It Dont Matter If Your Black Or White Ah @ MindSay

Feeling lost?  Scroll to the bottom of this page and click on "Blog Archive" to read this tale of woe from the beginning.  If you're all caught up, please enjoy the latest exciting installment...
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In last week's post, I took a page from Eminem's book…well…no…his notepad, and did some freestyling for you guys.  I like writing with no plan, because I think it creates a lot of surprises for the writer.  It's always great to surprise the reader in a good book, but it feels almost magical to surprise yourself, and a lot of the best elements for a story are born this way.  When rereading your creation, you may even discover a theme that you never originally intended.

I could give you plenty of examples of times this has occurred for me, but I don't want to bore you with the necessary details what would involve, so instead I'll pick a minor but fun example that can be explained pretty easily.  

In my first book, a parody of detective stories, I accidentally set up a classic showdown between good and evil.  This involves two main characters.  The first is a key witness who ends up becoming a main suspect.  Through a series of circumstances, this man ends up in a black Banana Republic sweater.  Remember that color later on.

The other character is a police officer named Wendell White, nicknamed Bud.  If you've ever seen L.A. Confidential, you know that Wendell "Bud" White is also the name of Russell Crowe's character in that film.  In an odd twist of fate, My Officer White just happens to look like Russell Crowe, and pretends to be the famous Australian actor to land dates.  Ironically, one of his girlfriends loves it when Wendell White, pretending to be Russell Crowe, dresses like an American police officer.  

It is as Officer White is saying goodbye to this woman, her mouth wrapped around a nice cool Bud - hehe - that Whitey spots the suspect: a man in black.

And this is where my happy accident occurred.  An elaborate chase sequence of Dark Tower proportions occurs between Officer White and The Man in Black.  Once I realized I had inadvertently created a White vs. Black scenario, I played into it, and ended up creating one of the most exciting scenes in the book.  But of all the things I parody and reference in the novel, that one was not planned.  Once I realized it existed, however, I ran with it, I played up the wild West throwback, and I'm really pleased with the results.  This may not seem like much to you, but I certainly enjoyed it.

But of course, some things in novels are planned.  Some are set up from the very beginning.  A secret harbored by the main character of my first book is just such a something.  Keep in mind that this was my first attempt at novel writing, so I hadn't mastered the art of good prose yet, but here is an introduction to the main character of Murder, Revenge, Betrayal - a Comedy:

Hairy Alwether had been on the force for seven years.  He was seasoned.  He was hardened.  He was about five foot four and a half inches, one hundred thirty-four and three fourths pounds of pure, unadulterated hard ass, with disproportionately large feet and an impressively tight, hard ass.  He also had a heart of gold and a head of sandy blonde hair.  His dark blue eyes were handsome, as were the rest of his seasoned, hardened features.  He would have been a real lady-killer if he weren’t so damn small.  At least, that’s what he always told everyone, before pointing out that he was simply joking, and was, in fact, a good cop who would never kill a lady, unless she wouldn’t sleep with him.  Nobody ever laughed at that comment, but he always snickered like he was a third grader making a fart joke. 

Hairy’s partner was the type of lady he’d like to kill (not literally, of course.  He’s a good cop, remember?).  Somere Wynter was sleek, slender, and sumptuous.  She was tall, tanned, and tantalizing.  She was busty, blonde, and beautiful.  These are all adjectives that the not-so-eloquent Hairy used to describe his partner to himself when he was all alone and feeling lonely.  He would think about her firm rear end and how it bounced back and forth when she walked.  He would think about her plump breasts and how they bounced up and down when she ran.  He would think about her piercing blue eyes, lighter and less handsome, but more alluring, than his own, and how he wished they would look him up and down like every man in the precinct did her.  He would fantasize about her full lips and thin eyebrows, and about how she must have been the muse for every artist who had ever sculpted a female body of physical perfection.  He would think about all of these things when he was all alone and feeling lonely.  And then he would remember that he was gay.