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Our first assignment for my Intro to Fiction Writing class was to write two pages, one of pure fiction, the other of nonfiction. The object is to see if the instructor and class can figure out which one is which. Regular readers of this journal will, of course, recognize the nonfiction one immediately.
Truth... or Fiction? (Part I)
The pirate strode into the ethnic restaurant near the docks, looking for a new first mate. Captain Porthos shook the rain off of his pea coat and long ginger hair, and looked around the establishment, his eyes not yet accustomed to the gloom.
It took a moment to see what he was looking for. In a booth in a corner sat a giant grizzly of a man, contentedly munching on an appetizer. The potential first mate had a tired yet genial look to him, as if life's storms had beaten him down quite a bit, yet he steadfastly and cheerfully refused to yield to the chaos.
“Oh yes,” thought Captain Porthos to himself, “He'll do. He'll definitely do.”
Porthos crossed the room to where the potential first mate sat. The giant man looked up from his basket of crisps and immediately spotted the pirate walking towards him. He smiled, recognizing the captain, and looking the smaller man up and down. Then his eyes fell on the captain's boots, and widened. He watched Porthos' feet as he walked toward the booth, fixated on the knee-high black leather buccaneer boots Porthos wore for this first interview.
“Wow,” breathed the giant man to himself. “Pirate boots. Sexy!”
He remembered his manners just as the captain arrived at the table. The giant quickly stood up to his full height, nearly knocking over the table in the process, and extended a meaty hand to Porthos.
Porthos took it the offered hand and smiled. The giant's immense hand engulfed the smaller man's, but he did not squeeze, as if in fear of crushing the bones of the captain's delicate hands. He looked up into the bearded face of the potential first mate, gazing into the man's blue eyes.
“Oh yes,” thought Captain Porthos again, “He'll definitely do.”
Truth... or Fiction? (Part II)
CLICK.
“...in other news, Senator Barack Obama has won the Iowa primaries...”
Click. “...Peanut butter jelly time, peanut butter jelly time...”
Click. “...you can try my Oreck XL Vacuum cleaner for 30 days, risk-free...”
Richard was channel surfing, bored. It seemed that nothing in the late-night lineup was catching his interest. He groaned to himself as he flipped past another infomercial, wondering how there could be so much mindless content to choose from, yet all of it seemed to be crap. The lyrics of a half-remembered old Bruce Springsteen song floated to the surface of his mind. “A message came back from the great beyond... There's fifty-seven channels and nothin' on...”
Click. “...Jean-Luc, I need to scan your...”
Click. “...they're coming back?! Nooooooooo!”
He stopped, his hand frozen on the channel up/down button of the remote control. On the screen was a close-up of a woman's face. She seemed on the verge of tears. It was apparently some sort of forgettable low-budget horror movie, something that only got played in the middle of the night, when no one was watching.
No one except him.
He stared, startled, at the face of the actress with the round face and wide-set blue eyes. He knew those eyes well, having gazed deeply into them at many a high school dance.
“Wendy...!” he breathed.
Truth... or Fiction? (Part I)
The pirate strode into the ethnic restaurant near the docks, looking for a new first mate. Captain Porthos shook the rain off of his pea coat and long ginger hair, and looked around the establishment, his eyes not yet accustomed to the gloom.
It took a moment to see what he was looking for. In a booth in a corner sat a giant grizzly of a man, contentedly munching on an appetizer. The potential first mate had a tired yet genial look to him, as if life's storms had beaten him down quite a bit, yet he steadfastly and cheerfully refused to yield to the chaos.
“Oh yes,” thought Captain Porthos to himself, “He'll do. He'll definitely do.”
Porthos crossed the room to where the potential first mate sat. The giant man looked up from his basket of crisps and immediately spotted the pirate walking towards him. He smiled, recognizing the captain, and looking the smaller man up and down. Then his eyes fell on the captain's boots, and widened. He watched Porthos' feet as he walked toward the booth, fixated on the knee-high black leather buccaneer boots Porthos wore for this first interview.
“Wow,” breathed the giant man to himself. “Pirate boots. Sexy!”
He remembered his manners just as the captain arrived at the table. The giant quickly stood up to his full height, nearly knocking over the table in the process, and extended a meaty hand to Porthos.
Porthos took it the offered hand and smiled. The giant's immense hand engulfed the smaller man's, but he did not squeeze, as if in fear of crushing the bones of the captain's delicate hands. He looked up into the bearded face of the potential first mate, gazing into the man's blue eyes.
“Oh yes,” thought Captain Porthos again, “He'll definitely do.”
Truth... or Fiction? (Part II)
CLICK.
“...in other news, Senator Barack Obama has won the Iowa primaries...”
Click. “...Peanut butter jelly time, peanut butter jelly time...”
Click. “...you can try my Oreck XL Vacuum cleaner for 30 days, risk-free...”
Richard was channel surfing, bored. It seemed that nothing in the late-night lineup was catching his interest. He groaned to himself as he flipped past another infomercial, wondering how there could be so much mindless content to choose from, yet all of it seemed to be crap. The lyrics of a half-remembered old Bruce Springsteen song floated to the surface of his mind. “A message came back from the great beyond... There's fifty-seven channels and nothin' on...”
Click. “...Jean-Luc, I need to scan your...”
Click. “...they're coming back?! Nooooooooo!”
He stopped, his hand frozen on the channel up/down button of the remote control. On the screen was a close-up of a woman's face. She seemed on the verge of tears. It was apparently some sort of forgettable low-budget horror movie, something that only got played in the middle of the night, when no one was watching.
No one except him.
He stared, startled, at the face of the actress with the round face and wide-set blue eyes. He knew those eyes well, having gazed deeply into them at many a high school dance.
“Wendy...!” he breathed.
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