unnamed story (Part 10)
At this point I’d like to point out how much I want to skip a head a few weeks or months or years in the story. Anything but continue to introduce all the characters and explain how they all got together.
This writing a book stuff is hard.
I’m sure you’re saying to yourself “Reading this book is no picnic either.”
If you only knew the awesome possibilities the premise has opened up you’d change your tune. I’m constantly sitting at my computer when I’m supposed to be writing and telling myself to remember to jot down some good idea I had for the story before returning to listening to songs on Youtube and forgetting all about it.
Getting back to the skipping ahead … I feel like if I explain the back story of all the people it will be another fifty pages before I get to something interesting and explaining the interesting stuff will be another fifty pages and before I know it I’ll have a book half done.
“Isn’t that the point?” you might be asking yourself?
Well, yes and no.
Mostly yes if I’m honest with myself.
You realize, of course, that if I make the characters fascinating and you start to develop empathy for them that I could write a dozen books with this premise. Decade after decade I could ramble on about their deeds.
Eventually word would get back to Steven King about how he inspiring/forced me to start this experiment and he’d have to write a long apology to the literary world that he never intended to incite the Manion’s of the world to pick up a pen, in fact quite the opposite.
Well, no reason put this off any longer. Time to make another character interesting so you’ll grow attached.
Donna didn’t trust music.
As she drove through the silent heart of New Jersey, highway 78 taking her directly west, the setting sun was directly in her eyes. As she squinted and changed CDs frequently and then frequently hurled the recently-played CDs out the window she decided it was time to think a little bit more about why she didn’t trust music.
It was because of the damn Moody Blues.
When she was younger music was everything to her. She spent every penny she had on music. She knew all the up and coming bands and read all the trade magazines.
One day her Dad approached her and it was clear he wanted to share something with her. He saw that she was very into music so he told her that he was much the same way at her age.
You’ll note that this would be an excellent time to put Operation Endearing Characters into play and make you fall for Donna but I’m afraid it’s never that easy.
You see, at that time Donna was young and dumb and didn’t see her Dad wanting to talk about music for what it was. Although the memory was a bit fuzzy she did think at some point she even rolled her eyes at him.
He was holding a record, vinyl if you can believe it, and asked that she give it a listen and see what she thought. He then went on to tell her what the songs meant to him. How the lyrics spoke to him.
With a small snort she retreated to her room and put on the album.
Nights in White Satin by the Moody Blues.
She hated it. A lot.
Later in the day her Dad asked her if she’d had a chance to listen to it and she said she did and that she thought it was horrible. He smiled and walked away and they never really talked about music again.
Her Dad was an awesome Dad in retrospect. He was caring and intelligent and was always around until he wasn’t.
One of those healthy guys that just falls over dead from a heart attack out of nowhere.
One of the hardest days of her life was going through his record collection and seeing all the bands he liked, although he never really played any of it when she was in the house. So many bad bands with bad haircuts.
How could music work like that?
She had loved him so much and yet their tastes were so different.
Maybe music wasn’t so sacred after all. Maybe it was just one more distraction to pass the time.
Whatever it was, she never trusted her own views on music again.
Still squinting she opened up the glove compartment and took out a CD that hadn’t been opened. At this point I can’t blame you for hoping it was Nights in White Satin by the Moody Blues but it wasn’t. It was MGMT’s Late Night Tales.
I know, if it had been the Moody Blues CD it would have been perfect but I can’t go shoving Moody Blues CDs into glove compartments just because it’s convenient.
And why would I keep reminding you that she was squinting instead of perhaps telling you what she was wearing or adding a hipster hat to the mix?
Because she was driving west and the sun was going down.
She fumbled trying to open the MGMT CD with one hand but eventually grew frustrated and hurled it out the window and into the silent heart of New Jersey.