Real Life Writes Real Bad

Real Life Writes Real Bad

               “I’ve decided, Ted.”

               “What’ve you decided, Rich?”

               “I’ve decided that I’m going to follow in your footsteps and become a writer.”

               “Oh no.”

               “Don’t knock it till you’ve hear my plan! See, I’m going to write a novel. But it’s not just going to be any old off-the-shelf Douglas-Coupland-type crap. Oh, no, I am going to write the greatest Canadian novel of all time!”

               “Hah, I wouldn’t quit my day job, if I were you.”

               “Quitting? Who said anything about quitting? I need to continue to work here. This place is going to be my inspiration.”

               “This place?”

               “Yeah! It’s perfect! It’s got drama, it’s got suspense, it’s got romance, it’s got the creepos! It’s naked life right here!”

               “Where has it got all this?”

               “It’s a movie theatre! We play movies that fall under the suspense and romance genres.”

               “And the creepos?”

               “Oh those are everywhere. In movies, outside of movies, why, there’s one right there.”

               “That’s Darcy, Rich.”

               “Yeah and what does he do every single day from five o’clock until closing? That’s right, he loiters around here just hoping to catch a glimpse of Clara even on nights he knows for a fact she is not working. If that’s not creepy, I don’t know what is.”

               “So you’re going to write the great Canadian novel by talking about the movies we play and Darcy?”

               “No, no, God no. I going to write about Milo and Minerva’s secret-not-so-secret affair and about Fry’s stalker and, of course, about Darcy’s obsession with Clara. Any words of advice?”

               “Rich, that is the worst idea ever. My advice is give up right now.”

               “C’mon, Ted. I’m serious. What can I do to make sure that my novel will end up becoming the greatest Canadian novel?”

               “In that case I’d tell you that real life writes real bad.”

               “Ted, that’s ridiculous. How can real life write badly when it’s this juicy?”

               “It’s not juicy at all, Rich.”

               “Shows what you know. You just wait and see Ted McGrady, I will write the greatest Canadian novel of all time. And since I’m such a nice guy, I’ll even consider dedicating it to you.”

               “That’s just super, Rich.”

---

               Clover Cinema is the setting of Richie Moore’s great Canadian novel. It is a small, independent Edmonton based theatre that has now spread nationwide. It is best known for its ridiculously low ticket prices and the ugly green cotton-polyester blend shirts all employees wear. Richie works at the Concession bar with his best friend Ted McGrady. Clover Cinema is the least interesting place in the world since not many people know about the theatre and thus it does not get as much business as, say, the People People Multiplex two blocks down the street. Why Richie has chosen to write the great Canadian novel about Clover Cinema (or why Richie has decided to write the great Canadian novel at all), no one will ever know.

---

               “I think I’ll start with a small anecdote about Fry and his stalker. Like that time she came in and told him that he was fired.”

               “I don’t know if Fry will love having his stalker problem ridiculed by you in your stupid book, Rich.”

               “Nah, I’m positive he won’t mind. Plus, this book isn’t stupid; great Canadian novels aren’t stupid.”

               “Why don’t you pick up a new subject altogether? Write a story about a guy who is so desperate for true love he pretends that his cat is the love of his life and then gets so involved in his story that he actually starts to believe that his cat is the love of his life. You can make a lot of crazy things happen from there, you know. It’s a nice little idea. I’m letting you have it.”

               “I don’t need your pity plots, Ted. I’m imaginative enough on my own, thankyouverymuch.”

               “Just trying to help.”

               “I don’t need help. I’ve just figured out the format of this story. It will be a bunch of vignettes about Clover. One will be about Fry and his stalker, another about Milo and Minerva’s secret affair that everyone knows about, another will, of course, be about that good-for-nothing Darcy that’s always loitering around here. Ooh! Ooh! And maybe one about that ugly People People Omniplex.”

               “Those are the most boring topics ever. A pre-pubescent stalker, a disturbing affair, a boy who has nothing better to do than smell like popcorn for free, and a major corporation. I’m telling you, put some oomph into it. Make up crazy lives for these people and then make them do crazy things in those crazy lives. It’ll be mad.”

               “Then it won’t be the story of Clover Cinemas anymore!”     

               “No, it’ll be better.”

               “Stop raining on my artistic parade, Ted, please.”

---

               After three months, fourteen weeks, five days and eight hours of slaving away in front of his computer screen, Richie Moore finished his great Canadian novel which he affectionately called Lucky Clover, My Love. It was an eight hundred page manuscript with enough typos to drive an editor insane three times over, and the most long-winded paragraphs ever known to man. Nevertheless, in a bundle of excitement, Richie carried his eight hundred page manuscript over to Clover Cinema so that his best friend, Ted McGrady, could be the first to read the final work. Ted took the monster of a novel home and read it over one month before hauling it back to work and returning it to Richie with nothing but bad news.

---

               “Rich, I’m sorry. I know you worked really hard on this and all but as your best friend I feel it’s my place to tell you that that is utter crap in black on white.”

               “Ted, don’t be so critical. It’s not your place. What did you think of it?”

               “It blows dogs for quarters.”

               “You’re cracked. What’s wrong with it?”

               “Well, for one thing it is the most boring thing I have ever had to sit through in my entire life. And I am counting that three hour seminar on beading that Clara took us to when I say this.”

               “Ted! Bite your tongue! Why don’t you stop kidding around and just tell me what you think.”

               “Rich, it is horrible.”

               There is a pause before Richie speaks.

               “Oh yeah! Well, what do you know about great literature anyway? I’ve read everything by the literary big shots: Rowling, Snicket, and the writers and editors of Archie comics, while you were sitting around reading your Hardy Boys crap--”

               “That’s Thomas Hardy, Richie. Not the Hardy Boys.”

               “Whatever! Unlucky for you, Ted McGrady, you have just lost yourself a best friend who just happens to be the greatest Canadian novelist in Canada!”

---

               Richie Moore tried and tried for eight years straight to get his enormous great Canadian novel published but no one would touch it with a ten foot pole. Richie gave up trying to publish it and one day burned off the only original manuscript in his oven. It was a sad day for Richie and it broke his little heart. He cried himself dry in his one bedroom apartment above a twenty-four hour diner with no one for company except the b**b tube every night. He still works at Clover Cinema only now he has moved from Concession to Box Office. He is still single, but looking. He is a little unhappy.

               Ted McGrady and Richie Moore had not spoken since that awful day when Ted read Richie’s novel. Ted had continued writing but hadn’t gotten a break until, out of desperation, he started writing a series of stories about a man named Billy Wise who accidentally falls in love with his cat Sparkles. The series followed the adventures of Billy and Sparkles from their first date to meeting the parents to their first break up and so on. There was even a special silver novel in the series in which Sparkles spoke for the first time and told Billy just what a sick little f**k he was. That was only a limited release though. Today, Ted lives in a massive loft in New York City with whomever he happens to be sleeping with that week. He is very happy.

---

               “I told him real life writes real bad. I told him but he wouldn’t listen to me!”

               “Teddy, dear, what’re you mumbling about?”

               “I was just thinking about a kid I used to know who wanted to the greatest Canadian novelist ever. I tried to help him, but he wouldn’t listen!”

               “That was a pretty stupid thing to do, huh, Teddy?”

               “It sure was. But never you mind, Hilly; never you mind you pretty little blonde head about it.”

 

 

Author's Note

ignore grammar problems; i'm more concerned with what can be fixed in the plot