Learning new things through practice

Two homeless people, completely different backgrounds and one learns to let go of his mental fugue created by media, and to educate himself through actual practice

The Trigger Discipline Exchange
The marine layer was still thick over Skid Row, clinging to the asphalt like a damp wool blanket. Pops sat on a flattened refrigerator box, his back against a brick wall that had absorbed forty years of graffiti and exhaust. He held a ceramic mug�"a heavy, matte-black thing with a handle shaped like the grip and trigger guard of a Colt Python.
"Found it in a donation bin over by Little Tokyo," Pops said, teeth yellowed but his grin wide. He handed it to Elias. "Thought of you. Since you're always talking about 'protection' and 'rights.' A man’s gotta be ready, Elias. The world’s coming for us, and the Second Amendment is the only thing keeping the wolves from the door."
Elias took the mug. He was younger, his beard still more salt than pepper, but his eyes had the hollowed-out look of a man who had traded a mortgage and a twenty-year marriage for a rucksack and a tarp.
As his fingers closed around the ceramic grip, Elias’s index finger didn't curl. It extended straight and firm along the side of the mug, resting just above the faux-trigger guard.
"Trigger discipline," Elias said softly. The words were crisp, a sharp contrast to the low rumble of the morning traffic.
Pops blinked. "The what?"
"You ingrain it into your body, Pops. It’s muscle memory." Elias tapped the side of the mug with his straight finger. "The most dangerous thing in the world isn't a loaded gun; it's a man who thinks he knows how to use one because he watches the news. You keep your finger off the bang-switch until you’ve made the conscious decision to destroy whatever is in front of you."
Pops scoffed, leaning back. "I know how a gun works, kid. You point, you pull. I watch the guys on the screen. They talk about the 'will to fight' every night. I got the will."
"Will is just adrenaline without an anchor," Elias countered. He didn't look up from the mug; he was checking the 'sights' across the rim. "You want a Pulp Fiction moment? Marvin getting his head blown off in the back of a Chevy because Vincent Vega didn't know how to manage a double-action pull? That’s what happens when you treat a tool like a totem."
Elias spent the next twenty minutes deconstructing the older man’s bravado. He spoke about sight alignment and the "surprise break" of a clean trigger squeeze. He explained that a firearm wasn't a magic wand that bestowed power; it was a liability that demanded a debt of a thousand hours of dry-fire practice. He spoke of the weight of the law, the physics of recoil, and the terrifying reality of terminal ballistics�"things the talking heads on Pops’s battery-operated radio never mentioned between commercials for gold coins and survival rations.
"You like the idea of it, Pops. The 'idea' of being the sheepdog," Elias said, handing the mug back. "But without training, you’re just a target with a louder noise. Knowledge isn't something you catch like a cold from a TV screen. It’s earned."
Pops looked down at the mug. For sixteen years, he had survived on grit and the loud opinions of strangers, but he looked at the ceramic revolver handle differently now. He wrapped his hand around it, carefully mimicking Elias’s straight-fingered grip.
"Trigger... discipline," Pops muttered, testing the weight. He looked at Elias with a new, quiet sort of respect. "I suppose a man sounds like a fool talking about the harvest when he’s never even held a plow, don't he?"
Elias nodded, pulling his jacket tighter. "Exactly. Don't just believe the script, Pops. Practice the part."

Author's Note

I used prompts fed to the Gemini AI app based on personal experiences actually lived by me to create this story

Reviews

[Lauren]

“Hey, I read a bit of your work and really liked how you handle character voice. I’m developing a fantasy comic/graphic novel set in a protected woodland where humans, animals, and creatures can all communicate, with some humor mixed in. I’m mainly looking for help with dialogue and character moments. If that sounds interesting, feel free to reply or add me on Discord: laurendoesitall or Instagram: lizziedoesitall.”

[ETERNITY]

IMO JayG is incorrect. Brick does absorb exhaust. Walk along a crowded city street, you can detect all the smells because it is absorbed into everything porous. Brick is not solid. It is porous. Look how the cement truck constantly turns its mixer. Oxygen is mixing into the cement.

[JayG]

• The marine layer was still thick over Skid Row, clinging to the asphalt like a damp wool blanket.

1. Marine layer? You just told the reader that the place is under the sea. Not your intent, but it is what you said. Dump AI. It always gets it wrong.

2. A damp wool blanket doesn’t cling. And you already said that the place is at least damp, so, the last nine words do nothing but slow the pace of reading.

• Pops sat on a flattened refrigerator box, his back against a brick wall that had absorbed forty years of graffiti and exhaust.

1. Why does what he’s sitting on matter? Would the story change were it a chair, or the curb? No. And the reader can’t see it, so describing what can be seen, as against what the protagonist is focused on, serves only to cause the reader to turn away.

2. Brick does NOT absorb “exhaust.” Dump AI. It always gets it wrong.

• He held a ceramic mug—a heavy, matte-black thing with a handle shaped like the grip and trigger guard of a Colt Python.

That’s data not story. We don’t know where and when we are. We don’t know what’s going on. And, we don’t know whose skin we wear. So that means the reader has no context to make what you say meaningful. For the reader, there’s someone called “Pops,” But we know more about what he’s sitting on, and what can be seen around him than we know about him, because you’re focused on visual items in a medium that does NOT show pictures.

The problem is that that you’ve not yet acquired any knowledge of the Fiction Writing profession, and are trying to use a shortcut that’s not even close to working—and, you’re not giving whatever AI you're using decent prompts, because, not knowing HOW fiction is written, you’re falling into a very old computer problem: GIGO, which stands for: Garbage in? Garbage out.

But that’s fixable. So if you truly want to write fiction, try Debra Dixon’s, GMC: Goal Motivation & Conflict for fit. You can sample it on any bookseller site.

It’s a warm easy read that often feels like sitting with Deb as she talks about writing. And you’ll find that when using those professional skills, writing becomes a LOT more fun.

So give it a try. And for an overview of the traps and gotchas that catch so many, you might want to check a few of my articles and YouTube Videos.

Jay Greenstein
Articles: https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/
Videos: https://www.youtube.com/@jaygreenstein3334

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“Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.”
~ E. L. Doctorow

[ETERNITY]

I love the way you say more salt than pepper instead of just saying grey. Your writing is awesome!
"The most dangerous thing in the world isn't a loaded gun; it's a man who thinks he knows how to use one because he watches the news. You keep your finger off the bang-switch until you’ve made the conscious decision to destroy whatever is in front of you."
I love that! Never heard it quite that way before. Lol, Yes, so true!