Tag Archives: writing process

Pictures of Paris with Nani

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Davis visited his Nani when he came back from his summer in Paris. She marveled at his pictures, asking again and again where they were from.

“It’s Paris, Nani.” Phone 119“You were in Paris?”

“Yes, I was in Paris.”

“Oh, I’ve never been there.”

“You were there on your honeymoon.”

“Oh, I was?”

“Yes, Nani. You’ve been there many times.”

“Oh dear. I don’t remember that at all. I remember nothing.” She bent toward Davis and whispered. “I’m losing my memory.”

“That’s okay, Nani. Don’t worry about it.”

She turned to a picture of Ellen sitting on a tiny balcony with a wrought iron railing. “And who’s this? Is this me?”

“No. that’s Ellen, my girlfriend.”

“Ellen? I don’t know her.”

“She visited in the spring. We live together at school.”

“Oh, I see. She’s very pretty.” She looked at it again. “And where is this?”

“Paris, Nani.”

“Oh.” She turned to the next picture, Ellen completely naked on the bed.

The blood drained from Davis’ face as he reached over involuntarily. He had forgotten to take those ones out.

“Who is that?”

“Well…” He took the stack gently from her and sifted the next three images out – each more graphic than the next – and returned the remainder to his grandmother.

She considered Davis with her drifting, vacant eyes and then squinted at the images in her lap. “What’s this?”

“This is from a boat tour on the Seine.” Phone 130“Oh.” She peered at the picture of Ellen smiling, the Pont Neuf behind her. “And where is this?”

“Paris.”

“You were in Paris?”

“Yes, for a few weeks.”

“I’ve never been there.”

“Yes, you have, Nani. You’ve been there many times.”

“I don’t remember that at all.”

“That’s okay.” He turned to the next picture.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

Davis nodded. “Okay.”

“You have to help me.”

“I can do that.” He stood. “Ready? One, two, three.” He pulled her up from the couch.

She clung to him a moment, her head against his chest, and then peered into his face. “There’s no dignity in getting old. You just have to forget about that.”

Ice Friday: Richard Blanco

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Richard Blanco’s Only Brother:

We carved an entire range of mountains

out of styrofoam block, covered their peaks

with sand for snow, the slopes with pines,

the valleys with fall maples and live oaks.P1000813

We made great rivers flow on the illusion

of tin foil crinkled and painted royal blue,

crossed them with mighty balsa bridges.P1000891

We placed townspeople where we wanted:

gazing into the shops, gathered at the chapel,

or waiting for the train, lapping obediently

under our command around the village

that took us six years to build, and one day,

in the backyard, we set it on fire, quietly

stood by the flames and let it all vanish.

Valerie Texting

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Valerie texted with both thumbs and a forefinger, her long fingers with ethereal pink nails, furrowing her brows, curling the corner of her mouth, her feet splayed out sideways, her knees pressed in. Valerie TextingShe looked almost a caricature of herself, everything exaggerated and intense, tight inside herself, not even there, aware of nothing but her screen.

“Paint”: Expunging Ellen’s Thoughts

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DAVIS (Reflecting on his father’s death): It’s not how I’m supposed to feel.

ELLEN: My parents like everything I do. It’s exhausting.

DAVIS: There’s nothing. (Pause) I’m just bored and rich. I have nothing in me. He was dead and I didn’t care.

ELLEN: You didn’t get along with him?

DAVIS: Heroin means more to me.the-velvet-undergroundELLEN: Hitting the junk, just like that?

DAVIS (Pause): The song.

ELLEN (Sarcastically): You don’t say?

DAVIS: “All the dead bodies piled up in the mounds.”

ELLEN: Another broken, lost soul.

DAVIS: I remember the first time I took acid. I was in Max’s apartment and he had this metal giraffe, this angular metal thing, a souvenir from a safari or something. (DAVIS holds his hand out in front of him, miming the action) And I’m staring at this stupid thing, waiting for it to get weird, expecting it to start dancing or talk to me. (Pause) And there was nothing. It was just the same thing.

ELLEN: Why are there no cartoon giraffes? I can’t think of one. There’s everything else: bear, lions, kangaroos. But no giraffes.(Pause) They’re so tall. They see things.giraffe

Waiting for an Earthquake in the Wrong Place

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Everyone had gathered in an old bank vault, not the vault, but an old bank with a vaulted ceiling. The safest place was in the board room but that was full and no one would open the door. I stayed along the wall and looked up at the plaster ceiling, the finery of 19th century workmanship dangling in delicate, broken segment high above. I moved corner to corner, past the huddles of people I did not know and who did not want to know me, and finally down a hallway that led to a narrow staircase and a wooden basement. I knew that it was a bad dream and I had to go down.Syria 179The first door came eerily open and I was afraid. I shut it and jumped away, continuing to the next where I found more cold and dark and decided I must go back to the first and face my fears. There was nothing there. It was empty with a dirt floor room wand a draft. I didn’t question why it was under the bank. It was just there, like the witches and killers and crypts beneath my childhood home. 20140914_112837The first rumbling was clear, like an airliner coming in too low. The next was less so. And that was it. The vaulted bank room was empty by the time I returned.

