"The Shooting Incident"

Maurine Campbell (1) picked up a perspiring glass of water from a coaster beside her and took a drink. When she set the glass back down she stared at it a moment. Then she looked over to Eddie and asked, “Did you see Top Gun?”

Eddie stopped pecking at his wing and looked back at Maurine.

Maurine continued, “I’ve seen it a couple times now. I’ve kind of got this thing for Tom Cruise. It’s the hair. Not that Val Kilmer’s not attractive, I’ve just got my preferences.”

Eddie put his wings on the executive desk and rested his head on them. “Ice maan,” he said.

“I like to read the Dailies from the films. At least while I’m out here. It’s easy to get your hands on them. 

“I’m not sure where this is going Miss Campbell.”

Maurine stood up from the desk and started walking toward the door of her office. She gestured Eddie to follow her. She held the door open for them and they walked into the hall.

As they walked to the elevator, she went on.

“It was a tricky movie to film. I mean, aerial scenes have always been hard to film. It used to be because flying was just something that nobody was very experienced with. It took someone like Howard Hughes--you know Hughes right?--it took someone like Hughes to really perfect that style of filming. that is, it took someone who knew planes, both aesthetically and technically, to really capture that transcendent feeling of flying.” Maurine pressed the down button on the elevator. It opened almost immediately and they boarded. “Hit Lobby, would you sweetheart?” Eddie hit the lobby button. Maurine checked her watch. “I hope you haven’t had lunch yet, Eddie. Because I’m treating. But anyway what I was saying was that he captured that ethereal feeling. What I mean by that is--” The door opened and they walked into the lobby, which was more of an atrium, which is to say the place was huge. Above the front door was a bronze NRA emblem with the gun-toting eagle over an American Shield. “--is that there was a magic to it. But back then it was bi-planes. Now we have the F-14A Tomcat. It takes a new type of expertise. A new way to film.”

They walked onto the street and hooked a left. “This bistro nearby is fantastic. I forget the name because I usually just call it Selma’s. It’s the only place in LA that serves sweet tea the right way. Makes me feel like I’m back in Florida.Where was I?”

“In Florida?”

“No in what I was saying. Oh, right. The Tomcat. First of all, talk about American fire power. But for the sake of the film, I was amazed that they were once again able to capture that magic of high-stakes flight. I’m not a pilot, so maybe I’ve got it all wrong, but I was blown away. You know who we had to thank for that?”

Eddie scratched his head.

“Art Scholl.”

“Never heard of him,” Eddie said.

“The next time you watch the movie, pay attention. It’s dedicated to him. He was a world famous Aerial acrobat and he manned one of the in-flight cameras from his own plane, a Pitts S-2. Not exactly a fighter plane. Designed for easy maneuverability. Good for camera-mounts. Anyway, Scholl did the camera work for commercials, films, he did work on The Right Stuff and The A-Team. We’re almost there. Just another block. But one day the script called for a maneuver called a flat-spin, and Scholl went into it, but then over the radio Scholl very calmly says, “I have a problem.” He says, “I have a real problem,” and then he crashes into the Pacific. They never found him or the plane.”

Eddie stopped walking. “That’s terrible.”

Maurine turned to face him. She put her hand on his shoulder. “Do you see what I’m getting at, Sweetheart?”

Eddie started to shake again. His eyes glossed over with a thin liquid veneer. 

“I’m saying that the work Scholl did made it to the big screen, and we all got to see the spectacular work he accomplished. It’s a great film. It’s a small piece of magic in a lot of lives.”

Eddie shivered.

“If it doesn’t make sense yet, don’t worry. I know you’re still shook up. Just come inside and have something to eat. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

The bistro was packed with what seemed like a high-profile lunch crowd. Maurine and Eddie approached the host stand. She told the host that they had a reservation for three. 

“Miss Campbell, you said?” asked the host. 

Maurine nodded.

“The other member of your party has already been seated.” 

Seated at a secluded booth was a tall dark figure nursing a bottled beer. As Eddie and Maurine approached to table his form came into shape.

“Eddie, meet Joe.”

“Pleased to meet you Eddie.”

Eddie and Maurine took a seat. Eddie was immediately swayed by the charm that Joe seemed to radiate.

