Day Eleven: The Reluctant I

You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.  ~Ray Bradbury

Here we are on day eleven and I'm completely held hostage by day nine's exercise. Not a bad thing :0) I'll catch up today. 

Today's exercise is taken from the book THE 3 A.M. EPIPHANY  , by Brian Kiteley (Kindle and paperback about $9.00)

"Write a first person story in which you use the first person pronoun (I or me or my) only two times but keep the I somehow important to the narrative you're constructing. The point of this exercise is to imagine a narrator who is less interested in himself than in what he is observing. You can make your narrator see an interesting event in which he is not necessarily a participant. Or you can make him self-effacing, yet a major participant in the events related. It's very important in this exercise to make sure your reader is not surprised, forty or fifty words into the piece, to realize that this is a first person narration. Show us quickly who is observing the scene. 600 words."

Brian Kiteley has such interesting things to say about the 'why' of each exercise that I'm going to quote what he writes directly and in its entirety :

"The people we tend to like most are those who are much more interested in other people than themselves, selfless and caring, whose conversation is not a stream of self-involved remarks (like the guy who, after speaking about himself to a woman at a party for half an hour, says, "Enough about me, what do you think of me?").  I'm not trying to legislate only likeable characters or narrators. I use the example of the successful social selves above to give an idea of what is needed in successful fiction. Another lesson you might learn from this exercise is how important it is to let things and events speak for themselves beyond the ego of the narration." 

I'll post my results later. Also, I'd really love to post examples/excerpts of other people's writing on this blog! Email yours to: laurieg41@hotmail.com and I'll check with you before posting. 

Later

There's Something About
by laurie guerin

I order a cappuccino and sit down at a charming, tiny table right across from another charming, tiny table, where a woman is seated.  It’s hard to tell her age, but she’s one of those women who have an elegance about them, evocative of a ballet dancer. Her hair is swept up into a twist. A brilliantly colored silk scarf is draped around her shoulders, setting off a long, graceful neck. She's wearing a fanciful silver ring with what must be an orange sapphire throwing sparks of light on the ceiling every so often. The café’s busy and noisy with the usual café sounds; the clatter of dishes, the whoosh of the espresso machine, but she appears completely rapt. She’s talking to someone—possibly a man. Her face is fully animated, as if every muscle is on high-alert. She pauses, leans forward attentively, and then puts her hand over her mouth in a surprised, girlish way that is utterly endearing. This goes on for a while; she talks, sips her coffee, listens intently, throws her head back and laughs. The only time she looks away is when a small group of children come in for hot chocolate. She sees them and gasps audibly. She waves and says a delighted “Hello,” as if she can’t believe her luck that they’re finally here. Some of the kids smile shyly. The littlest boy waves back enthusiastically until their chaperone grabs his arm and hustles them all to a table. The woman’s quiet for a long moment watching them, before she reluctantly turns her attention back to the table. She lifts her face to the empty chair across from her.  Empty, as you may have guessed, from the start. Observing her though, you can almost see the outline of a person or imagine it possible to catch his image on a camera with an infrared illuminator. With some effort, she smiles and continues the conversation.

The following week there’s another woman talking to herself at the very same spot, as if it’s reserved for those entertaining imaginary guests. This woman is quite the opposite of the first, however. Disheveled and hunched over a cup, her dirty hair hangs in her face. She mutters something, glowering across the table. There’s no love lost between her and whomever it is she imagines there. She spits her words out like she cannot stand the taste of them. The waitress pauses near the woman's table.

“How’re you doin’, Mary?” she asks

The woman, Mary, eyes the waitress warily before raising a hand and waving her away. She’s wearing a ring. An orange sapphire set in silver. She struggles to her feet “Leave me alone! All of you leave me alone!” she shouts.

“Come on, Mary. It’s time to call…”

“Just shut up, you!” She turns to face us all and says in a low growl, “I know. I know.” She begins to turn in slow circles, repeating the words in the same chilling timbre. The woman directly in front of her pales, reaches for her purse. The man to her right clears his throat and folds his newspaper. 

“Don’t worry folks,” says the waitress. “Mary here, just needs to rest, don’t you Mary?”

Mary sinks back into her seat, but continues to mumble the words. The man and woman seem to relax a bit, the woman goes for one last sip of coffee, the man’s eyes drift back to his paper. I beat a hasty retreat, nearly forgetting to leave a tip.  

Now that Mary knows, it’s only a matter of time.