Evil Editor's Blog, page 65

Don't Doubt the Big Guy

While we wait for fake plots to come in for a new title in the query queue (see sidebar), here's another film that should have won a Best Picture Oscar, but didn't because even though I have plenty of Hollywood connections, I refuse to kiss the asses of the Academy members.

Four films that inexplicably didn't win the Oscar for best short feature.

Evil Editor's World Book Day Speech

It's Dr. Suess Day and (not coincidentally)

#ReadAcrossAmerica Day. Perfect excuse to rerun some poetry from a long-ago writing exercise.



When I was a little kid, just about threeI liked to have Daddy read stories to mePertaining to doggies or bunnies or miceWith everything happy and cozy and nice
Now twenty years later as I lie in bedI look back again at the books Daddy readI see them on levels I didn’t beforeAnd see that those stories might be something more
As I was perusing those books of my pastI found some that left me agape and aghastThey had hidden meanings on every last pageSubliminal statements that filled me with rage
What author could merit such verbal abuse?That lovable hate-able doctor named Seuss!If you don’t believe me, I’ll now make you seeJust how controversial that doctor can be
Take Yertle the Turtle, whose constant obsessionWith ultimate power caused brutal oppressionYou wanna know why Doctor Seuss called him Yertle?It’s just because Stalin does not rhyme with turtle!
And then there's The Lorax, who, with desperationAttempted prevention of deforestation.That’s noble and downright courageous indeedExcept for the fact that he doesn’t succeed!What kind of a message does Doctor Seuss send?“Hey kids, you’re all gonna fail in the end!”
Hop on Pop is a terrible book which I fearHas problems that make themselves painfully clearI don’t think my father would be very keenOn me using him as a live trampolineWho knows just how many poor parents have diedTragic victims of second degree Hopicide
Oh, the Places You’ll Go! Now that book is worseIt maps out your future in pictures and verseExcept that it lies to you, straight to your faceI mean, I for one haven’t gone anyplaceI’ll tell you what Seuss should have written instead:“This life is a bitch and then one day you’re dead!”
And then there's the one book that makes me most illIt’s that ungodly tale that takes place in WhovilleWith a villain possessing an undersized heartIt’s a terrible insult to poetic art
Want to know why The Grinch is the book I malign?Dr. Seuss makes up words in almost every lineIf he starts a stanza and can’t seem to end itHe’ll think of a word and he’ll twist it and bend itIt’ll say something like “The Grinch took all their gadgetsAnd zoogle madingo dareefuh mawadgets!”
No matter what part of that story you readIt sounds as though Seuss had been smoking some weedAlso, you’d think that a doctor would knowIf your heart grows three sizes your chest will explode
With stories that crazy and messed up and wildI don't think that they should be read to a childIt may just sound cruel but the obvious fact isThat Dr. Seuss ought to be sued for malpractice!
--Evil Jr.

It was raining outside. There was nothing to do.So I reached in the slushpile and picked up a few.I looked at the first one and saw the first word to be"Oxymandicious"--which seemed quite absurd to me.Into the toilet it went with a flush--The very best place for the very worst slush.I looked at another one, hoping for greatness;The first word was "pachydermacronumateless."I picked up three more, but they all began nuttily:"Pickapoo," "Throgmistle," "Cragstormichuttiny."I wondered if writers had all become dunces,Remember when all stories started with Once's?If you want EE to get past the first word ofYour manuscript, start with a word that he's heard of.
--Evil Editor

