Jonathan Black--Chapter Two

Chapter Two, duh!

                                              

     He anxiously looked in the entertainment section of the paper first thing in the morning, before he even had breakfast. He'd been told to look for a revue of 'Dancing at the Gates'. He quickly scanned the pages, until he found the 'New in Print' section. Up and down his eyes followed the writing, until right beneath an ad for erectile dysfunction, didn't that just figure, there it was. His excited eyes eagerly began reading: 

 

     "A review of 'Dancing at the Gates', by Paul Dalton--review by Mark Sanders. "This regurgitated mess of a novel should have been called, 'Puking at the Gates and All Over My Shoes'!  One wonders what the hell the author was thinking? A handsome futuristic robot private eye? Just about every cliché' in the private eye genre is covered, and recovered, and...  Please, Mr. Dalton, do everyone a favor and find a new line of work, because subjecting innocent people to more of the pathetic, juvenile scribblings ought to be against the law. This reviewer..."

 

     "Is an ignorant bloviating pile of negativity!" Paul finished, as he balled up the paper and threw it in disgust. Who was this guy, Hemingway? because his would be an opinion that he would listen to. He had poured his heart and soul into writing this, and some ignorant idiot-jerk had savaged it in print. He angrily walked over to his computer and opened a Word document and started to pen a nasty reply. As his fingers stabbed the keys, which he imagined were the reviewer' beady eyes, a voice shattered the absolute quiet,

 

     "Ah, you may want to think about what you're doing."

 

     He started in surprise, and his finger accidently hit the delete button. He whipped his head around in a rage, ready to viciously rip into whomever had snuck up on him, causing him to lose everything, but the room was empty. What? "I must be going crazy!" he mumbled to himself, and started again. Immediately, came,

 

     "What did I just warn you about?"

 

     Huh? This time he spun his chair around, and again, saw no one. "Alright, where the hell are you?"

 

     "Hanging on the wall right here."

 

     He raised his eyes and saw it was once again the portrait of Jonathan Black talking to him. "You again! I just figured it was the beer talking last time."

 

     "Nope, I'm really talking to you and what you're thinking of doing will only make things worse."

 

     Paul was immediately angry. "And just what, pray tell, am I supposedly thinking of doing?"

 

      "Responding to that guy. What he wrote is only his opinion. You'd better toughen up if you want to make it in the writing game."

 

     "But he took uncalled-for verbal shots at it."

 

     "True, but you need to rise above it. Don't sink to his level. For all you know, he and his wife may have argued this morning, or whatever. What I'm trying to say is you don't know why this guy's so angry. The review could be about something else that has nothing to do with your novel."

 

     Paul tried to find fault with Black's logic, but could not. It just wasn't fair to put something that had taken him months to write, and have it savaged in a minute and a half. He told the portrait as much.

 

     "Right you are, but you've got to learn to just shrug it off."

 

     "But hearing negative words like these really makes me doubt myself. I'm the kind of writer who wants to believe, has to believe, that everyone shares my vision, be it dramatic or humorous."

 

     "Really, how realistic is that? Everybody's different. Something that one person finds exceptional or hilarious, someone else will find below-average or not remotely humorous. As long as you think it's good, you have to believe it is."

 

    "I know you're right, but it's so hard to think that way," answered Paul.

 

     "Oh, believe me, I know. When 'Detective in Stone' first came out, one of the first people to read it told me that it was a child-like attempt by the author at credibility, that it was completely unbelievable. Granted, I was dating his wife at the time, so that may have been the reason he went off, but my point is still valid, I--you had to see her--I guarantee you, you would have been drooling--I mean this woman filled out her bloomers quite nicely. Oh, how I wish I wasn't dead--I'd so much like to..."

 

     "Back on point Jonathan."

 

     "Oh, of course, the point is I started to doubt myself, like you're doing now, but the very next comment I received said they found it to be an immensely enjoyable, realistic vision of what it must be like to be a private detective. What if I had lost my confidence after one bad revue and packed it in?"

 

     "I see what you mean, the world never would have been introduced to Private Detective Horatio Desmond."

 

     "Precisely, my good man."

 

     "I understand it, but I don't have to like it. This guy works for an actual newspaper, but with online sites, a person can say whatever they want, vile, nasty things, in complete anonymity."

 

     "True, back in my day, there wasn't anything rivaling social media, and anyone who's trying to be a writer now days has to endure ordinary people who are angry at the world, and take that anger out on their writing. I truly pity you--some guy who's having a bad day reads your story, and piles all the venomous adjectives they can think of on it, for all the world to see. It's no wonder anyone can keep from having their spirit and enthusiasm broken. Imagine, getting something you poured everything you have into, royally roasted by some pot-bellied guy in his underwear. It's both a blessing, and a curse."

 

   "You sure can say that again."

 

     "I would, but I've got to go, William Shakespeare is embarrassing himself by making off-color jokes to everyone here at the party. Ordinarily, he's the nicest dead guy around, but give him a few demon-rums, and needs a babysitter, and guess who the designated sitter is this time? I just slipped away so we wouldn't be bothered."

 

     "Are there others like you there?"

 

     "You mean dead?"

 

     "Well, yes, for lack of a better term."

 

     "Yes, it's the exclusive club that everyone's dying to join!"

 

     "I see that lame jokes aren't confined to our time."

 

     "I'm hurt and shocked that you would say that about my hilarious joke.  I'm definitely going to go now, but I'll be hanging around here from time to time, though."

 

     "I can just picture it!"

 

     "Well, I see that lameness isn't confined to my era, I'll talk to you later."

 

     "Yeah, sure Jonathan, see you around," and he turned his attention back to the present day. His first priority? Washing up and then finding something to eat.

 

Reviews

[Rana]

"As long as you think it's good, you have to believe it is." Those are such true words. I totally love this piece of story which, apart from being hilarious and entertaining and all laugh provoking, is also encouraging and conveys an important message, not only for writers but for other people in other fields too. When a piece (like this one) can entertain and educate at the same time, that's when the piece becomes a masterpiece, Mike.

[Michael Stevens]

Thank you (my face is turning red because of the praise!) I'm glad you think it's good!

[Rana]

Wow, haha :) and of course it is.

[Michael Stevens]

Aw, shucks; thanks!

[Marie]

Paul Daltonand Johathon Black are interesting characters, not losers. A bad review is certainly not the end of the world.

My own novel got only one review. It was a great one, and my daughter wrote it. I certainly hope there's more to being a successful writer than reviews...

[Michael Stevens]

Thanks, and yeah, I hope you're right!