“Paint” Screenplay: Fang Conflict Expunged

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DAVIS lies half conscious on the porch of the frat house and stares up into the tree branches above. KATHRYN beside him, stroking his head."Paint" Screenplay: Fang Conflict ExpungedThe front door swings open. MAX, FANG, (KATHRYN’s ex-boyfriend), others behind come outside.

MAX (Seeing DAVIS and KATHRYN): Jesus, Davis.

FANG: What the fuck?

DAVIS struggles to get up but is too light-headed.

FANG (To KATHRYN): What is this?

KATHRYN (To FANG): What do you care?

DAVIS (Struggling to sit up) It’s not like…(Giving up) Shit.

FANG: (To DAVIS): You are such an asshole, such an asshole. (Pause) You’re a complete fucking failure, you know that?

DAVIS (Muttering): Hey, I just blacked out, man.

FANG (Jutting his jaw out, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth): There is no one more worthy of scorn than you. No one!

DAVIS notices the gathering crowd and sees ELLEN in the back. "Paint" Screenplay: Fang Conflict ExpungedFANG: (Turning, seeing ELLEN as well) You like her? Yeah?! You want to know something, man? You will never have her. You will never have anyone. You don’t deserve anyone! You will die alone.

DAVIS (To ELLEN): She’s not my girlfriend.

FANG: Why are you talking?! Why the fuck are you speaking?

DAVIS sees ELLEN leave as FANG steps toward him and slaps him in the face.

FANG: You are a stupid irrelevant fuck!

DAVIS: Holy shit, man. Calm down.

DAVIS tries to laugh but fails miserably as he feels the nausea well up again and falls back to stare up into the branches.

Ice Friday: Moravia on Being Rich

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Alberto Moravia’s novel Boredom follows Dino, a struggling artist, in his attempts to escape the burden of his family’s wealth.

I asked: “Well then, are we rich or are we not?” 

For a moment my mother sat silent, looking at me with a strange solemnity. Then, leaning toward me and lowering her voice, she said: “We are not rich, Dino, we are very rich. Thanks to your mother, you are a very rich man.”
IMG_4818“What does ‘very rich’ mean?”

“‘Very rich’ means something more than merely ‘rich’.”

“But less than ‘extremely rich’?”

“Yes, less than ‘extremely rich’.” IMG_4829As I examined the faces of my mother’s guests, I suddenly had a strong feeling that there was not one wrinkle, not one inflection of the voice, not one ripple of laughter,not a single feature, in fact, that was not directly determined by the money which, as the fat old man had said, was represented by the guests in that room, in greater or lesser quantity. Yes, I thought, in that crowd, money had turned into flesh and blood.

Not a Soldier Monkey

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I had a dream that I was a soldier in the wings of a stage. I was waiting with other soldiers as I practiced my line: “We’d like a drink.” I was practicing that in my head when I noticed I was surrounded by peasants, small and young; the other soldiers were gone. I flailed at the black curtains and saw the other soldiers on stage and leapt behind them just as the Innkeeper said, “Vodka?” That was the line after mine.
20140204_185000I retreated to the corner to watch the drunken dancing unfold and thought. I am a person.  I am not a monkey. I don’t look like a monkey. I don’t smell like a monkey. I don’t do anything like a monkey. I don’t know what I am . I just know what I’m not. I’m not a monkey.

Phallic Effigies

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There was something marvelous about what she did. It was almost a breakthrough, how sexuality wasn’t such a thing, that an erect penis was just that, no more than an effective device in a situation comedy, like wide eyes or a gaping mouth. It was funny, the way he sat there with it sticking up. It was funnier how she grabbed it to let him know that he was accepted. But then it was something else when he did the same, the roommate, putting it in his mouth. I mean, I thought it was surprising but funny too. Most people did not. It was a scandal. Phallic EffigiesThere was screaming and yelling. People went into the street. I watched for a moment and then went alongside and then ahead of the crowd, only just. They were coming out of the side streets across the wide boulevards, all of them down to the old freeway. The concrete posts stood like an obliterated forest. That’s where they were, whatever those things were called, effigies, I guess, standing above us like Easter Island heads. Phallic EffigiesIt really looked like they would talk. But there were just too many people, most of them still screaming, and I lost interest and went back to the hotel. It was better going the other way. And they were still there. His penis was the same.

Doll Man: The Un-Pitch

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Doll Man is the story of a hard-working carpenter who makes dolls that he sees in his dreams and slowly removes himself from everyone, his wife, family and friends. bushwick5The first arc features him visiting a friend who has a doll castle in the basement. The carpenter can’t focus on dinner, excuses himself again to look at it, until the host becomes concerned, goes downstairs and finds the carpenter, naked, playing with the figurines around the pink plastic castle. pinkcastleThe film moves from terse and intense dialogue of the real world – his mother in another city, his brother who visits from New York, his daughter and husband and family – to the luxurious fantasy of his doll world. dollworldThe carpenter becomes wholly absorbed in his doll existence, and the door closes the audience out in the final scene.