Thursday, January 10, 2019

Story 271: The Tragedy of the Cut Scene


            (In an office, the Editor sits behind a desk as the phone buzzes)
            Editor: (Presses button) Yes?
           Receptionist: (Voiceover) They’re here – should I send them in or tell them you’ve been fired?
            Editor: The former, unfortunately.
            (The Author, Agent, and Ragtag Crew enter; the first two sit on chairs in front of the desk and the others sit all over the floor and remaining furniture)
            Editor: (After everyone has settled in) Do sit down.
          Author: All right, I know this won’t be a pleasure meeting since you insisted I bring all of them here.  (Gestures to the Ragtag Crew)
            Ragtag Crew: Yo!
            Editor: Yes, well, the team here at the publishing house has been reviewing your manuscript, and –
           Author: If you want your advance back you can forget it; this one made sure of that.  (Gestures to the Agent)
            Agent: Oh yeah, sweet moolah.
          Editor: No, we love your work, we really do – there’s just one stumbling block we keep running into every time we read it.
            Author: What, the typos?
            Editor: Since you brought it up, you really should have taken care of those before submission, you know.
            Author: Part of my charm.
          Editor: It really isn’t.  However, the stumbling block to which I’m referring is Chapter… (Flips through a proof) 109.  Specifically, the second half – the first half is pure genius.
          Author: Why, thank you.  (Takes the proof and skims the top page) Oh, you mean the flashback scene?
            Editor: (Holds back a grimace) Yes.  That.
            Author: I don’t get it; what’s wrong with it?
           Editor: How can I put this nicely: it absolutely kills the book.  (The Author’s mouth drops open and the Ragtag Crew hisses in union) Every time I get to that part, I want to chuck the whole thing out the window and into an incinerator.  And then perform an exorcism over the ashes, just to be sure.
            Author: (Unseeingly flips through the pages) But – but – but how can you say that?!  This is some of my best work, condensed into 99 pages of sheer bliss!
            Editor: (Leans over the desk to stare intently into the Author’s eyes) It has nothing to do with the rest of the plot.  You could literally slice that entire half-chapter out with a straight edge razor and no one would notice the difference.
            Author: (Disbelievingly) Oh really?
            Editor: Fine, maybe somebody would notice.  How about this: I got an actual migraine trying to figure out whose POV it was being told from, until after five reads I realized it was yours!
            Author: Yeah, isn’t that great?
            Editor: No it is not great; it is unreadable!  (Author, Agent, and Ragtag Crew gasp)
            Ragtag Crew Member: Blasphemy!
            Author: There is no other choice: the scene has to be cut.
            Author: (Stands and slams the 2,000+ page proof onto the table) Unacceptable!  My child will not be mutilated!
            Editor: It’s not even a full chapter.
            Author: Mutilated!
           Editor: We had a feeling you would react that way, so we created a list of ameliorations.  (Picks up a list from the desk and looks it over) Since there are elements of the scene that could be effective elsewhere, here are our proposals: (Points to one of the Ragtag Crew) Reveal of the Unknown Father should be relocated to the middle of Chapter 2 and then subdivided there and throughout Chapters 17-20 and then 99-105 –
            Author: Ugh!
          Editor: (Points to another of the Ragtag Crew) Dream Sequence should be real and should move to the Prologue –
            Author: The Prologue is sublimely perfect the way it is now!
           Editor: (Points to another of the Ragtag Crew) Surprise Unfaithful Lover should be Best Friend instead; figure out a way to incorporate the former’s personality into the latter’s –
            Author: (Metaphorically foams at the month and whispers) Monster.
           Editor: (Points to another of the Ragtag Crew) Oh, and Sudden Reversal also should subdivide so it can happen twice, once in Chapter 88 and another in Chapter 223.
            Author: (Points at that member of the Ragtag Crew as they stand) You will do no such thing!  (Ragtag Crew sits down again; to the Editor) You realize all that would entail months – no, years – of rewrites?!  I’d have to restructure the entire plot to accommodate this – this – cannibalization!
            (Ragtag Crew and the Agent shudder)
            Editor: We prefer the term “repurpose.”  And to answer your question: yes I do and yes it would.
            Author: Aha!
            Editor: Or you could just cut the scene.
            Author: (Stares coldly at the Editor) You foul fiend.  This was your diabolical plan all along, wasn’t it?!
            Editor: Why yes, I believe I made that quite clear several minutes ago.
            Author: (Collects injured dignity and motions for the Agent and Ragtag Crew to stand) Very well, then: you may have won the battle, but I will not rest until I find a way to make my darlings live on in another book, someday, somehow!
            Editor: (Begins writing a letter) That’s fine, do whatever you want, just get them out of this one.
            Author: Hmf!  (Turns to leave with the others; the Ragtag Crew console each other and sob)
            Editor: (Looks up) Oh, and while you’re at it, you might want to consider cutting this one, too – (Gestures to the Agent) absolute deadwood.
            Author: For once, we agree.
            Agent: Hey!
            Author: Have you contributed anything of substance to this scene?
            Agent: ….
            Author: I didn’t think so.

