Melding of Minds

Melding of Minds

“Horace Anderson had dreamed of a fine car, a big house with a back yard, an apple tree, and a swing for the children. Horace had no children, was allergic to anything imported, the mere thought of an apple caused a dark cloud to descend and darken his spirit, as well as everyone Horace would come into contact with that day.”

I read the words without emotion, as if reading the back of the ticket I’d just received for parking illegally so I’d be on time meeting with my agent. He sat like the proverbial bump on a Wonderland log.

“That is your opening sentences? You do know that you are supposed to grab the readers interest with the first sentence, paragraph, page; set the hook as they say, punch them in the gut, make them gasp for more. They didn’t teach you that at school?

You expect me to get interested in someone named Horace who has dreams? We all have dreams, but reality seems to step in and mess with the plot. And you say he’s allergic to anything imported? Where was this guy, frozen in some glacier for a 500 years? That would actually make a better story than Horace becoming depressed because it’s cloudy. Any other ideas you’d like to anesthetize me with while I’m here?”

I hadn’t noticed until that very minute that he had a certain animosity toward writers. I’ve noticed those that can’t write become editors, but that is just a personal observation that I may have developed from a lack of optimism. It allows them to take their frustrations out on those that refuse to believe in themselves.I know it is an unfair critique, but I feel unfair. I’m sure I could find a reason if I tried, but then when I’m talking to myself I don’t feel I really need one.

“This character may seem far-fetched, but I know someone just like him. It was the reason I decided to use him as the premise for a book.”Sometimes you need to explain the nuances of why we choose to do certain things.

“I wonder sometimes if editors are really worth keeping around. I know an extra set of eyes and all that, adds a different perspective to a story, than someone who has lived with this…thing, for weeks, months, years… but when he starts criticizing my main character, it makes me feel like he’s criticizing a friend. It makes me wonder if he even has friends. I could certainly understand why he didn’t.

The real Horace Anderson… I used his name because I doubt he will ever read my book. I suppose the only way he would is if someone gave him a copy, and then I’m not sure he wouldn’t use the pages to start fires with. He just doesn’t seem like the reading type. I’m not however implying he’s an arsonist.

I can usually tell by the lack of books in someone’s house if they read, that, and he canceled his subscription to NPR radio because someone was talking about the influence the Hand Maid’s Tale was having on the revolutionary minded people in the country.How can anyone get so angry about an idea? What does he think fiction is? Well, not necessarily about being angry, but looking for things that are different. I hate to use the word unique, as it implies a higher stratus of society, which my so-called editor hates. He claims, and I quote, “they walk on pretense and swim in assumptions.” How he knows that I have no idea, and I’d bet he doesn’t either.

I sometimes wonder If he’s ever written anything longer than a post card greeting. “Those that criticize the most, are those most likely to be at fault,” that’s a line from a book of mine called The Insurrectionists Daughter. It is a take-off from a line in the movie “Wonder Boys”. There was also a book by John…I forget his name, the Garp guy, there are so many of us names seem useless.

It’s not like in the old days when writers achieved social status by their work. Like Capote writing about murders in Iowa, or Nishiki on cow tipping in Minnesota. Capote didn’t even have to dream up people and places, everything was there in plain sight for the taking, just no one bothered too except him. He did use real names too, so he didn’t even have to search old bibles for names, or the latest Enquirer newspaper; I hate to call it news…but? And he became famous. Of course it helps if you know how to write.

Have you ever noticed that having to explain why you chose to do something is so difficult? It could be you have no reason, or someone gave you the idea, or you stole it, and now you are ashamed of having allowed someone influence your integrity. It’s not even like you are trying to create a synopsis of why you did what you did, but the mere fact of having to explain it is…objectionable.

Horace seems a perfectly understandable human being to me, why doesn’t it seem that way to this so-called editor of mine. I can’t just ignore his input, because I assume after being an editor for years he must have stumbled on a few things which make him feel like he knows what he’s doing: there’s that. And he was assigned to me by the publishers production team. Just because you do something for years doesn’t necessarily mean you are any good at it. It might be that no one ever asked him what good he was supposed to be doing. What spark of enlightenment he was contributing?But then again, maybe after years of bumbling along he realizes that talent comes and goes with the tide, and everything is about timing, and he lucked out and fell into the priesthood at precisely the right time.

His scenario reminds me of college in the 60’s. The Vietnam War was escapable by having a student deferment, and tuition was cheap.The country today is full of retired teachers who should have been rail road conductors or policeman, but instead decided to be teachers. Anything to avoid dying for your country I suppose, and how do you teach someone to teach?

“OK Mr. Editor. What do you suggest I do to make the first sentence, paragraph, or the entire first page amenable to your idea of what it takes to become a genius of the first sentence? I assume if you are going to tear something down, you are ready to build it up? Or do you find cruel criticism powerful enough to prevent your subject from fighting back?

