I don’t know how to end. It seems like I just go on and then it comes to a stop, the story just gone, ended, like a final breath. This is the way of life, but it’s not supposed to be for writing. The problem is that endings can be so ridiculous and easy to predict, which I blogged about last year. I have had a multitude of endings for my bad side, some of them obtuse, others pointed, all of them too introspective. I had an ending, a moment, part revelatory, part happenstance, but it came across as a blunt object struck on the reader’s head.I have tried to avoid core themes and images and end up with a moment that means more than it should. I need something in between, something clean, something that begs for more but doesn’t, like a good drink.Something like that.
A small group led by Peter Kerrivan walked out of a settlement in Newfoundland some 200 years ago and vanished into the barrens. They were never heard from again, transforming them into myth. It’s an image I use near the end of my bad side.The streetlights came in above the band, Kerrivan’s Men, the green and red light across the fishing nets and buoys, onto the pews in the back. Fitz returned with our drinks.
“Who’s Kerrivan?” I asked.
“Kerrivan led a group of fellahs off with him into the barrens,” he explained. “This was some 200 years back. Didn’t like how he was being treated by the Royal Navy – the English always hated the Irish, yeah? – and up they went into the barrens, lived off the land. Called themselves the Masterless Men.”
“Never seen again,” Tommy added.
“Charlie swears he’s in the line, his great great granddad the man himself.”
“Probably another great in there at that.”
“Maybe another one, yeah.”
“What do you mean they lived in the middle of nowhere?” I asked.
“Down there on the peninsula, in the rocks and bog, nothing but low trees and wind.”“For how long?”
“No one knows,” Tommy replied. “Generations.”
“Maybe they died,” I replied.
“Some would say that. The English would. Not me. I think they waited to be forgotten and then came back in.”
I thought this was a good scene because the character, Tony was clear – his mannerisms and irritating tone – the dialogue moved, and Dee showed who she was…and then I realized that none of it helped the story. Therefore it is dead.“I don’t do camping.” Tony cornered me. “Ever been to Fenwick?”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s in the city.” He was lean and cocked his head in sickening confidence. “Big money thing. Fenwick.”
“You’re from New York?”
“It’s jacket and tie. I wasn’t into it, but it’s this big money thing, right?” He picked at his beer can tab, nodding to himself. “Augustine’s not like that.”
“It’s not a big money thing.”“You know Marky? He graduated Augustine last year. He lives in Chelsea.”
“New York?”
He tried to put his arm over my shoulder but I ducked away. “We did a bit of pre-game and then we’re driving through Chelsea. Marky likes to drive fast, right? He makes this turn and then another. He thinks this car is following us. And he wants to lose it. He was crazy like that.”
“Why were you driving? It’s New York.”
“Marky’s got this beautiful Beamer, man. Series Three, right?” He put his hand stupidly on my arm again, like he was hanging onto a subway pole. “Anyway, he runs this stop sign, a fucking stop sign in Manhattan. Chelsea, right? And this car really is following us, right? And I’m telling him to relax.” He was bending down, trying to find an angle to kiss. “It’s the cops. The cops, right? And we have like a case of beer and a 40 of vodka. Marky is freaking out. I tell him I’ll handle it.”
MFA Programs for Creative Writing all require a 20-30 page writing sample; this is the key to the application. And so I am editing a chapter from my bad side for the purpose.
We drove through the iron and brick gate, past the soccer fields and distant trees to a long quadrangle, yellow brick buildings going down the sides like a prison. An old man and woman stood on the wide concrete steps of the white-pillared building at the end.
“Good afternoon, Headmaster Hostler.” Nani looked like a corpse in her fresh lipstick.
Headmaster Hostler was badly shaped, fat in his stomach and legs, and then pinched up at his shoulders and face; it made his blazer come out like a dress. “Thank you so much for coming, Mrs. Keynes. You’ve met my wife, Mrs. Hostler?”
