Jonathan Black, Chapter Three

Another JB adventure!

                                                

     For a week now Paul hadn't seen or heard from Black. His portrait just hung there, never changing, his face smirking, like he found life vaguely humorous, a look frozen for all time. Paul had almost convinced himself that the memory of conversing with Black had all been a dream. What if he was losing his mind? "Yes doctor, Jonathan Black and I have been conversing about life in general. What's that? Yes, I'm aware that it's completely impossible for a dead guy in a painting to be interactive in any way. What?  The blue pill and then bed rest, and you'll do your best to keep the other patients quiet?" He shivered at the thought. If he kept this up, he'd soon be fitted for a nice white jacket with extra-long sleeves.

 

     Later that same day he was working hard on his latest novel, so hard in fact that the voice startled him back to reality.

     "Paul, Paul, you're violating the very first rule of good writing--believe in the plot you're writing."

 

     After the initial shock of hearing Jonathon's voice in the silence, he shot back, "Black, every time you flap your face, you're criticizing my writing, maybe I should put you face down so you can't see?"

 

     "You could do that, but you'll never shut me up. I just keep babbling and drive you crazy."

 

     "Too late--apparently I've already arrived at Loonytown."

 

     "I know, right? Carrying on a conversation with a long-dead author?"

 

     "Maybe I should hang a picture of Sigmund Freud so I can talk to someone about my delusion!"

 

     "Oh, I wouldn't recommend talking to that guy. Since he arrived here  he's been nothing but a jerk, wandering around and asking everyone unfortunate enough to run into him if they'd seen his mother. I would never tell him this to his face, as that's one scary dude, but yes, I've seen his mother, and she's hiding from him, telling everyone that he's obsessed with her and keeps asking her if she'd like to go to a motel."

 

     "They have motels there?"

 

     "No, but there's something seriously wrong with that dude!"

 

     "So, what am I doing wrong now?"

 

     "You're writing sort of half-heartedly, like you think your words are ludicrous to you."

 

     "Well I do find all the sex and violence tiresome, but that's what sells now days."

 

    "Right there is your problem, you're trying to write to please the reader, when the only opinion that should matter is yours, and yours alone."

 

     "That's easy for you to say, you don't need money."

 

     "True, but I still remember the rush of having it, the more the better. But I also remember the satisfaction of sticking to my principals."

 

     "Hey, principals are all well and good, but you can't buy a sports car with them."

 

     "Yes, cars, an amazing invention that we sure could have used in my day. We'd never have had to worry about stepping in car crap."

 

     "Yes, but think of all the air pollution."

 

     "Are you telling me that smelling car exhaust would be worse than smelling horse sh--"

 

     "Okay, I'll concede the point."

 

     "Cars don't need to take a dump, is all I'm saying."

 

    "Let's get back on point, shall we? Now, how would you suggest I fix the problem?"

 

     "If I were you, I'd scrap what you've written so far and start over, on a subject you can believe in."

 

     "You mean toss out days of work?"

 

     "I understand what you're saying, but come on, you could work on this goiter from now until Christmas, but in the end, it'll still be a goiter."

 

     'So what, just toss it?"

 

     "Yep, I'm afraid so, I know it's not what you want to hear, but I'll tell you what, I'll even give you the opening line. It'll make me feel alive again."

 

     Okay, I'll delete it, but only because deep down I know you're right. So, how would you start it?"

 

     "Let's see, 'It was a dark and stormy night...' Take it and run with it."

 

     "Surely you can't be serious, and I know, don't call you Shirley."

 

     "No, I wasn't serious, I just thought I'd have a little fun, and really, that's what passes for humor today?"

 

     Paul rolled his eyes, angrily deleted everything he'd written up to that point, and got set to make a fresh start.

 

     "Well, as exciting as it would be sitting here watching you work, Napoleon is being a real dick in the smoking lounge, and someone needs to reel him in before Aaron Burr gets mad and goes off half-cocked. You'd think that killing a guy in a dual would be enough to learn your lesson, but apparently not!""

 

      "Yeah, later Jonathan," Paul answered absentmindedly, already thinking, hmm, ' it was a dark and stormy night...' that's not so bad, I can work with that!

 

           

 

    

 

         

 

            

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Marie]

Paul is a better writer than he thinks he is.

And I once wrote a story that began with "It was a dark and stormy night..."

Furthermore, it was published.

[Michael Stevens]

Oh, I didn't mean it couldn't be good, please excuse me, I tried to think of a generic beginning.