“Sorry we’re late,” Maurine said. “It took longer to clear up the fiasco at the studio.” (2)

“It’s all cool, Maurine,” said Joe. His voice was like worn leather.

“Joe’s an associate of another public interest group, Eddie.”

Joe smiled at Eddie. Then Joe said, “Well, I’m retired now. Things ain’t the same as they used to be.”

A waitress approached the table and asked for drink orders. 

“Another round of what he’s having,” Maurine said, gesturing towards Joe. 

“Better just make it two, Joe said,” he took a sip of his beer, then he turned to Maurine, “Still have to drive across town.”

Eddie couldn’t find anything to say. He tapped his feathers on the table and looked around the room. All he could do was replay the image of that little girl moving out of the frame, out of his sight, picking up the gun and pulling the trigger. Each time he imagined the sound of that jarring blast he winced.

Meanwhile Maurine spoke to Joe. “Any news from the hill?”

“Nothing yet,” Joe replied. “At the moment it’s all just phone calls and hearings. Right now any delays will work in our favor, you know how it is. These people can’t do anything right while the press is hot on the subject.”

“What’s all that about?” Eddie asked.

Maurine said, “Oh, just politics, Eddie. To be perfectly honest with you, it’s why what we’re doing here is so important. We’ve got people with body guards telling unarmed citizens that they can’t protect themselves. At the same time we’re not allowed to provide educational programming for kids to help them know how to navigate these situations.”

Joe took a cigarette out of his jacket and lit it. “It comes down to a few simple problems, Eddie. We have representatives in congress who think they can regulate things that ought to be left to personal responsibility, and then they go and write other bills that deny schools access to the resources to teach people how to be responsible for themselves. It’s no wonder kids are running the streets playing with guns like they’re toys.”

“Do you work for another gun rights organization,” Eddie asked?

“No, I’m sorry to say I don’t. At the moment I’m a consultant for a number of different interest groups. But I used to work for the tobacco companies. Camel, in particular.”

The waitress returned to the table with their drinks. She put her hand on the booth behind Joe and said, “I’m sorry sir but this is a non-smoking restaurant.”

Joe smiled with the cigarette between his furry lips. Then he gracefully withdrew the cigarette and put it out on a butter tray. He then crumbled it up inside a napkin and left it on the tray. “No worries, hun.”

“Well, I have to say, after what just happened I’m not sure I do feel comfortable with guns being around kids,” Eddie said.

Maurine chimed in, “It was hard to watch, I have to admit. Thank god nobody got hurt. And of course, any time something like this happens we need to take stock in our approach and make sure we proceed on the proper course. 

“We ran into similar problems when I was working inside the tobacco industry. No one’s denying that this product has adverse side-effects. It would be terrible for a child to start smoking. He’s not old enough to understand the full gravity of his decisions. Smoking is, after all, an adult decision. A good parent wouldn’t let a child smoke any more readily than one might give a ten-year-old a shot of whiskey. But that same parent would give his kid a drink at twenty-one. Or maybe even give him a nice cigar for his engagement. These things are cultural rights of passage. Really, they’re just parts of American life. A good family passes these traditions down responsibly, and in due time. So we taught programs in schools encouraging kids to wait until they were grown up to make a decision about smoking.”

“And the program was effective Eddie. Underage smoking has declined rapidly in the United States since the implementation of that program.”

“Working with kids was my passion,” said Joe. But even as the program was becoming successful I was being black-balled. Nowaday’s I can’t have anything to do with tobacco education because my reputation’s been shot by a bunch of guys in Washington who think they know what’s best and how.”

“I’m glad you came to see me today,” said Maurine, “Because I don’t think we took the time to really explain what it is you’re doing. Joe Camel here never got to really take charge of what he was passionate about--”

“But you have the chance to be a role model for children all across this country.”

“Today you saw how serious the situation is.”

“That bullet could have gone into that little girl’s chest,” Eddie said.

“And thank god it didn’t. Just think how different today would have turned out if the very film you’re working on had already been made. If those kids had seen it, this never would have happened. That gun wouldn’t have gone off and we wouldn’t have anything to worry about.”

