a convoluted mess

Let me explain a little. I sat down this morning with a purpose. An experiment in mind. I want to write a tv series, but in novel form, BUT I want to also write about someone watching the series, and what they feel when they watch television, and what conversations they have when they watch television. I've had the idea for a long time but kept telling myself it was impossible, at least for me. So that's what I started today. I wasn't too worried about the content but really wanted to see HOW I might try and pull it off. I think it's safe to say a narcissistic narrator who announce his presence with a weak attempt at thunder is not the ideal way to go. Maybe the subtle use of quotes for tv, and non-quotes for real-life will be enough, coupled with character names. I don't know, the experiment will definitely have to continue. But here's todays writing anyways. I call it "a little business - a mess on the carpet". Yup, sure is clever.

A Little Business/ A Mess On the Carpet

Tim walked through the small living room into the kitchen, shirtless, hair a mess.

“What the hell Tim,” said Rob, “I woke you up an hour ago, what are you doing?”

“Cereal.”

“My parents are coming in 20 minutes to take us out to dinner.”

“What are you doing?” asked Tim.

“Building a log cottage.”

Boom, crack, boom. That's the sound of thunder. I use it often to announce my presence. For I am Narrator. And I like to explain things to you, mostly because you aren't bright enough to figure them out yourself. But also because we're gonna be all over the place. If you have any questions please raise your eyebrows and I will call on you when I get a chance. Again my name is narrator, but you can call me sir narrator if you wish.

There, introduction over let's discuss the story. What you are seeing currently is the pilot episode of a television show called “A Little Business” being broadcast into the home of Anne and Jonathon Rosemaster. Let's join them as they watch.

That's not a log cottage, Jon, it looks like he's painting an apple.

It's called sarcasm dear, Tony told me about it the other day at work. It's like people lying to be funny because they can't think of anything witty to say.

Oh. Lets change the channel.

click

“And now,” exclaims the overly enthusiastic host, “for Ten! Thousand! Dollars! Would you rather be walking down the street and see a puppy or a homeless man get struck by a car, knowing it wouldn't kill them. Please write down your answer.”

The woman scribbles quickly and smiles at the camera, her bangs frozen in place, four inches above her forehead.

“Okay Kate, a dog, or a homeless man,” asks the host.

“Well, Ron, I can't stand to see anyone suffer. I put a homeless man.”

“Let's go to you panel, is she telling us the truth?

“Ron, just look at her. She's wearing a sweatshirt with a black lab on it in front of millions of people, she's obviously a dog person, I say she's lying,” Celebrity panelist 1 says.

“Okay, what about you celebrity panelist number 2?” asks the host.

“No one in there right mind would want to see another human hit by a car, even if it meant a dog did, I'm gonna say she's telling the truth.”

“Wow, a split decision, looks like Robin Williams is going to have to make the decision again.”

“Well, Ron, achh! Like I know people are supposed to be important and all, but like look at her. She's lying like my dead grandmother in her grave.”

“Okay folks, we'll be right back after this to find out what this pretty young lady really wrote down.”

click.

Johnny, I was watching that.

Oh give it a rest woman, she's lying. I wanna get back to the show.

Boom, crack, boom.

Well kids, there you have it, I hope you understand what's going on no so I don't have to jump in all the time and explain. And now, through the beauty of DVR, we're gonna go back to “A Little business” right where we left off.

“Dude those are my paints,” Tim said as he peered over Rob's shoulder. “And you can't even paint.”

“Well actually they're still my paints, since you haven't paid me for them, just like the last 2 months of rent.”

“Yeah, but you can't paint. You're an elementary school gym teacher.”

“Anyone can paint, Tim, I just can't paint well. And go get dressed you're eating a free meal on my folks.”

ding-dong

boom crack boom. Yes, I saw your eyebrows raise, and no I will not call on you. I don't announce myself with a ding-dong, I use THUNDER. So get back to the show.

ding-dong

Tim sits himself on his favorite orange chair as the doorbell rings. Rob laughs a little and goes to answer the door.

“Yeah I got a registered letter for a Tim Minilow. That you?” asks the man at the door.

“Nah he's right here.” Leaving the door wide open and returning to his painting of an apple. “Tim.”

“Come on in man, I'll sign whatever you got.” Tim leaned back into the reclining position of his chair. “What is it anyway?”

“I don't know, I just deliver it.”

The delivery man handed Tim the letter and clipboard to sign and left while Tim began to read.

“You know any Thomas Baxter?” Tim asks Rob.

“Nah, why?”

“I'm supposed to go to his will reading tomorrow.”

“Call your mom.”

“Fine. Man, what is it with you and family today?”