Day Forty Seven: Journalism

A page of my journal is like a cake of portable soup. A little may be diffused into a considerable portion--James Boswell

American Splendor is just an ongoing journal. It's an ongoing autobiography. I started it when I was in my early 30s, and I just keep going.--Harvey Pekar

I guess whatever maturity is there may be there because I've been keeping a journal forever. In high school my friends would make fun of me - you're doing your man diary again. So I was always trying to translate experience into words--Anthony Doerr

 

This exercise is taken from the book The 3 AM Epiphany by Brian Kiteley

Write part of a story in the form of journal entries. Everything that happens will most likely happen between the entries. Make sure your readers can see the events offstage, but also present your journalist's blind spots--she will not present the whole story, just parts of it. 
...keep all the entries close together in time (within a week or two)... Make sure that the journal writer is still telling a story--showing as often as telling, revealing things about herself. In other words, you have to work just as hard in this exercise to choose the words of this narrator. Writers will tend to think that this journalist can say anything and not look outside of herself.  Avoid completely self-absorbed narrators here --and everywhere. 700 words

Exercise 47

by Laurie Guerin

Friday:

Jack is not himself, or at least the self I thought I knew. I invited him over for dinner and he was extremely condescending, even borderline cruel.

                “Maybe you should have steamed the asparagus for another twenty minutes to make them more flaccid,” he said. I laughed, because they really were overcooked and flaccid was a horrible but apt description, but he didn’t crack a smile. Just kept stabbing at them and then pushed his plate away.  Sam was there—he managed in typical Sam fashion to show up just before dinner with a bottle of wine. He laughed too, but stopped when Jack literally glared at him.

                “Dude,” Sam said. “Have another glass of wine.”  He filled Jack’s glass to the brim thinking maybe that would lighten him up.  What did Jack do? He picked up the glass and downed the wine in one gulp, which would have been fine if he had done it in the spirit of fun.  Instead, he pushed his chair back, apologized for being such bad company and headed for the door.  I was almost in shock. I mean, this is the same guy who just last week was dying for me to meet his family? Who practically begged me to hop on a plane--to Texas of all God-forsaken places?

                “Jack!” I jumped up and followed him outside. “What is going on with you?”

                He looked back at the house. “Is he part of the package? Because I didn’t realize you were a two-for-one deal.”

                He was talking about Sam, of course. We could see him through the dining room window, still sitting at the table.

                I couldn’t believe it. The three of us have been together for almost the entire summer, no problem. In fact, one night I had to work late and the two of them went to the movies without me. He’s told me how many times how much he likes Sam? Suddenly he’s playing the jealous boyfriend? I said as much to him, but he just shook his head and got into his car.

                “Yes!” I yelled before he closed the door. “He is part of the package and too bad if you don’t like it.”

                Because it’s true.

Sam has been my best friend since grade school.  I’m not about to drop him for some guy—even one I like (before tonight I would have written love) as much as Jack. Plus he’s gay with a capitol G so it’s not like he’s a threat romantically. Jack’s just going to have to deal.

**

Saturday:

Did not sleep a wink. I was sure Jack would call to apologize, but he didn’t.  Sam gave me a hug and left not long after, told me he bet Jack would be back before sunrise. I didn’t tell him what Jack said, because it was so out of left field. What am I going to do if Jack doesn’t call? I really do love him. I just don’t know what to think now.

Saturday (Later):

Phew! Jack called at around noon. He was so sweet and apologetic. It turns out he was getting sick. He woke up with a fever, poor thing. I’m not convinced that it was the fever talking, but maybe he was just short on reserves. I’m going to make sure we talk this out when he’s better. I think I’ll surprise him and take over some chicken soup later. Just have to find a recipe and make sure not to steam anything to the point of flaccidity (is that even a word? Haha!).

Sunday:

                 Guess who beat me to Jack’s?  Sam!  It was pretty funny, both of us showing up with chicken soup. I hadn’t even told Sam about Jack being sick, but I guess he was so worried about Friday night that he popped in unannounced too.  By the time I got there, the two of them were sitting side-by-side on the couch like best buds. It was funny, because at first it looked like Sam had his arm around Jack, but he was just giving him a neck rub.  Jack scolded me for not calling, said that he would have showered and spruced the place up if he’d have known.  So sweet! I hated to leave, but had to meet up with Stephanie and the gang. Sam walked me to the door, promising he’d look after Jack.

                Looks like that little storm blew over!