“Eddie, look over here. This is an important moment. You can let this moment get the best of you. Go ahead and walk on out of here, drop the project. But then you have to face facts. The next time you’re watching the news and you see some little girl on a stretcher because she played with a pistol, you’re going to remember that you could have stopped it. It’s too late for me to stop kids from smoking. You can still be the friendly face of guns.”

“You could be the next Art Scholl.”

Eddie’s chest raised and fell ecstatically. This time, when he thought of the little girl, he imagined him swooping in on time and keeping her away, yelling, “Stop! Don’t Touch! Leave the Area, tell an adult!” 

¹What I know about Maurine Campbell is all public record, though most of it became more readily available in the wake of Eddie’s Incident. She had risen expediently through the ranks of the National Rifle Association’s Department of Educational Programming. 
Her ascent began with a position as a canvasser for the NRA in the mid-seventies as a reaction to the Brady Campaign. She proved so effective in collecting both signatures and donations that within weeks she was promoted to field manager, and then eventually to a position as a campaign organizer. Her field office was the most lucrative in the South-East region. 
Her reputation took her across the country as a consultant to field offices in areas less receptive to their message. She honed in on neighborhoods in Chicago, Detroit, East St. Louis, Los Angeles and New York. Within a year she had an entry level position in Public Relations where she was a behind-the-scenes integral force in developing the “Guns don’t kill people, people kill people” campaign.
In 1980 she was the subject of some controversy when she was mugged in New York City. The police report revealed that she in fact did not have a gun on her at the time of the incident. In the ensuing days it was discovered that she was actually not a gun owner at all. She now has a concealed carry permit and a pink .38 special that she keeps in her purse.
However, the collateral damage from that event meant a bullet-proof glass ceiling on Maurine’s career. By the late eighties she was the director of educational programming, a newly organized branch founded in Florida in the wake of a slew of childhood gun injuries, and in the hopes of killing the Child Access Prevention bill. She discovered Eddie Eagle. The Gun Safety Program was her brain child.

 

² Transcript of Gun Safety With Eddie Eagle incident out-take. 

ZOOM IN on the EDDIE EAGLE STORY BOOK.

Narrator: (a friendly female voice) It happened once upon a time, this safety tale that’s said to rhyme. A tale about an eagle crew whose safety tales are meant for you. (Page turns to Long John in a Lake) Long John Eagle likes lakes and pools, and teaches water safety rules. (Turn to Amelia Page) Amelia Eagle swoops in to say playing with fire is never okay. (Turn to Eddie Page). But many say the friendliest bird--the smartest too, I’ve always heard--is Eddie Eagle, the brave and true, whose safety rule is just for you. Born in a nest perched up in the sky, he’s cared about kids since he opened his eyes.
Zoom in on next page, where high on a perch sits an egg, and in it, the hero. Eddie tries to burst through the egg, eventually succeeding in cracking it open. He is a handsome young eagle. His shirt is red and says “Eddie” in bold white letters.
Eddie: Whoa! (strokes feathers and laughs) Hello world!
Eddie flies and does flips,
then flies around town.
Narrator: Now Eddie was very good at flips, and giving safety tips. Eddie cares so much about you, he flies around town and the country too, watching for danger low and high, to help you with his eagle eyes.
Eddie flies into the window of the Eagle Eyes HQ.
The window:
Reads: The Eagle Eyes need you. Sign up here.
Int. Office - Day
Eddie Eagle looks into the camera.
Eddie: Eddie Eagle, at your service.
Narrator: Eddie has a rule he learned from the chief. A simple rule that’s short and brief.
Ext. City - Day
Eddie is flying around town.
Narrator: The Chief called Eddie to ask his friends if the kids are safe.
Phone Rings
Narrator: Let’s listen in.
Eddie answers his phone.
Eddie: Yeah!
Chief: Eddie, it’s the Chief. What’s up?
Eddie: I am. About fifty stories. Way up! Talk about a busy morning though.
The Chief: What happened.
Flash Back to Eddie flying around town. When he lands on a perch and spots some kids playing in a window.
Eddie: (V.O) Well, I was making my rounds in the countryside, when through the open window of an attic, I spied five or six kids looking all around.
Cut to kids playing with various toys.
Eddie: (V.O) Really excited about neat stuff they found. Grandma’s attic was full of fun things. Lots of old boxes all tied up with string. There was a clock, and a globe, and a trunk full of hats. An old radio, and a baseball bat! Oh, and an out of tune guitar. Boy, they were having fun. But then (more seriously), in the corner behind the broom, I saw a gun.
Eddie flies to the window and sees the gun behind the broom.
Eddie: At just that moment, the kids saw it too. I didn’t wait. I knew what to do!
Eddie puts a siren on his head and flies into the room.
RAP BEAT
Eddie: (choreographed rapping) Stop! Don’t touch! I’m Eddie Eagle, and I like you too much to see you get hurt and that’s why I say, if you spot a gun, just walk a way.
Five kids line up with Eddie. Sixth kid not in the shot.
Eddie: Stop! Don’t touch!
A loud blast disrupts the kids, and one little girl with red hair next to Eddie falls to the floor. The four other kids start screaming.
Eddie is frozen in place. Sound of a heavy object hitting the floor and another gunshot. Camere pans frantically to a boy crying with the gun at his feet. 
BLACK OUT.
Transcriber’s Note: The following account of the video was taken for the purpose of record-keeping internally within the N.R.A. files and is to be marked CONFIDENTIAL: CLASSIFIED.