I appreciate constructive criticism, but that implies you have suggestions that would improve what you find inadequate. I didn’t know your life and mine were wrapped around an opening sentence. Don’t you have any questions about where I might be going with this….story, or are you content with condemning a man like Horace without getting to know him. You could learn a few things from him about compassion, understanding, but most of all constructive criticism. Perhaps if he shot his neighbor through a knot hole in a shared fence, you’d think he was a hero, assuming he had a plausible reason. You must have something you’d like to say?”

“Look, it’s my job to tell you what I feel your story is lacking, that is why you hired me, right?Well, they hired me, but… don’t get your hair on fire, I’m only here to help.I don’t mean to be unkind, or overly aggressive as far as plots and characters are concerned, but I’d be wasting your time and mine if I went along with every grab at infamy I see. If you want someone to hold your hand and kiss your booboos, I ain’t that guy. Let me put it this way, If I like something, many others will like it as well, which means money for you and me, assuming you don’t stiff the guy helping you, that would be me. So we should begin again, so you don’t say or do something you are going to regret for the rest of your life.”

I can see where he’s attempting to go with this. Playing good cop-bad cop can work, but usually there are two people involved besides the one in question. He’s shifted the conversation from one about Horace, to one about me. Horace is not me; well I suppose a part of me. Don’t we all empathize with our characters to the point of adoption on some level? It is a way we get to know them and they us. Being that Horace is actually responsible for whatever this is, he should be the one to explain why it’s important that he’s allergic to everything imported, how the apple tree in the back yard becomes crucial in his ability to justify shooting his neighbor.

But regrettably he can’t attend, the neighbor had a gun as well. I should have included in the narrative that my hero was a terrible shot, and a BB gun, no matter how precisely aimed, is not likely to impact much damage… Where I was going with this is, it is important for your character to remain indifferent to your influence, and as much as is necessary, you remain detached from his.Otherwise let him write the book and spare yourself the anxiety.

I felt a need to stand up for Horace, but it’s too late he’s dead, but Mr. Editor doesn’t know Horace no longer is capable of joining us, and I can see no need to tell him. I’m sure he would have some negative remark about a main character dying after only a page of insightful misdirection, but then I don’t feel like explaining my every intention to someone who has already made up his mind he’s going to hate whatever I write.

I’ve been told that movies are visual, where books are only literary. It makes no sense to me. All books, all writing, has to paint a picture of what the characters, the action and plot are by description. The characters features, the plots nuances, and the sights and sounds of action. It is the same for both forms of art, in that in one your eyes translate the story for you, and in the other, the writing depends on imagination to take the place of your eyes. The results, however, should be the same, if the author is a good painter, as well as a story teller. I would bring it up, but then he may never leave. I will change my tactic, and see if he doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror.

“What would you do, given your experience and knowledge, to get old Horace off to a good start?”

“I’d have him disappear in the second paragraph; kill him, have him killed, suicide is in keeping with his inability to become rich. It doesn’t matter. There are times when you have to let people as well as situations go, for their sake as well as your own.” His recalcitrance seems to be getting the better of him.

“Do you realize I fashioned the character of Horace after you. I thought you’d like being heralded for your quirky behavior. Sorry if I’m wrong about that.”

“You did what? How far along are you with the first draft? We can change it, I’ll help you. You want to produce only the finest of stories, don’t you?”

“Too late, on the way to the printers. I thought I surprise you with a signed copy. And by the way, your picture is on the cover. I thought it would give Horace a demeanor that he deserved had he remained with us for more than a page. But then he was fortunate according to your analysis, to have existed for more than a first sentence. Are you surprised Mr. Editor?”

I should have introduced you to Hershel my editor earlier. I don’t know if Hershel is his first or last name, or perhaps both; I’ve toyed with the idea of having the first and last name of a character the same.It gives a mystic quality to someone drab. I’ve asked him about his name, but he’s always sluffs it off as if it doesn’t matter.So I treat it as though it really doesn’t matter. I think he’s in his late fifties, early sixties, overweight, balding, smells like a baseball dugout, and he’s short. I don’t think he’s five foot, but then I’m 6 foot 6, so everyone looks short to me.

Hershel seemed to take my surprise to heart, literally. He’s on the floor grabbing at his chest and giving me a look I wouldn’t give the devil should I be in his position. He seems to be having trouble breathing as well. I should loosen his tie and open his collar if he ever stops flailing around; he almost kicked me. He’s begun to sweat profusely and he’s turned the most vibrant shade of…what should I call it…crimson? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone look good in crimson, except maybe a rose, but then that’s not a person, but it is an attractive color.

Watching Hershel begin to relax, I realize sometimes payback gets out of hand. I hope he’ll be able to forgive me when I don’t give him the book I promised him with his picture on the cover, but then we all say things we wish we hadn’t. If only I could believe that Hershel is in the least remorseful, I’d think about calling 911. The good thing is, if he makes it, I’ll pretend it never happened, don’t remember anything about it, and because of the trauma he just endured he’d have no choice but to think he’d had a hallucination. And if he doesn’t make it, I guess I’ll have to find another editor.I could do the editing myself, but then I’m a writer not an editor. My experience tells me that when you attempt to do too much, you end up achieving less.But then that’s just the way I feel, I’m sure Mr. Editor would see if differently.