Wednesday, January 2, 2019

Story 270: Have Yourself a Merry Little Stomach Virus; Or, The Time-Activated Gift That Keeps on Giving



            (At a New Year’s Eve Party)
            Friend 1: (To Host) These parties are great and all, I’m just saying maybe once in a while we should have them on New Year’s Day, keep things interesting, know-what-I-mean?
            Host: …Yeah, no.  (Leaves to wash dishes)
           Friend 1: (Sips drink) It’s only 11:00 and no one gets me.  (Is handed a box) Oh, is this for me?  Thank you.  (Sets down drink and opens box; inside is a watch nestled in a pile of glittery tissue paper) What’s this?
            Virus: A timer.  To count down the hours until you feel the full effects of the stomach virus that you just caught, ha-HA!  Which is me, by the way; sorry I blew past the formal introduction there.
            Friend 1: (Stares at Virus, then at watch, then back at Virus) I’m sorry, I didn’t think I was that drunk yet – are you our Host’s new neighbor or something?
            Virus: (Pats the top of Friend 1’s head) Oh silly child, you’ll never even know what you did to let me in.  I’ve already gotten half the people in this place, and I’m now working on the other half – some of you guys are wily though, especially that one who keeps using hand sanitizer every 30 minutes.  Ironically, that only makes my brethren and me stronger in the long run.  (Looks up sharply) Dang it, someone else washed their hands after using the bathroom!  (Back to Friend 1) Oh well: the goal is always 100%, but we’ll settle for a 95% maximum, hm?  Cheers.  (Moves on)
           Friend 2: (Arrives carrying a tray of pizza rolls while munching on them and sees Friend 1 staring at the box) What’s that, a revenge gift from someone who forgot you last week?
            Friend 1: Close – apparently, I now have a stomach virus that will hit me in exactly… (Peers at watch) 47 hours, 17 minutes, and 35 – 34 – 33 –
            Friend 2: (Sets down tray and looks over at the watch) Oh, you got one of those; yeah, I saw a whole bunch of people have them tonight.  Bummer, dude.
            Friend 1: I see you don’t.
           Friend 2: `Cause I’m constantly washing my hands and I don’t hug or kiss anybody, ever.  And seeing as you’ve now been gifted, I’m not speaking to you for literally the rest of this year.  (Moves to pick up the tray)
            Friend 1: (Grabs Friend 2’s sleeve) Wait a minute –
            Friend 2: Don’t touch me, Afflicted!
            Friend 1: (Releases sleeve) All right, but please don’t leave me all alone, I’m scared!
            Friend 2: Of what?  It’s not even going to happen until later this week and it’ll just be a day of hurling your guts out, then it’s all over and life resumes like it never happened.
           Friend 1: Easy for you to say, you don’t have an appointment with the toilet in less than two days!
            Friend 2: I’ve already served my time; I shouldn’t have to again so soon.  Besides, what could I possibly do to help while you’re barfing, hold your hand?
            Friend 1: (Looks down and toes the floor) Maybe….
            Friend 2: Ew; look, when it happens, have some ginger or chamomile tea, call out from work if you can, and sleep the rest of it off, that’s really all you can do.  (Snatches the glass that Friend 1 is downing out of the latter’s hand) And stop drinking this stuff; it’s only going to aggravate it!
             Friend 1: (Sniffs) It’s absolute rot that I have to start off a brand New Year doomed.
          Friend 2: Yeah, well, I have to go into work early tomorrow morning, so we’ll be miserable together – happy?
            Virus: (Slinks by Friend 2) Hello there.  You wouldn’t happen to want to take a sip from your friend’s glass, would you?
            Friend 2: Buzz off, Bacteria!  (Tosses glass’s contents at Virus)
           Virus: (Sighs and moves on, muttering) I am a virus – honestly, we don’t even look anything alike.  And what am I going to do with all these extra boxes if my quota isn’t filled?!
            Friend 1: Guess I should get my affairs in order before the big day.
          Friend 2: Oh please.  Go have your pity party in the corner somewhere; I’m going with the other sheep to watch the ball drop.  (Picks up the tray and uses it to keep others away) Out of my way with your microscopic hitchhikers!