Workshopp 1/31: "Graffiti" by Gabrielle Fowler

Graffiti reads like an essay with an internal narrative. It is part history of graffiti, part speculation on its forms, and the one main character halfway through the story represents the societal cross-sections with a person who participates in this subversive art. The story is broken up into six sections with sub-titles that identify topics or ideas. The font is meant to suggest a more creative take on writing on the page. Initially, we are introduced to different sorts of graffiti, on subways and fence posts, and each of these types is represented as an example of a type of social forum. Some types are given more weight than others. 

In the section “Someone with something to say” we finally meet some character, and realize that the narrator is telling a story (as opposed to being more of a third-person omniscient presence). The character involved does not receive a name, but his history as a tagger is explored, including run-ins with the police. The narrator even meets and interacts with this person. The story ends on a declarative note, claiming that “you” cannot ignore “us” the taggers. 

Interpreting this as an essay ignores the narrative structure of the piece, but at the same time the narrative is only meant to be an anecdote to bolster the main argument. This story might benefit as a work of fiction by blending these two elements, and relying yes on statements of opinion. By allowing the reader to draw conclusions through examples, more room will be freed up for descriptive imagery. For everything that is visual in graffiti culture, the story relies heavily on the abstract. Remember that what’s at the heart of this topic are vivid works of art that bend conventions, both legal and artistic. Work within that frame of reference. Spend more time with the art, and less time trying to explain public perception of the art. This could open up more channels for experimentation within the piece. 

Workshop 1/31: "Theodicy" by Laurel Taylor

The title of theodicy weights the entire piece with a heavy philosophical burden, which I assume is related to the nature of the piece being at one angle about the person the main character is seeing, who was molested and can not seem to reconcile what has happened with the prospects of living. The story is a first/second person narrative about a co-dependent individual, talking either in his head or out loud to his/her dead lover. The two characters seem to have bonded over their anguish, but over time the narrator’s lover, after multiple unsuccessful suicide attempts, decides to end it with a gun. the story starts where it ends, with a revisiting of the first line, with a turn in the last couple of words: “Let’s reminisce” becomes “let’s forget.”

Looking at this from the perspective of experimental fiction, the best angle I can find is that of a cyclical story. David Foster Wallace’s “Infinite Jest” is a highly structural cyclical story (modeled after a specific type of fractal which imbeds triangles within triangles). This story is not involved on that sort of level, but aims to tie the beginning to the end. Additionally, it attempts to break convention by having the narrator speak to a dead person. However, I would not consider this a non-conventional device. Recall Hamlet talking to Yorik’s skull in the graveyard. 

Perhaps to push the boundary on this, you could change the narrator from the living person to the dead. Or you could alter the way in which information is revealed. As it stands now, time is still linear, and the plot arc is standard. Take these aspects of the story and contort them into something unusual. Good luck

01/24 "The Hand of Justice" by Shelby Thomas

The cover sheet suggests that Shelby Thomas's "The Hand of Justice" is a short story in the guise of a transcript from a tape recording from a serial killer. Based on what the reader is given, the tape recording is made by the killer, Douglas G. Sheridan. There is likely no one else (living) in the room, but I would infer that the recording is made recently after the last killing. The reason Sheridan gives for his crimes is the status of his victims as "dirty whores." Through his bumblings it becomes apparent that  he finds these women (and likely all women) unclean and a nuisance to be rid of. It ends with him telling people not to judge him as evil, though he believes he will probably go to hell.

