"You look tired."
That's Exhibit A.
Exhibit B is a sample of the evening's output. I think it perfectly captures my frame of mind about this novel right now.
“For someone who works in a gallery, you have very little art,” she noted, sliding in to the dining nook.
“I work there. I don’t buy there.”
“So why no wall stuff?” she asked.
“I don’t like lots of stuff.”
“Oh yeah?” she smiled. “When you travel light, you can skip town faster, right?” He wasn’t sure what she meant by that. He dried the dishes and put them away. “Could I maybe have a glass of water?” she asked.
“Yeah, sorry,” he said as he took a couple of tumblers from a set Cynthia had brought, rescuing it from languishing in the Stockman basement. He brought the waters over and sat across from her.
They sat in silence for awhile. She studied the grain in the table, visible through the fading pale yellow paint. He looked up at the light fixture above them, noticing for the first time that the wattage could stand to be stronger. Back to their drinks, where they both took sips at the same time, set their glasses down at the same time, and laughed at their mirror games.
“So . . .” she began.
“Yes?”
“What shall we talk about?”
“I really haven’t a clue,” Walt said.
Silence again. A dumpster top slammed shut on the alley, and three stories above, Walt thought he saw a ripple on the surface of his glass of water.
“Do you think,” she suggested, “that we would talk better . . . that maybe this whole scene would go better . . . if we just moved over to my place? I mean, at least over there, there are more people to interact with. My daughter, her best friend, the best friend’s parents.”
He absently ran a finger around the rim of his glass.
“Yeah. Sure.” He got up from the table. “Let’s do that.” He took her glass back to the sink, not bothering to rinse it out before meeting her at the door.
In case you're wondering, things didn't go any better at her place.
3 comments:
I think it's time for the exploding penguins...
No, seriously, toss in something off the wall to bring the fun back. It can go too, when you hit the next draft, but it's more likely to encourage and inspire you to play with something like that.
Or you can do what I did a few times, and write in a semi-comatose state. It's pretty amazing the stuff my subconscious brain spewed through my fingers as my head kept banging into the keyboard...
Either way, keep going!!
I wouldn't call it a crapcerpt... mabye a napcerpt, though. Aw, I kid...but man, Walt is being such an armpit here! (you aptly conveyed this irritating aspect of him in your scene, so that's not all crap)
Seriously, after reading this, I just wanna smack him. Hey that's it-- you could get him a personal trainer!
Perhaps I'll have more empathy after a few days of doing the acting exercise where I explore Walt's motivations as I dry the dishes and put them away. *rolls eyes*
A Very Happy Thanksgiving to you and the family... enjoy, and key on!
I'm trying not to laugh too loudly here at my desk at work. Oh man, that was 327 words of entertainment! You're 327 words closer. You can do it!!!
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