Fiction

Second City

I read my scribbled paragraphs of the second novel back to myself.  If I am honest I think of my fiction as filmic.  It is a camera, on a tripod, on a set of rails, moving smoothly from scene to scene, not lingering too long, not judging and not loving, not until the crucial frame.  Until the money shot.

I think of my fiction in this way and I glide the Narrator from character to character.  I don’t want to reach a verdict or The Verdict or some verdict on what they do because in real life, when the camera points at you, are you ready, to be judged — to have that scrutiny poured upon what you do and how you act and what you say and how you hold your lips up to the glass in the pale, watery sodium barlight?

You are not.

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