While it is an interesting set-up, I don't know if it's the strongest way to wrap this piece of evidence, which is technically what it would be considered, I think. The strongest aspect of the story is the rambling colloquial, distanced dialogue from a person who believes in his own cause. Some issues revolve around his belief in himself, which I think would be more whole-hearted than it comes off. I'm not sure if he would think he'd go to hell. Also, if he is someone who needs to justify his crimes, I would like to see some sort of justification for the last murder. If she wasn't a dirty whore, why did he kill her? did she insult him? Did she find out and need to be killed to avoid being discovered. There is room to ramble and give more information. For now, I think it is a good idea that needs more meat on its bones.

01/15 Workshop: "Incident Report" by Sara Angela Rodriguez

I think this is an excellent start to a story. For the most part, the narrative explains and withholds information in a way that does not keep the reader confused. It would be nice to have the age of the football players up front. We know this is grade school, but whether the students were in Middle-school or high school makes a difference in the way that the student going to jail will be charged. 

Voice: I think its done well here, and particularly so from the student’s perspective. But again, defining age would help clarify some things that come up as issues. From the voice I assumed the character was African American, which I think is a safe assumption, though any hard-core Yat might very well speak in such a way. But the more important distinction in the two voices is either A: proper v. improper speech or B: unreliable v. authoritative. This is not because I believe either to be so, that just seemed to be how the story reads. And I think that leaving out the races of the characters can either play to your favor or against you. Toni Morrison wrote some wonderful stories that play with a persons perceptions of black and white. In one story whose name escapes me, There are two girls growing up together, and we constantly shift in our heads which one is black and which one is white based on the circumstances they are subjected to. Because we associate certain things with success and certain things with failure, we realize that we tie those things in race. The story does not end on a conclusive note in Morrison’s case. Her conclusion was the feeling the reader develops: insecurity about his/her own prejudices.

One thing that could be improved: The story relies so much on this event that was separate from the characters. Give us more about these two or three people, so that we can see more conflict between them.

"Charlton Heston"

Stewart Lawrence Sinclair

Experimental Fiction

Workshop 01/24

Charlton Heston

Charlton Heston (no relation) was eight. The gun was small enough to fit in his back pocket. Just the sight of it provoked a tingle in his groin that he wouldn’t understand until he hit puberty four years later. Charlton stared at the gun. Dennis approached him.

“We’re gonna miss Spongebob,” Dennis said.

“Lookit.”

Dennis looked-it. His eyes popped wide as silver dollars when he saw the gun. He made to grab it but Charlton stopped him. 

“Don’t you remember what Eddie said?”

“Eddie?”

“Eddie the Eagle. The video we watched last week.”

That year the Missouri legislature had passed a bill requiring that all students partake in an NRA sponsored gun safety program which was to be non-biased towards guns and emphasize what a child should do if they came across one. Eddie the Eagle was the cartoon mascot, and throughout the video he rapped the procedure to kids: “Stop! Don’t Touch! Leave the area. Tell an Adult.”

Dennis and Charlton ran into the Alsup’s and told the man behind the counter, who didn’t seem particularly phased but nonetheless thanked the boys. They raced the rest of the way home and caught the second of the two after-school episodes of Spongebob.

.

Charleton was thinking about that day when he rode his bike home from school. At this point he was a Sophomore in high school. He was riding down Industrial Park Road alone and he was coming up on the railroad tracks. 

As he got closer the signal started flashing and the bell dinged. By the time he got to the track the train was railing by. He watched as car by car clickity-clacked along the iron tracks. It was a freighter, and the boxcars stretched on as long as they wanted to. And then the train slowed down, and finally came to a halt. 

Tired, thirsty, hot, hungry, Charlton looked around him for a place to wait until the train got a move on. There was a bar he was too young for on the right of the road. Next to that was a nail salon. He hated the smell of nail polish. But to his left was a place called The Shooter’s Lounge. And outside of it there was a Coke machine. 

