Writing for Pleasure

Marty Lewis was an ordinary-looking man in an ordinary job. If you passed him in the street, you probably wouldn’t even notice him.

ML: That’s a terrible opening paragraph. I wouldn’t read any further, and it’s about me.

JD: OK, let’s start again.

Lightning split open the night sky. Marty Lewis cursed and pulled his coat collar up to cover his neck. He looked like a drowned rat, rain dripping from his coat as he ran from doorway to doorway down the street. It was after midnight, so most of the businesses were closed, and traffic was light. Marty found an unlit doorway and took shelter. He was gasping, and the rain hid the tears coursing down his face.

ML: Better, I guess. But why do I have such a boring name? Can’t you make it something more exotic?

JD: Maurice? Mattie? Mark? Monte? MacTavish?

ML: How about a better last name? Leclerc? That would go well with Maurice. Suggests foreign ancestors.

JD: [sigh] OK, Same as above, but Marty Leclerc. Maurice Leclerc is too frou-frou. I’m going to the second paragraph now.

Marty pulled the phone from his pocket and turned it on. He sighed as it started a software update. “Really? Now, of all times?” As he waited, his breathing steadied and he wiped his face. He leaned against the window and ran over the last hour in his mind. Nothing else he could have done. Now his sister was safe.

The phone finally started up, and he placed the call. “It’s done. Are we good?” His voice cracked a little as he spoke.

The voice on the line was calm and cold. “For now. Any chance you could be identified?”

ML: I sound pretty passive. First crying, then letting the phone update instead of getting the call out of the way, then whining to the person on the phone. Am I the hero or what?

JD: You are the hero, but you’re under stress. I have to illustrate your state of mind. Trust me, you’ll win the day eventually. This will go a lot faster if you stop interfering.

Marty drew a deep breath to pull himself together. “I wore a balaclava. There’s no way he’ll be able to describe me. I had my phone turned off the whole time so no one will know I was there. I’m a mile away already. Can I talk to Lindy?”

The man laughed as though Marty had told a funny joke. “’Can I talk to Lindy?’ No, you don’t speak to her until you’ve given me the papers." Then, in a sinister voice, he continued. "Don’t worry about Lindy, I’m taking good care of her.” Marty thought he heard a muffled voice as the man hung up. Was Lindy there with him?

ML: We’re a page in, and we still don’t know anything about me. I wear a coat and I cry easily. Let’s give the reader some information about the hero.

JD: Not good with delayed gratification, huh? Remind me to use that later. OK, since it’s you, I’ll start a new chapter. Let’s go back in time.

Twelve hours earlier…

On Sundays, the Leclerc family liked to have brunch together. It was just the three of them now, Juliet and her adult children, Martin and Linda. Juliet did not care for diminutive names. She was old-fashioned, a child of the nineteen seventies. Her views of family life had been shaped by the television programs she had watched as a child. The civil unrest of the era never touched the small town where she spent her childhood. Until the sudden death of her husband, her life had been totally predictable. She was the epitome of Carol Brady.

Marty and Lindy (the names they used in everyday life) were from a very different background. They had been raised in the city, had gone to school surrounded by easily-accessed drugs and sex. They tolerated their mother but considered her an anachronism. When Juliet was widowed, they took over managing her finances because they felt she had no understanding of “the real world.” She responded by cooking for them both regularly, since they led such busy lives. She had always cooked for her husband for the same reason.

Brunch was a meal they all enjoyed, although conversation tended to be stilted.

ML: Oh no, this is so slow. Who cares? I’m the main character, don’t spend all this time on the bit players around me.

JD: It’s contrast. Give me a couple of paragraphs and the plot will kick off. But just because it’s you, I’ll give a physical description now. I can cut back on the description of the mother during the first rewrite.

Marty had the unlined face of a man whose life so far had been easy. He’d done well enough academically without ever being an outstanding student. He had secured a desk job in the IRS and slowly worked his way through the ranks. He had the bent posture and slight paunch of an office worker. He exuded an air of superiority, accustomed to being someone feared by the public.

Lindy took a mouthful of her eggs Benedict and chewed slowly. Marty observed her fondly, wondering how someone with such an appetite managed to keep such a slim, toned body. Of course, she was a few years his junior, but still the age gap looked much greater in photographs. “How is the yoga business going, Lindy? Do you really make a living with it?”

Lindy glared at him and swallowed. “Of course I do. Some people think I’m so good, they tip me and request one-on-one sessions. Money that doesn’t leave a paper trail, y’know.” She was deliberately baiting him, he knew.

However, Marty couldn’t let that statement stand. “You must do what you think best, but don’t expect me to stand up for you in court. You know the tax law.” He smiled as she tossed her head. Lindy had striking auburn hair that she loved to flaunt. His own hair was a dull reddish color.

ML: Oh, come on! Haven’t you heard of main character energy? I’m stodgy, not much to look at, out of shape, and boring. Can you point out some positives about me?

JD: You’re law-abiding, well-educated, earning good money, and fond of your mother and sister. I’m not writing a James Bond story.

ML: I’m not sold on this. Remember, you need me; I don’t need you. Let’s have some action.

Lindy’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. “Speaking of cash under the table, I have to run. A special client. Sorry to leave you with the washing up. I’ll do it next week.” She kissed both of them and rushed out, driving off in her beaten-up Toyota sedan.

Marty and Juliet had just finished cleaning up and were having a quiet cup of coffee when Marty’s phone rang. He was surprised – calls on a Sunday were rarely from friends or colleagues, and he had been with his family for the last three hours. Nodding to his mother, he stepped out of the room to answer it. “This is Martin Leclerc.”

A cold male voice spoke clearly. “We have your sister. Do not tell your mother or call the police. You don’t want us to harm Linda. You need to do a job for us. Do you understand?”

A million thoughts ran through Marty’s mind. Things like this didn’t happen to people like his family. This man knew he was with his mother, and he knew Lindy’s name. He was panicking, but he still hoped this was just a scam. “If you have Lindy, then let me speak to her.” He tried to keep his voice low and steady, so his mother wouldn’t know what was happening.

There was a silence for a moment, then he heard Lindy’s voice cry out “Stop! You’re hurting me!”

Marty started to say “Are you OK?” but the male voice cut him off.

“That’s it. You know we have her. If you want her back in the same condition you last saw her, you’ll do exactly what I say. Got it?”

Marty nodded wildly as he muttered “Yes, yes, whatever you say. Please don’t hurt her.”

He saw his mother getting up out of her chair, and said “Sorry, Mom. A friend with a bit of a problem. I’ll just step outside to speak to him privately.”

As he closed the front door behind him the voice continued smoothly. “Good. I see you can follow instructions. When you get home, you’ll find written instructions in your mailbox. Go there now and read them. I’ll call you when you get there.” The line went dead.

ML: Well, that was sudden, and I like that I kept my head in a crisis.

JD: If you recall, I did say that you were smart and steady.

By the time Marty checked his mailbox, he was shaking with fear for his sister. He had broken speed limits on his way home, which was something he never did. There was a folded piece of paper in the mailbox, and he looked around before taking it out and running into his house.

ML: Oh really?? Now I’m a pathetic coward again. I demand a rewrite.

JD: You know, you may not be the best main character for this story. You’re too needy. I’m starting over from Lindy’s point of view.

ML: No wait, you can’t d…”