“Welcome to St. Augustine’s.” Mrs. Hostler shook Nani’s hand.
Headmaster Hostler bent down to me, his thin hair hung over his giant forehead in thick greasy lines. “Perseverare Conantur.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Perseverare Conantur.” Mrs. Hostler indicated the gold cursive writing above the doorway. “Do you know what that means?”
“It’s Latin.”
She had a tight face, her skin bright and gluey. “And what does it mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Endeavor…”
“Endeavor,” I repeated.
A tall girl came up behind us. “Endeavor to Persevere.”“Thank you, Miss Bocklin.” Mrs. Hostler said. “This is St. Augustine’s Head Girl, our very first.”
I recently made a brief comment on youtube regarding Gravity: Music works well. Film doesn’t.I received this reply:
What kind of sick reality are you living in??
I returned to the youtube site to find an official youtube message regarding my post: This comment has received too many negative votes.
I was curious about what is “too many” and why there are so many. I don’t mind being on the other side of the fence and fielding differences of opinions; however I do struggle with this weird electronic world where so many ill-thought words are spat.
Leaving Las Vegas
I’ll tell you what everyone is like. Ever think about torture? Ever think about what that is? People torturing others, I mean, people actually willing to literally torture another person, strap someone down and torture, tear off their fucking fingernails, put wire through their flesh, burn their fucking eyes out, what the fuck else? These people will watch, just watch, another person freak out and scream. And for what? Because they fucking can. Because they can get away with it. That’s who we are. That’s what this is about. We’re fucked. We’re so completely and entirely fucked. (from my bad side)
An excerpt of a new scene for my bad side, with Dee and Crystal as kids:
“You have to help me, okay?” Crystal pulled her shirt over her head and twisted her back to me. “You see that?”
“What?”
“That.” She pulled at the side of her ribs where there was a red smudge, scabbed and raw. “You see it?” “Your mole thing?”
“You have to cut it off.”
“Like…cut it?”
She handed me an X-Acto knife from the table. “Cut it off.” “No way. I can’t do that.”
“You have to, Dee. I think’s cancer.”
“You should go to a doctor.”
“I’m not going to a doctor. I’m not.” She pressed the knife into my hand. “You owe me. I saved your life, right? Didn’t I?”
“Crystal, you have to go to a hospital or something.”
“I can’t reach it.” She looked crazy in the light coming from the floor, the shadow of her nose going up on her cheek into her eye. “I need you to do it.”“But I don’t know how.”
“Look.” She grabbed my fist in her hand and twisted it to her back. “You just cut around it. Make a cut down one side and then the other and then cut it from underneath, okay? It should take like a minute.”
I wanted to lose all of my money and played craps.* I was Big Tyree. Everybody loved that.I watched the dice snap up against the wall, knowing they would be like that, not gambling, winning money, trying to win, but more of a story in my head, the numbers one after the other, each into the next – 4, 6, 12, 11, 3, 6, 8, 9, 4, 7, 7, 9, 8, 6, 5, 4, 9, 9, 7 – a sequence meaning something I didn’t know but wanted to see how it would turn out, and played each one and took my money and had a stack of chips, so many of them.It was funny, but I had to get rid of a guy and went up to my room and thought about how I loved being in Vegas where it was just numbers and chips and money and nothing else but that. *extract from my bad side
Uncle Ralph’s had seats eight rows behind the Pirates dugout. “Herre we go!”
“Are you still doing that?”
“What arre you talking about therre?”
“Arr to you.” The sun had set behind the outfield, the light cold and yellow. The Pirates were ahead.
“You want a beerrr, picaroon?”
“Thanks.”
The cup bent in my hand, spilling in cool stickiness.
“She got an ID?” The vendor demanded.
“She’s my niece, Willie. Back from college.”
“I need an ID.”
“She’s going to Desert Storm in a week. Is that enough for you?”
He trudged back up the stairs.
“Desert Storm?” I said. “Summer school is more like it.”