Charlton pumped three quarters into the Coke Machine and pressed the Coke button, which sent a coke can rolling down a chute into a tray designed to keep people from reaching up into the thing and stealing the Cokes. He leaned on the coke machine. He put the cold can to his forehead, then he cracked open the Coke can.

The front door opened and Charlton heard the pyrotechnic pops of ammunition from inside. He turned to the door and saw a giant eagle step outside. The Eagle had on a pair of blue jeans and a T-shirt that said Shooter’s Lounge over the left-breast pocket, which had a pack of Camels in it. He grabbed the pack with a couple dactyl feathers and pecked out a cigarette. then he lit it with a Zippo.He took a long drag and then turned his head to Charlton.

“How’s it goin kid?”

“Just waiting on that train.”

The eagle shook his tail feathers, which stuck out the back of his pants. He kicked the Coke machine with his talon.

He said, “I reckon it’ll be there a minute.”

“I s’pose so.”

“Why don’t you come inside?”

Charlton drank the rest of his Coke. The train didn’t make any sound that might suggest movement. every once in a while it released a huge steam-sigh that could have come from the breaks. Charlton didn’t know a thing about trains. 

“Ain’t I seen you somewhere mister?”

“Dunno,” said Eddie. “Probly. Name’s Eddie. You might remember me from such films as the NRA’s Learn Gun Safety with Eddie Eagle.”

Charlton Heston just kind of stared at him.

“I’m a Simpson’s fan,” Eddie said.

.

“A lot’s changed since we’ve made that film, Charlie. It’s cool to call you that right? Cool. A lot’s changed, Charlie. I mean, as far as my career, animation’s all digital now. They don’t want a hand-drawn eagle like me. Plus, I’m getting older. The kids want someone close to their own age. I’m pushing thirty five now. you know what the cops would do with a thirty-five year old eagle showing up and rapping whenever a kid finds a gun? I promise you I’d have a lot more to worry about than my acting career. You know what I’m saying? No? Well I guess give it some time. The point is I might not be an NRA poster-boy any more but I still support the cause. This little place I have here is all about education. And I’m not just talking shooting lessons. I’m talking real fucking education. We teach people self-defense. We teach people the law. But most importantly we teach people their rights.”

Eddie stepped behind the glass counter. Charlton looked into it. There were three shelves of hand guns. They had labels like “.38 Special” and “.45 Magnum.” On the wall behind Eddie were shot guns, hunting rifles, assault rifles.

“This is our right, Charlie. After the founders promised freedom of speech they laid down in ink the right to bear one of these beautiful babies.”

Eddie reached under the counter and grabbed a gun labeled “.9 mm.” He put it on the counter and ushered Charlton to go ahead and grab it. Charlton looked at the gun, then at Eddie, then towards the door.

“This ain’t a damn after school special, kid.”

“I don’t think I should--”

“Take a look around Charlie.”

Charlton looked around. There were about a dozen people in the store. Some were looking up on a wall that had a selection of different paper targets. They had varying graphics ranging from zombie Bin Ladens to white men with fu-man-chus holding sexy women at gun point. The posters were all arranged above a thick glass window that separated the customers from the shooting gallery. Among the customers, two of them were policemen, several were middle-aged white men and there was one young girl there with her father.

Eddie continued, “I said in the video that if you find a gun you should tell an adult. This place is full of adults. Ask any one of them, they’ll tell you it’s okay. Hell, I’m an adult. I’m a grown-ass American Bald Eagle. What’s not to trust?”

Charlton raised his hand to the counter. He picked up the gun. It felt heavier than he expected.

“You want to go out back and try it out?”

.

Charlton had his ear plugs in snug. The safety-glasses were a little big but they didn’t seem like they’d fall off. He felt Eddie’s feathers against his hands as Eddie taught him to position the gun. The target they chose was a simple silhouette of a human being’s upper torso and head. 

“Take a deep breath, and relax. Exhale when you shoot. Don’t be afraid of the gun kicking back in your hand. you’ll feel it. It’s a powerful thing. You have to respect it. But don’t be afraid. With that gun in your hand, you have nothing else to be worry about.”

