A Writer's Hero Journey...Part 3
The huge dark shadow continues to move towards us. Creative Voice backs away fearfully as I bravely move forward to shield Faye from any possible danger.
Internal CD Player listlessly plays Barry Manilow’s ‘Copacabana’. Barry Manilow elevator music? It seems redundant somehow. In the far off distance of my mind I can hear Truman…”Woof-Woof.”
I recognize the shadowed silhouette for what it is and give, indeed my friends, a good hale and hearty shout of approval at the recognition…
Around the corner lumbers an 8-foot mental rendition of Homer Simpson. I don’t need to describe him…you all know Homer…he’s a national treasure for God’s sake.
“HOMER!” I yell as I run to the figure with my arms outstretched.
I’m grinning like only a writer can grin when he’s found the perfect place to insert somebody else’s character into their own story.
“What happened? Why are you late??” I ask him breathlessly while pumping his large yellow cartoon four-fingered hand.
“I would like to set the record straight,” Homer pontificates, “I thought the police officer…was a prostitute.” ~~Matt Groening
“Oh well sure…sure,” Creative Voice and I commiserate, “That happens…right…” I was wishing I had a post-it-note for an autograph when I feel my arm being tugged. Hard. Faye drags me a discreet distance away.
“Really, Thomas?” She asks me.
“What? What?” I respond. I have an idea…
“THIS is how you decided to remember the Homeric Journey thing? Really?”
“Yes. Yes it is.” I admit in the universally recognized tone of shame. Eyes cast down. Looking at Faye’s feet…
“Are you just acting shameful so you can look at my feet?” She asks. She’s good.
“Yes. Yes I am.” I visually trace the delicate line of her ankle…
“Stop that. You are being dumb, Thomas.”
“Right, right, right…Sorry.”
We looked over at Homer and Creative Voice down the hall.
Homer’s telling a bawdy story about Marge. Creative Voice hangs on his every word. I’m somewhat concerned by the arrangement. I don’t have permission to use Homer. Calls to Matt Groening have gone unanswered and I believe he’s at Burning Man…and…as mentioned before…my lawyer’s phone’s disconnected.
“What narrative need do you have for him?” Faye asks after reading the preceding sentence.
“I think I need a character to say ‘Doh!’ at appropriate places and ‘mmmm…donuts’ at inappropriate times. And who better…he’s a national treasure!” I finish.
“He is a national treasure,” Faye agrees musingly, “But…we all know Homer…Thomas…he’s not really quick on his feet. I think we all need to be quick on our feet if I am ever going to get to Burning Man! And besides…isn’t ‘Doh!’ and ‘mmmm…donuts’ also copyrighted?”
“I think ‘Doh!’ has passed into the popular lexicon,” I opine, “And…let’s be honest…every cop in the world says ‘mmmm…donuts’, right? Don’t worry…I’ll have Creative Voice watch him.”
We walk over to the two talking figments of my imagination. I explain the arrangement to Creative Voice. He’s thrilled.
We move on as a strong party of five brave and stalwart souls…Homer’s eating donuts out of a box provided by Creative Voice.
Internal CD player is making a series of swirling sounds…unable to make up his mind as to which bad musical selection was to be further emasculated by the evilness of the elevator melody…
A Little Confused…
“OK…explain this shit to me again.” I say to Faye for the third time. ”But use different words. Are you good with foreign accent?”
“Argh!” Says a thoroughly exasperated Faye.
“Doh!” Says Homer according to our legal restrictions.
“Swirl…” Says Internal CD player because he misses Truman.
“I could use another run-down,” offers Creative Voice as he nods in my direction.
He’s sitting on a random imaginary rock in the middle of the hallway (imagine that…no really…imagine that). He’s trying to get the ‘curl’ on his elf shoe ‘just so’.
“Right? That’s all I’m saying. Just another quick run through. Maybe using different words that I understand. Perhaps utilizing various Romanian accents and dialects…that’s all I’m asking for.” I petition Faye.
Faye stares at me balefully.
“Any Eastern European accent would be fine…” I hastily assure her.
“You have to pay attention to stuff, Thomas.” Says Faye, not for the first time in our relationship.
“This part is divided into two sections. First, you have to navigate a series of ‘travails’ in which you will confront those demons that are stopping you from writing and becoming a writer. Follow?”
“Yes.” And I did. It was the second part that was causing problems.
“The second section has you meeting ‘The Goddess’ …and embracing woman as temptress…before you receive your ultimate boon.” Faye continues.
This was the nail upon which our ideological divide hung…
I want (only for brevity sake, of course) to blend Faye’s role as Supernatural/Spiritual guide into the (intriguing) role of The Goddess.
I thought we could just spend a couple happy paragraphs ‘embracing’ her as temptress…and then we would just let the natural narrative needs of two consenting-adult characters…determine whatever ‘ultimate boon’ may arise…
I’m even willing to forgo the whole ‘travail’ thing…after all…we still have to get Faye to Burning Man and the clock was ticking down on that. Meanwhile, my word count was ticking up.
“Quite clearly,” I reason, “Joseph Conrad’s intention was for the ‘The Goddess’ to be represented by a woman and his views are the definitive word on the matter as indicated by his seminal work, Heart of Darkness.”
I can sound quite academic when I’m horny.
Faye counters, “That’s because Joseph Conrad is dumb, Thomas. He was all tied up in weird Freudian imagery,” she pauses while casting an eye upon me as if another mental question had just been answered. “Conrad never fully understood that the ‘Hero’s Journey’ was far more abstract than his simple carnal oversimplification.”
Faye, apparently, can also sound quite academic when I’m horny.
“This is about your journey as a writer; as such, The Goddess is your goal to be a successful writer. It’s that simple. The ultimate boon…has to relate to that…not entangling us into a sordid sexual transitionary paragraph or two.” She pauses before continuing, “Although I am interested in seeing how you would manage to parallel park us into such a situation…”
This last was packaged in a delightful (Polish?) accent and delivered by ‘playful’ Faye.
Head cocked to the side…gorgeous green hazel-flecked eyes peeking through her tangle of hair…a slight sardonic grin gliding off her face as if languidly entering a hot tub…enticing you to follow…
I smile. I really like playful Faye.
(End Part 3)