“You’re tough. Nobody messes with you.” He raised his beer. “Ray would have killed you.”
“What about mother?”
“I don’t know. She would have been upset, but I think she would have taken your side. She was always family first.” He jumped out of his seat, yelling. “Come on, run it out! Arriba! Arriba! You’re a hell of a hitter, Van Slyke! But you’re lazy as a dog! Flojo! You’ll be in the nine spot if you don’t wake up! Come on, Andy!” We watched Van Slyke jog back toward us, take his batting helmet off and lob it into the dugout. Uncle Ralph nodded at the next batter. “You know this guy? Parrish. He’s a Marooner from the Tigers. Probably his last season. He’s supposed to be helping out Van Slyke and Merced. Good luck on that.”
“What do you mean family first?”
“And he swings at the first pitch. Take the money and run, Lance. Take the money and run.”
Part two of another potential Apollofilm: Dee stays at her sister Crystal’s apartment where Crystal’s boyfriend, Derek, is over for dinner. DEE goes into the bedroom after APOLLO.
CRYSTAL: Don’t let him back out! Don’t.
DEE: We’ll go for a walk in a minute.
CRYSTAL (Staring out the window): What makes fire fighters so full of shit? DEREK: The witching hour is upon us.
CRYSTAL: I couldn’t hear you. Too much cackling.
DERK: (Turning on the television): Have another glass. CRYSTAL: Like I need your permission.
DEREK: What about not getting totally fucked up?
DEE: (To CRYSTAL): Walk Apollo with me.
CRYSTAL: I can get as fucked up as I want, baby, because I know you and your friends are here to make the save.
DEE: (Standing): Come on. Let’s go.CRYSTAL: (Refilling her glass, looking into it and then drinking everything): Acting like you’re at the center of the universe when you’re just a fat old woman watching it on TV.
DEREK: Ease up, will you?
CRYSTAL: My mother, that’s who you remind me of, my fucking mother, staring at the fucking TV, not shutting up, blah, blah, fucking blah.
DEE gets Apollo out of the bedroom and goes down the hall after him. CRYSTAL (Walking behind her): Your legs look good.
DEE (Letting APOLLO out): Thanks..
CRYSTAL: You working out?
DEE: Where are your shoes?
CRYSTAL checks her phone for messages. DEE: Hey, is everything okay?
CRYSTAL: (Not looking up):Super duper.
DEE: You’re sure you’re all right with me being in your place?
CRYSTAL: I don’t like it when you get passive on me. It’s not cool.
DEE: I don’t want to get in your space.
CRYSTAL: You were born in my space. I have to live with that. (Looking up, snapping her phone closed) You have to live with that too.
DEE: I know Apollo can be a pain.
CRYSTAL: I don’t give a shit about the dog. Why would I give a shit about the dog, except that it smells and pisses on the floor?
DEE: I’ll move as soon as I can find a place.
CRYSTAL gets her phone out again and struggles to focus on the screen. She laughs to herself and sends a reply.
DEE: What was that about mom?
CRYSTAL (Yelling back to DEREK): You passed out, baby?
DEE: What did you mean?
CRYSTAL (Looking back blankly): What?
DEE: You said something about mom. CRYSTAL: Mother?
DEE: You think about her like that?
CRYSTAL (Pushing DEE out and closing the door).: Try not to get raped, okay?
I have had a multitude of endings for my bad side, some of them obtuse, others pointed, all of them too introspective. I had an ending, a moment, part revelatory, part happenstance, but it came across as a blunt object struck on the reader’s head.
I have tried to avoid core themes and images and end up with a moment that means more than it should. 
I need something in between, something clean, something that begs for more but doesn’t, like a good drink.
Something like that.
![Businessman-Green-Forest-Environment-10003200045[1]](https://i0.wp.com/mcphedranbadside.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/Businessman-Green-Forest-Environment-100032000451-e1386174481491.jpg?ssl=1)