FORTY-SEVEN HOURS LATER

            Friend 2: (Answers phone) Hello?
            Friend 1: It’s almost time.
           Friend 2: For the love of – why are you still awake?!  Go to sleep and maybe by the morning it’ll have left.
          Friend 1: I’m afraid if I sleep I won’t wake up in time; I made an unobstructed path to the bathroom just in case.
            Friend 2: Well, goody for you.  Can I go back to bed now?
            Friend 1: All right, here we go: the watch says I have 5, 4, 3 –
            Friend 2: Arrrrrgggghhhh….
            Friend 1: – 2 – 1.  (The watch beeps loudly, ending with an ominous “HA, HA, HA.”) This is it.
            Friend 2: OK, all the best, bye!
            Friend 1: Wait!
            Friend 2: What?
            Friend 1: (Almost disappointed) Nothing happened.
            Friend 2: Well there you go: a literal false alarm, heh-heh.
            Friend 1: Although – mm – I feel weirdly hungry – but also oddly full –
            Friend 2: Yep, that’s it, don’t envy you right now, just ride it out, gotta go!
            Friend 1: Hold on, you can’t hang up on me now, what if I need you?
            Friend 2: For what?!
            Friend 1: Moral support.
            Friend 2: Just go to sleep!  Nothing more can be done for you!
            Friend 1: Ow, now you’re hurting my head.
           Friend 2: Good, `cause you’re hurting mine since I have to get up in five hours and it’ll take me at least one of those to fall asleep again!  Don’t even think about calling me until this is over!  (Disconnects)
           Friend 1: (Sets down the phone as stomach rumbles) I know – hang in there, buddy, hang in there.

TWO DAYS LATER

            (At a diner)
          Friend 2: (Watching Friend 1 devour a sandwich) You know, this may give you another stomach problem for an unrelated reason.
            Friend 1: (With mouth full) I don’t care: this is the first real meal I’ve had in over a day.  (Slurps water)
            Friend 2: So, did we learn anything from all of this?
            Friend 1: Yep: no matter what we do, the hand of Fate can always strike us down.
            Friend 2: What?  No, it was: try to keep yourself clean, and handle any illness you get with at least a modicum of self-respect, you big baby!
            Friend 1: Eh, different strokes.  (Starts destroying a brownie)
          Friend 2: And you should really work your way up to that.  (Is handed a box) What’s this?  (Friend 1 freezes mid-bite; Friend 2 opens the box and slowly pulls out a watch in horror)
            Virus: Got ya!
            Friend 2: NOOOOOOOO!!!!
          Virus: At last!  95%!  In your face, Common Cold!   (Continues making deliveries throughout the diner)
        Friend 1: (Resumes eating as Friend 2 stares at the watch that reads 47:20:13-12-11….) Guess the hand of Fate strikes again.  But don’t worry: it’ll all be over in a few days so just have some tea, sleep it off, and make sure you keep some self-respect.
            Friend 2: If I can ever prove that I got this from you, then I’m really not speaking to you for the rest of this year.