In Publishing Town,Far down in its bowels,Lived a muttonchopped manWith quivery jowls.
Every day, minions--A hundred or more-- Surged to his officeAnd squeezed through the door.
They ogled and boggledIn mute adorationAmazed at his pince-nez,His fob, his vocation.
They said, "One day we'll"Work in Publishing too!"But they only had queries.Not one had a clue.
One morning, a minion,With query in hand,Dared lay it beforeThe muttonchopped man.
The muttonchopped manWith quivery jowlLooked down through his pince-nezAnd started to howl.
"It's awful!" he hollered."The plot is pathetic!"The setting is stupid!"The ending's emetic!
"This query's a fungus."It's covered in slop."You want to keep writing?"I beg you to stop."
"But sir," said the minion,All trembling and weak,"What if I edit it more--"So to speak?
"Some of the others"Are ever so wise--"He looked at the clusterOf ladies and guys--
"Couldn't we all take"My slop-covered fungus"And churn out just one"Decent query among us?"
"Do what you want,"Said the muttonchopped man."I'm going to take pictures"Of me on the can."
With the man on the canMinions all gathered roundAnd they rolled up their sleevesThere in Publishing Town
And they beat up that query!They gave it the works!They pounded its problems!They questioned its quirks!
They gutted its grammar!And when they were doneThat terrible queryShone like the sun.
He came out of the john.The minions were leery.He put down his cameraAnd picked up the query.
He peered through his pince-nez.He saw what they had.His jowls quivered gently."You know, this ain't bad."
The minions all cheered!They whooped and went wild!Even the muttonchopped manMight have smiled.
The minion strode offTo querying gloryBut did his book sell?Well...
...that's some other story.
--150

Evil Editor's Graphic Novelette

Excerpted from Evil Editor Strips Again.Inspired by writing exercises that used to be on this blog.Click on panels to enlarge.

New Beginning 1054

I brushed my fingertips against the lavender as I walked.

The air was thick with the smoky-sweet scent of the violet flowers. All I needed was mint, and I knew exactly what aisle it would be in. After all, I came here at least once a week. I zigzagged through the garden center anyway, walking up and down the rows of plants, admiring their bursts of colors.

I knew it wasn't a typical place for a sixteen-year-old to hang out. Most of the other girls my age were spending their time at the mall or going on dates, while I spent my weekends covered in dirt in my garden. Not that I was a total social outcast— I was friends with most of my classmates on Facebook, and even got the occasional invite to a party. But I was happiest when I was surrounded by a rainbow canvas of plants and the rich smell of the earth.

I found the pot of mint I needed and headed towards the cash register. I was making my way down the tulip aisle when I saw Holt, staring solemnly at the small plot of baby Norfolk pine trees.

I hesitated at first, then thought, 'what the hell.' I walked over to Holt, my sneakers almost silent on the walkway. He didn't notice me approach, just staring down at the pines, his hands clasped in front of himself as though praying to nature.

I paused, briefly, then: "Uh, hi!" Holt jumped, startled, and spun around. A stream of piss traced an arc from the base of the plant to my legs and began to fill my sneaker. That was the last thing I ever said to him.


Opening: Sonia Bricel.....Continuation: anon.


Note

The original opening had an extra paragraph:

Holt looked up at me, a smile spreading across his face. He was the newest addition to my junior-year class, having moved to Deep Cove three weeks ago. Living in a small town in Canada sandwiched between mountain and ocean, I was used to tourists coming and going. But new residents were rare.

The chosen continuation works better without that, but the unchosen one (see comments) works better with it. Include it when commenting on the opening.

New Beginning 1053

The forest was on fire. Glittering flames licked at the darkness, stripping the bark from the trees and turning the leaves into ash. Inside of the great, flickering inferno was a car, its metal frame sinking under the weight of the flames.

Inside of the car was a boy.

They didn’t know, at the time. How could they have known? The firemen were busy trying to extinguish the flames, and the police were barking into their radios. From their vantage point, they could only see red, ravenous flames tearing through forest. Revealing the skeletons of the trees.

Then, everything went white. Thick, billowing smoke curled over the world, settling into lungs and forcing eyes to close.

Then, everything went black. Ash drifted down from the sky, covering whatever it could touch, forming outlines in the darkened forest.

That’s when they saw the vehicle.

The Hopemobile!

Speeding faster than Superman-themed hyperbole, belting out tunes infused with more optimism than John Lennon's undocumented excesses, casting the light of angels into the darkness as if all talk of oblivion was merely a cunning marketing trick designed to lure the ignorant into an eternal future of blissful slavery!

