should be necessarily excluded
from fiction. I really don't. I guess it's how demurely one describes it is
the key. I thought we've come farther than that.
Alaric
> > He says he can't understand why he found her attractive, then goes on to
> > tell us.
>
> I don't know. Granted, I do have my roots in the smut/porn/erotica side
> of the coin(well, kinda; I did some sportswriting before that), but I
> thought it would be painting a more detailed picture of the scene.
No, I wasn't hammering the sex here. I was just pointing out what I saw as a
dichotomy. Says he doesn't know what attracts him, then goes on to say "it
was this."
> Superfluous in the sense that they were just talking talking to one
another
> for the first time; No?
Doesn't work for me, but hey.... Superfluous means more than required in the
Alaric dictionary.
> >
> Actually, I'm not all that hip to modern jazz, listening to Miles Davis,
> Weather Report, and this cat named Joshua Redman. That's why I kept it
> generic. Now that I think of it, I might change it to Miles Davis. Put a
> "be-bop" ambience in the room.
Weather Report's cool. I'll allow that. Put it on.
> >
> Hey! I've been fellated for less...<g> The scene actually wasn't meant
to
> turn anyone on, it was merely a description of the act. That said, I've
cut
> it back to about half of the original. I'm just not sure a kiss would
work
> as a time travel vehicle; i thought an act with where some bodily fluids
> were exchanged would serve the purpose better; make it more "real", if you
> will.
You nicked that from my "Passages In Time" series. Legal action follows. Oh,
sod it. Can't be bothered. <g>
>
Would it have been better if I had
> written "with hips suited to child-bearing, and a bottom that would stop
> traffic"?
Yeah. That would have made me laugh.
>
> > > "Yo' Dylan! Aren't you going to say anything to me? Or is the fame of
> > being in a rising blues-rock band going to your head?"
> >
> > Aaaargh on the tell the reader dialogue.
>
> Please, explain.
Character tells us plot. Fame of a rising blues-rock band. Just doesn't seem
normal conversation.
> >
> I am just not one to think that sexuality should be necessarily
excluded
> from fiction. I really don't. I guess it's how demurely one describes it
is
> the key. I thought we've come farther than that.
Neither do I. Far from it. I love erotic fiction. The mechanics don't do it
for me though. I just read that as porn. Try Mary Ann Mohanraj (net writer),
Pauline Reage.
D.B. Metallo
"Alaric" <alar...@btinternet.com> wrote in message
news:a3rsie$f0t$1...@knossos.btinternet.com...
> Hi, Dan.
>
> > > He says he can't understand why he found her attractive, then goes on
to
> > > tell us.
> >
> > I don't know. Granted, I do have my roots in the smut/porn/erotica
side
> > of the coin(well, kinda; I did some sportswriting before that), but I
> > thought it would be painting a more detailed picture of the scene.
>
> No, I wasn't hammering the sex here. I was just pointing out what I saw as
a
> dichotomy. Says he doesn't know what attracts him, then goes on to say "it
> was this."
And I quote:
The woman was very attractive, although I was at a loss to put into words
exactly why. Her face is probably what initially drew me to her, with its
angular lines, high cheekbones, and she had these captivating cobalt-blue
eyes that seemed to shine. She was somewhere between twenty-five and
middle-age; it was difficult for me to determine. She had barely noticeable
streaks of gray just beginning to appear in her light brown hair, which fell
past the middle of her back.
I said "probably what initially drew me to her", and then I thought I'd go
ahead give a description so as not to leave the reader in the dark. Let
them decide why he was attracted. Perhaps I should have stopped after
"exactly why."
>
> > Superfluous in the sense that they were just talking talking to one
> another
> > for the first time; No?
>
> Doesn't work for me, but hey.... Superfluous means more than required in
the
> Alaric dictionary.
In the dictionary that I use, there are two definitions:
1. Serving no useful purpose; having no excuse for being
2. More than is needed, desired, or required
I went with the first.
> > Actually, I'm not all that hip to modern jazz, listening to Miles Davis,
> > Weather Report, and this cat named Joshua Redman. That's why I kept it
> > generic. Now that I think of it, I might change it to Miles Davis. Put
a
> > "be-bop" ambience in the room.
>
> Weather Report's cool. I'll allow that. Put it on.
I saw Weather Report in the late 70s in a small theater in Baltimore. Big
fan of Pastorius.
> Would it have been better if I had
> > written "with hips suited to child-bearing, and a bottom that would stop
> > traffic"?
>
> Yeah. That would have made me laugh.
> >
> > > > "Yo' Dylan! Aren't you going to say anything to me? Or is the fame
of
> > > being in a rising blues-rock band going to your head?"
> > >
> > > Aaaargh on the tell the reader dialogue.
> >
> > Please, explain.
>
> Character tells us plot. Fame of a rising blues-rock band. Just doesn't
seem
> normal conversation.
Actually, it's just "rising band" now. But I see your point.
> Neither do I. Far from it. I love erotic fiction. The mechanics don't do
it
> for me though. I just read that as porn. Try Mary Ann Mohanraj (net
writer),
> Pauline Reage.
I've skimmed her stuff, I believe. I just got back into the newsgroup
thing after my newsfeed bring down for a couple of months(well, it actually
wasn't down, but they switched servers without telling anyone). I'm quite
accomplished in the romance sub-genre of erotica, if I say so myself(and I
just did=-). At a site called Literotica, I have four pieces in the top ten
romance category... under four different pseudonyms. Now *that's* talent!
=-). But it's demeaning work, that. I wrote a short(1200 words) parody of
the whole smut/porn/erotica genre. Think they'd be interested in perusing
it here?
Thanks again. Alaric.
Alaric
"D.B. Metallo" <db_me...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
news:u6301ki...@corp.supernews.com...
>
> "Alaric" <alar...@btinternet.com> wrote in message
> news:a3rsie$f0t$1...@knossos.btinternet.com...
go
> ahead give a description so as not to leave the reader in the dark. Let
> them decide why he was attracted. Perhaps I should have stopped after
> "exactly why."
Yeah, no biggie.
> I've skimmed her stuff, I believe. I just got back into the newsgroup
> thing after my newsfeed bring down for a couple of months(well, it
actually
> wasn't down, but they switched servers without telling anyone). I'm quite
> accomplished in the romance sub-genre of erotica, if I say so myself(and
I
> just did=-). At a site called Literotica, I have four pieces in the top
ten
> romance category... under four different pseudonyms. Now *that's* talent!
> =-). But it's demeaning work, that. I wrote a short(1200 words) parody
of
> the whole smut/porn/erotica genre.
I still think we're on different planets, Dan. There are a few authors here
with roots over "there," I think. But erotica's a difficult concept for me.
The Literotica/ASS sort of stuff doesn't do it for me. Mary Ann, Anais Nin,
Pauline - they put erotica in the mind and the emotions. What people do
mechanically is the same whether they love each other or not. Some people
might get off on that focus. I just don't. I can be more stimulated by the
experience than the action. This is NOT intended as a putdown, but starring
on an Internet erotica site needs mainly the skill to avoid the four letter
words. I don't say you don't have more than that. I just say that's all it
needs.