Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Part 3 of Boobs Writing Literary Masterpieces

      Welcome back students. So let’s review. In Part 1, we discussed the basics of Writing a Literary Masterpiece. In Part 2, we discussed how to construct a plot. (IF you’ve missed those posting, scroll down and click on OLDER POSTS) Here in Part 3, we introduce the trials and sorrows and pain and suffering and tragedy and loss and misery and horror and…
      Okay, okay! Anyway, here’s where you have Fate test the resolve and faith of the Truehearts before they can rightfully claim their eventual triumph.
      And now Ladies and gentlemen, Part 3!

If you guessed that it’s time for tetched ol’ Grandpaw to take a dirt nap, you’re right. But wait! Before we can drop kick his ass out of our tale we must first introduce...THE AUTHORITARIAN OPPRESSOR!
You see, the underlying story in all literary masterpieces is little guy versus big guy. Evil Yankee soldiers oppressing sweet southern belles, corrupt government officials oppressing courageous immigrants and of course, cruel policemen oppressing the poor and destitute. So let’s get right to it!
The Truehearts, tired and hungry roll into California hoping to encounter some kindly farm folk who will take them in, maybe even give them jobs. Sadly, as they make their way through the various towns they come upon makeshift road signs that depress and frighten them.
Scram Okie shitheels!
Hit the road you farming scumbags!
Welcome to L.A.
Yes, things look pretty grim. Granny’s got the brain fever, Big Elvis is dead, the radiator’s leaking and worst of all, they’re fresh out of corn squeezins!
So what do we do now?
Why, we bring in the Authoritarian Oppressors of course!
In this scene the Truehearts have come upon a fire hydrant in a small town. Needing water desperately, they open it and proceed to fill two pails. One for the radiator and one for Granny who’s “jes’ burnin’ up”.  It is at this point two policemen come around the corner.
“Tis a hot one today, isn’t it, Clancy?” the first officer says.
“Indeed it tis, O’Toole,” comes the reply.
“Saaaaaayy! What’s that down the street?” Clancy asks.
“Ba’ gosh and begorra! Why, I believe it’s a bunch of migrants up to no good!”
“Get out your truncheon, Clancy, while I slip on me brass knuckles.”
Once again Jenny narrates:
As I was pressing a cool wet cloth against Granny’s fevered brow and Pap was filling the radiator, I seen two policemen walk up.
“All right, and what do yer think yer doin’?” Officer Clancy asks Pap.
“Well, officer,” Pap replies. “Just getting a little water for my truck and ol’ Granny. It’s a mite powerful hot today.” Pap then puts down the pail, closes the hood and rests his left foot on the fender.
“Well,” says O’Toole sadly, disappointed that no law is actually being broken. “No harm done I guess. Good day to you, sir.”
As Clancy and O’Toole put away their weapons and are about to leave, Grandpaw jumps out from the flatbed.
“Dad-blamed revenuers!” he shouts as he pulls his shotgun and fires.
As Clancy’s hat gets blown into confetti, O’Toole jumps into Pap’s arms and with only the pogo-stick leg to support them, Pap and O’Toole start bouncing up and down as Grandpaw tries to draw a bead.
KABLAM!! KABLAM!! goes the shotgun as the headlight and radiator cap are blasted to Kingdom Come.
“Let’s go! Let’s go!” shouts the family housekeeper, Miz Aureola, as she jumps behind the wheel and starts the engine.
In a cloud of black smoke, Pap tosses O’Toole into Clancy’s arms and vaults into the open passenger-side window.
As the old truck peels down the street, the policemen pull their guns.
“Look out, Jenny!” Grandpaw yells as he dives in front of her and is hit square in the chest by one of the policemen’s bullets.
As Grandpaw slumps into a chair on the flatbed, Jenny cradles his head in her arms. “Oh, Grandpaw!” she says crying.
Now, as we all know, no one in these stories ever simply dies outright. Noooo! Hell, you could have lopped off Grandpaw’s head with a machete and tossed a Hail Mary pass with it and we’d still be subjected to a half-hour of balloon juice from the old coot.
Although Grandpaw is clearly an idiot, it is now time for him to say something almost Shakespearean to make sure there’s not a dry eye in the house.
“Jenny girl sit down,” Grandpaw says holding his chest.
Jenny sits down at his feet.
“Now, I’ve lived a good, long life,” he says. “And if I’ve learned anything it’s that...”
Miz Aureola and Granny look at each other and roll their eyes. “Haven’t we suffered enough?” they seem to say.  Then Miz Aureola sees a pothole in the road ahead. Granny sees it too; nods at Miz Aureola then slides open the rear window and calls Jenny.
“Jenny, come see yer ol’ Granny for a second will yer, honey?”
“Keep talking, Grandpaw, I hear real good.” Jenny says as she gets up and makes her way over.
“Well, like I was saying,” Grandpaw continues. “I was a mere pup when my Grandpaw, Augustus J. Trueheart said to me, ‘Boy, wherever there’s a cop beating on a guy, I’ll be...’
“Yes’m, Granny?” Jenny whispers.
Timing it just right, Granny puts her arms through the open window and hugs Jenny tightly just as the truck hits the pothole.
“Yoip!!” Grandpaw exclaims as he is jettisoned off the truck and into a roadside pile of pigshit.
Granny releases her. “Just wanted to give my little angel some lovin,” she says.
Jenny smiles. “Thanks, Granny, I love you so much, and Grandpaw too. Why I could...” she then turns and sees Grandpaw is gone.
“Granny! Where’s Grandpaw??!!”
“I reckon the good lord took him to heaven,” she replies, trying desperately to keep a straight face. It isn’t easy when she notices that both Pap and Miz Aureola have their hand clamped over their mouths to keep from laughing out loud.
“That quick?” Jenny asks astounded.
“The Lawd works mighty fast,” says Miz Aureola. “Probably wanted to git him to heaven before suppertime.”

So you see, we’ve managed to unload the annoying old goofball without looking like the bad guy. Which leaves us with the heart rendering and touching conclusion where the Truehearts reach their new home and realize that somehow, in some bizarre mental state, probably brought on by eating paint chips or drinking turpentine laden moonshine that the misery and loss they’ve endured over their journey has benefitted them and made them stronger and better people.
So stop by this Friday for the triumphant conclusion and final chapter of ‘Let Me Show You, the Average Boob, How to Write a Literary Masterpiece’.  

           Just a quick note. This piece is an excerpt from my short story novel, Storytime. Storytime has just received its 9th five star review. Click here to see what others are saying about it.