October 22nd, 2008
|11:36 am - O sing to me Muse of porno cliches|
There's an ad on the T currently for some continuing ed institution what wants to teach creative writing, obstensibly in the "write what you know" vein, to anybody who's got the money, time and inclination. Hey, fine, unleashing your inner creative dude is cool, can't knock a fellow for trying, but this is the sample that the ad gives (I'm paraphrasing, I admit):
Steve sighed as Mrs. Davis took the pizza box and closed the screen door behind her, disappearing into the steam. Some day, he hoped, she'd ask for more than just pepperoni.You're kidding. With that dreck? You're offering classes for creative writing and your sample, as tongue-in-cheek as it may be, is as cliche as the day is long? This has to be some kind of elaborate joke. I can't believe they're really gunning for the segment of society who have longed for an outlet through which they can write Mary Sue-filled variations on the oldest porno scenarios ever. I thought part of the creative process involved some semblance of originality. I mean, perhaps instead of pizza, the delivery boy could be bringing a shipment of live mice to the lovely MILF (who apparently lives in a steam-filled house.) Nobody's ever thought of that before, I bet!
$FOO SCHOOL OF WRITING: Turning delivery boys into authors.
And the outcome would certainly be the same as Every Other Workman Seduction story, unless you write in that the container of mice gets knocked over in a moment of passion and they all escape and run around while the couple shrieks and tries to hide under the sofa cushions. Meanwhile, Henry Kissinger shows up with several cats, which he lets loose in the house. The cats catch and eat every mouse and then run out the door. Kissinger makes his own exit as well, but not before wishing the extramarital couple good luck (and also off-handedly apologizing for bombing Cambodia while he's at it.) Once the love scene is over, it is revealed that the mice in this story were an allegory for Christ.
There we go. Now there's something you can stick on the T. I'm sure you have other ideas, too, where one could stick it.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to write a story about a very nice call center worker who gets stuck in an elevator with Nicole Kidman and the heating system goes haywire and it gets really hot so they have to remove a lot of clothing and lie down on the floor together.
Steve sighed as Mrs. Davis took the pizza box and closed the screen door behind her, disappearing into the steam.
"Oh for cripes sake open up the damper will ya? Who the hell turned it all the way down? AGAIN!"
Only explanation for that imagery.
Steve remembered the first time he'd delivered to Mrs. Davis--the green of her eyes flashing as she shoved her leather goggles onto her forehead and the ridiculous contraption she used to automatically count his tip money. Not that he wasn't glad that the Feldstein brothers sent their matronly lab assistant to get their pizza deliveries at the door; the older one of them had was pretty disfigured from some sort of accident, and the younger looked at him in a way that made him uncomfortable.
Also, he had a thing for older women.
Edited at 2008-10-22 04:23 pm (UTC)
Needs more adverbs. Adverbs are the cowbell of fiction.
Steve sighed as Mrs. Davis took the pizza box and closed the screen door behind her, disappearing into the steam. Some day, he hoped, she'd ask for more than just pepperoni.
Had Steve been more observant and less day-dreamy, he would have noted that Mrs. Davis didn't actually disappear as much as dissolve into the steam. It was radioactive steam, you see. Mrs. Davis was in charge of making sure the steam didn't escape from the confines of the nuclear power plant. She had been in the process of fixing the leak, but it was a union shop, and she only had thirty minutes for lunch, promptly at 12:30.
And that, son, is why you have three arms and no eyes.
|Date:||October 22nd, 2008 04:47 pm (UTC)|| |
Yes, yes, all very true, but IIRC that ad is for Grub Street
. The cliche IS the tongue-in-cheek part. And also I think you should join.
I hate having to take the T ads at face value. I'm assuming the sperm donor one wasn't a wry commentary on modern capitalism, even though it's obvious that the little spermatozoa were busying trying to impregnate the dollar sign.
Why should I join, by the by? Won't they be mad if they find out I've been slagging their T ads up one train and down the other?
Not as long as you slag them in a witty manner. And any organization with Elizabeth McCracken (former Somerville librarian!) in it is fine with me.
Edited at 2008-10-22 06:29 pm (UTC)
|Date:||October 22nd, 2008 08:25 pm (UTC)|| |
You should join because it's not really a school (although they do offer workshops); it's an organization for Boston writers, and you are a writer in Boston. I don't like the term "real" writers, but I can't think of any other way to say it's not a bunch of barely-employed MFAs teaching Punctuation 101 to housewives. They're "real" writers. Think "guild" more than "community college." I think you would have a lot to contribute to it.
I only get their weekly e-mail, but that's where I found out about the writers grant to Romania that I got a few years ago. And K is in YAWP
|Date:||October 22nd, 2008 04:51 pm (UTC)|| |
There's a dick-in-the-box joke here somewhere. I just can't quite get my head around it yet...
is that the state of Idaho wearing y-fronts?
|Date:||October 22nd, 2008 06:36 pm (UTC)|| |
Yes. Awesome, no?
|Date:||October 22nd, 2008 06:40 pm (UTC)|| |
definitely. i used to live about where the top of the left thigh meets the briefs. is this a reference to ol' wide stance?
|Date:||October 22nd, 2008 06:41 pm (UTC)|| |
No. I just like the idea of Idaho wearing tighty whities.
See, the steam-enshrouded dame keeps Burmese pythons and mouse-devouring corn snakes. Which all like it a balmy 97 degrees, and also her radiator broke. She shrieks in fury as mice scamper, and beats the delivery guy senseless, maybe amidthwacks taking advantage of him. And really, this all was just the setup for getting her pythons fed. Piece by piece, see. She'd stalked the deliverer, spied his monthly murderous sprees, and Kissinger deserved it too.
That went all kinda 'Dexter,' there, at the end. *g*
Go to a bookstore and look at all of the books trying to teach people to draw manga. Most of them can't even get basic perspective right, but they're trying to teach people to draw. Also, according to them, what sets 'manga' apart from other comics is 'big sparkly eyes and a tiny mouth and funny-coloured hair'.
There is one series called 'How to Draw Manga', published by Manga University, which is actually quite good. They're imported from Japan and drawn by people who actually have some technical skill.
DON'T ANSWER THE KISSINGERPHONE
THIS IS HE
I AM WEARING A DARK SUIT AND
WHO IS THIS
MR PRESIDENT, I HAVE REPEATEDLY ADVISED YOU TO STOP CALLING ME WHILE DRUNK
a while ago, they ran an ad with a woman watching her poolboy clean the pool. clearly this is a theme for them.
That woman oughta order some pizza sometime then.