Charlton took a deep breath, and as he exhaled, he put incrementally greater pressure on the trigger until he felt the surprising percussive jolt up his arm, and the gun kicked back, and he felt proud of himself for keeping his eyes open and watching the bullet shoot straight through the center of the silhouette’s head. 

He fired again. 

and again.

and again.

and on the other side of the metal divide another shooter fired a more powerful gun again

and again into his target, which was a white assailant holding a female cop hostage.  This shooter’s mouth hung half open as he fired. His gun was a .38 special like the one in the display case. 

In the next booth over a little girl squealed as she fired her gun again and again. Charlton heard the girl squeal and it excited him and each time he fired he screamed. They squealed and they screamed and the guns went bang. And Charlton knew that he was safe. That nothing could touch him. He kept firing high velocity pock-marks into the black silhouette. The Silhouette morphed as he shot. It was a stranger breaking into his house. It was a deer wandering through the woods. It was some other kid fucking his girlfriend. It was Eddie the Eagle repeating his god damn stupid rap song. He kept rapping and dancing as Charlton put bullet after bullet into his brain. Stop! Don’t Touch! Leave the Area! Tell and Adult”

“Stop!”

“Get out of here!”

“Get the cops!”

“Somebody get a vet!”

Charlton stood over the body of Eddie Eagle. He kept pulling the trigger, but he had spent the ammo. Eddies cartoon body bled onto the floor, and the blood flowed around the hundreds of brass casings that littered the shooting gallery. Charlton held the gun in his hand. He felt the textured grip against his palm. He felt very powerful for a moment, but now he was out of ideas. Outside, the train blew its whistle and started to move. 

 

01/17 Workshop: "Letter from the Front" by David Gold

"Letter from the Front" is a missive sent from a soldier named Josh to his wife, Penelope. The story moves from an abstract description of a miserable lonely war, and gradually establishes that it is a war between United States and Canada over water.

The story's strengths are in its gradual description, layering causes and locations. The reader asks questions constantly, but it still feels like too little too late. Some of the information could be loaded in by having an address line at the top, or anything else that could go with a letter. It definitely should establish a specific place up front. But I think for this particular class, I would encourage more experimentation. The plot is already an experiment, but twist the way it is told, or who the narrator is. Push the convention a little further and this could be really interesting.

01/15 Workshop: "One Night:750 Words and Then Some" by Ruby Rosa Bresinsky

In the initial reading it is hard to parse exactly what Brezinsky is saying in "One Night," but there are are subtle markers that assist the reader in creating something of a story about people in a room exchanging stories while one person transcribes. At least, that is a loose framework, which allows the reader to excuse false starts and red herrings. To an extent, this works, but at times there the story is bogged down with competing unconventional flourishes. That is to say, for instance, that dialogue is simultaneously unattributed, non-indented, lacking quotation marks, and sometimes parenthetical. While I can understand a desire to disorient, it is also important not to discourage the reader for the sake of being unconventional. This situation with dialogue, combined with a loose narrative structure and anti-climaxes makes for a long run through this piece with little time to breath.

To this, the answer perhaps is everything in moderation. Tighten this up and it has potential. Also, I think the story really starts at "I said, Piss on your face..."

01/15 Workshop: "S.O.S." by Alicia Harper

Alicia Harper's "S.O.S." attempts to blend two disparate narrative voices in order to create a dramatic tension for the reader. Through what appear to be possible letters (though this is not specified, but intuited by the reader) the story of a man trapped on a desert Island takes shape. The narrators James and Peter become more certain that someone else is on the Island, unaware of each other. Over time it becomes clear that the two are one, and this suspicion is confirmed by a sound-bite from a news reporter at the end who is broadcasting the disappearance of Peter Joseph James, who was last seen sailing away solo on his yacht.

The difficulties that arise out of such a scenario revolve around how much is revealed and when. For an example of a similar story one could turn to Dennis Lehane's "Shutter Island." The book plays out the scenario of the main character being lost on the Island, but the revelation is only half about the mental delusion. The other revelation is one that reveals character. Perhaps "S.O.S" would benefit by focusing more on the character traits of Peter Joseph James. This could benefit by taking the burden of the story off of the mental illness, that way the reader does not feel as if the piece is trying to pull a "gotcha" moment.