Driven by a PANDA!

Wearing a Beyonce-themed WIG!

Whose illuminatory zeal ejaculates hitherto undiscovered secrets of the universe — freely, and with generous abandon — in its flyaway gaiety!

To everyone, everyone in the world, irrespective of everything!

But, hey, yeah — boy still burned to death.

Fire is such a fucker that way.


Opening: Chelsea Pitcher.....Continuation: Whirlochre

Happy Valentine's Day

Help Wanted

A new opening awaits your amusing continuations.See link in sidebar.

New Beginning 1052

The snow around the cabin lay unmarked by man or animal.

“You never told me you owned this place,” Logan and his buddy Nick walked the last hundred yards. The four hundred mile drive from Vancouver left them dog-tired and cold.

“It was Uncle Ronan’s. I found out that I inherited it a month ago.”

“Were you close?”

“After Dad started drinking, I would hitch to the main road. This was my refuge from the beatings. We shared the love of outdoors. He taught me how to survive out here and be a man. I was fifteen when the sheriff called and said Uncle Ronan was missing and presumed dead; no investigations, no missing persons report, just a memorial service, and an empty coffin.”

Nick opened the door and set the LED lantern in the middle of the cabin. A large bed sat facing the fireplace. A rough-hewn table with chairs sat opposite with the stove and sink. Logan grimaced as he removed the drop cloths covered in years of dust.

“Glad I’m not asthmatic. Speaking of rustic, it’s so much more than I thought.” To Logan, rustic meant the scurrying of field mice in the walls, and “almost never washed” sheets. Which would make Nick's one-room walk-up in the city rustic. In Nick's mind, "rustic" was a last-minute hitch-hike beyond the range of the nearest cell tower with no chance to let people know where you're headed; an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere, untouched by man or beast; a sharpened ax with a worn but sturdy handle; a pot of slow-cooked stew with that special, sweet sweet meat; and a banjo playing wistfully in the background.

"Why don't you light the stove," Nick asked his friend. "I'll see if I can find some music."



Opening: Dave Fragments......Continuation: ril


Notes

P2: If you use a comma instead of a period, we expect a dialogue tag: Logan said as he and his buddy Nick....   

Also, they just spent about seven hours driving to this place and Nick has only now revealed that he owns the place? Surely he told Logan where they were going before they left Vancouver. 

I can see how a 400-miles drive would leave them dog-tired, but not cold. Presumably their vehicle had a heater. Or were they driving a dogsled? 

Change "left" to "had left."

Shouldn't they walk the last hundred yards first and then see that the snow is unmarked by man or animal?

P3: I would say "my" Uncle Ronan's. Omitting the "my" suggests that Logan is familiar with Uncle Ronan, but the following paragraph suggests he isn't.

P5: Start with his answer to the question he was just asked. Possibly by dropping the first two sentences. At least by dropping "I would hitch to the main road." This cabin doesn't sound like it's on the main road, so it's not clear what that has to do with whether they were close.

Change "He" to "Uncle Ronan" and "Uncle Ronan" to "he."

"I was fifteen" would be more meaningful if we knew whether he was now seventeen or thirty-seven. Of course if they had a memorial service when he was fifteen, and he's much older than that now, why did it take till now to find out he inherited the cabin?

P6: Seems like if you're building a cabin in which you want a large bed and a stove, you'd want it where you can get to it without having to walk the last hundred yards. I'll assume there's a driveway that's impassable because of the snow.

P7: I think the removing of the drop cloths and the comment about asthma should be in the same paragraph.

If he means it's more rustic than expected, change "It's so much more" to "It's much more so". Also, field mice in the walls is rustic, and I think you're trying to say Logan hasn't been exposed to rustic, so you want something like: To Logan, "rustic" meant having only two bars on his cell phone.


There are no dialogue tags. I assume Logan is the first to speak only because it says "Logan and his buddy Nick" rather than "Nick and his buddy Logan." It wouldn't hurt to toss in "Nick told him," "Logan asked," "Nick answered," "Logan said" . . .