Storytellersunplugged

Frank Wydra

March 13, 2008

For those of us sitting back to entryway, Bram’ s sloping, upward thrust of his mug accompanied by cherubic smile warns that a friend has entered the building. “Ah Edgar,” he bursts, “Papa and I were just speaking of you.

Edgar gives us a pensive look, as if nothing good of him could be said of his behind his back. “And, if I may ask,” dropping his kidskin gloves into his upturned Beaver, “On what subject do I fill your thoughts?

For once Mary gives him an inviting look and pats the empty seat next to her. “Here. Come sit by my side.”

His eyes shift, as if he is aware of being set up, but has not yet figured the game. Flipping his swallowtail he sits stiffly at Mary’s side. It is a departure from his laconic slouch, and his mood is clearly one of discomfort.

Finally, Mary breaks the silence with a thither and raps her fan playfully on Edgar’s forearm.. She says to the rest of us, “Cut it out now, I told you he is far to astute be taken in by your parlor games.” Then, turning to Edgar, “Your only fault is coming through at door last.” She gave the table an aerie wave. “These children decided to see if they could raise your anxiety by foreshadowing, by making a statement that exploded with meaning. So, when Bram saw you, he let loose the set-up.”

Papa, wide-grin splitting his face-fuzz, says, “And it worked. He pointed the stem of his briar toward Edgar. “Your chin was a stiff as any Baltimore maiden’s bib.”

Edgar says. ”If you are exploring anxiety may I suggest you join me after we finish here.” Smug smile creases his face. “There is this new cask of Sherry I think you will enjoy.”

Even Al can not hold back a chortle at Edgar’s wit. He wanders away, shaking his head, mumbling, “Ides of …” as if it held the secret of the universe.

Sorry you were the butt of it, old boy. The thing was, Papa and I were arguing over whether, to save some work, some writers are slipping in a foreshadow to keep the narrative lively.

Mary says, “And there is some intellectual vigor to the subject. Most of the time we think just thing of foreshadowing and plug it in to accelerate the though. Some’s take, though, is to unwisely stage by inserting the gimmick step into every place public along it’s untidy boundary Think of all the painful times you’ve read,

Yes, she would do it.

But what if something were to happen, if Lenny were to discover?

END OF CHAPTER

NEW CHAPTER

Lenny knew what she was doing.

Papa says, “there, you see it. That is virtually useless copy. First, there is no timing between the end of one chapter and another. Some readers will flash across the chapter pages sucking for air. Others will browse, putting a good night between reads The effect is the same, as soon as the writer shadows she has started a little game. The writers seem to say BIG CLUE now go gyrate before I revel the answer. Second, the sequence adds nothing to the tension. It’s a game fit for three year olds who hide a piece of candy in outstretched, but reveal its location even before being asked which hand hides the treasure.

Bram says, “Ahhhh, but effective foreshadowing is sublime. Never let the reader be shocked into a line of reasoning that has not been supporter. A good foreshadow is wing-dust settling upon the plot before the reader knows it is airborns. As the story unfolds, so do the foreshadows, each a decibel stronger in magnitude and amplitude from it s predecessor. At some point the reader will rise and look back over the sticks stuck in the mud. For some there will be an epiphany; the stubby twigs willl read like notes on a clef. For others there will be no more than squad of marshy boughs that have been foaled stillborne into the story”

Mary draws a kerchief from her sleeve and dabs at an eye. All the rest of us, choosing not to be romanced by some pretty words, look for dust in the eaves.

I, perhaps mellowing in my dotage, say. “Bram, that is as fine a description of a foreshadow as I have heard.” Papa bounces the briar’s bowl on the oak and says, “here, here.”

Edgar says, “yes yes,” the mouths a restatement of the old saw that admonishes you to make them as subtle as the scent of a rose wafting on the twilight breeze, while at the same time remembering not to make them as flagrant as a codpiece on a midget.” He pushes air to stifle dissent. “But not to get caught in imagery, there is, I think a more important point and that is to use any tool with parsimony. No guide benefits from a rule as does this one.”

There are nods, but they are not enthusiastic.

Al, fingers wrapped through the handles of three glass mug clinks a glass and says, “An announcement.” It takes a moment, but Al waits it through. “Methinks,” he says “adopting phony Middle English, “that I shall declare tomorrow a holiday. All ye who visit this house from noon on will be allowed to draw two measures for the price of one.

Papa beams and throws a n arm around A. ”Do that and we shall surely have reason to beware the ides of March.”

frank.writestuff@gmail.com

Thursday, March 13, 2008