Apr 19, 2011 21:27
Well, not to say cursed. But I have a bad habit of losing them.
Back in the early 90s I had a part-time job at a convenience store. One night I was mopping the floor after closing and a story came to me.
At the time there was a band called Extreme, who had a big hit with an acoustic ballad called "More Than Words." It was not a sappy power ballad, it was literally two guys and an acoustic guitar and thus it wasn't even sickening. (Don't get me started on power ballads. All copies and the masters of "November Rain" need to be burned in fire.)
Ahem. So at some point I or a friend must have remarked that it would be funny if someone bought Extreme's album thinking it was all going to sound like the ballad.
And as I mopped, a whole story came to me, told by some teenage headbanger who worked in a record store. He didn't exactly *want* to sell this grey-haired old granny the Extreme record, but he also didn't think the boss would like it if he refused the sale. (As I recall, his girlfriend thought this was hilarious. Even then I was writing the occasional young male character whose girlfriend was more trouble than he was!)
(I'm sure the kids had names but I don't recall them. I think I envisioned the boy having dirty-blond hair but that's all I remember.)
Anyway, the old lady returns the next day and the boy is expecting her to want her money back.
No. She wants another metal record. She likes the loud stuff, and she's lonely and needs a hobby. The narrator becomes her metal mentor, which amuses his girlfriend no end.
I had an ending and everything, but as I walked out of the store I could feel it slipping away like a dream. Argh. I mean, it was a silly story, but I *had* it.
A few weeks later I was doing B Ed homework and a hesitant young voice popped into my head, telling me a story about himself and his group of headbanger friends and a friend of theirs who died. I actually got that one down and I was happy with it (it made my sister cry, bless her.) This was a period when I found it very hard to finish anything, so writing this story was even more satisfying.
And where is this manuscript now?
Damned if I know.
A similar fate was met by the sorta-novella in which a thrash band and a relief pitcher--never mind. It was stupid. But finished! And now lost!
All things considered, it's just as well Kowalski are influenced by Neil Young instead of Black Sabbath. Because if I was writing about Sabbath fans, I'd certainly have lost all my drafts and dropped the hard copies down a storm drain.
Oh well.
music,
writing