Аннотация: A short (love) story - рассказ на английском языке, возможно переведу позже на русский
A Short (Love) Story
"Loved it! Funny and sad - just how I like it. You have a gift :) Definitely need to write more!", signed - Audrey.
It felt pretty good. Yes, we were actually supposed to encourage each other here, but why would she compliment a story she hates? Besides, I already knew the golden rule of an amateur writer - savour all the compliments you get, you"re not getting many.
I clicked on her profile. The avatar was so small that it was difficult to see anything more than a head of straight blond hair and a cute smile. They really should increase the resolution on those things. Did she post an introduction? OK. An Australian, that"s... well, far. Not much in terms of a bio. A medical intern, that"s actually kind of impressive, I grew instantly jealous of all the Grey"s Anatomy stories she could probably write in her sleep. Ok Audrey, what"s your story?
"I do".
With a title like this the story could go anywhere, hopefully it wouldn't be your standard romance fanfic, the one with a handsome rich alpha waiting to be domesticated by a naive secretary.
It started just as I feared, but in the end it made fun of the romfic tropes, of men and women in general, wanting things their genes were making them crave, things that are no different today, despite the iPhones, Pelotons and Teslas, than they were a hundred, two hundred and most definitely thousands of years ago. In the end the heroine decided it"s a losing battle fighting with nature, hence the title. Happy-end.
"Hey, Audrey! Just read your story. Really enjoyed it. Post-modern, self-aware clever love story. And please don"t think it"s because you complimented mine, it"s only 29.5% true. Would love to know what the writing process was like."
She replied straight away, surprising given the time zone difference, but who knows what the intern"s working hours are like.
"Thank you, Mike! It"s actually my first story! Nothing much to say about the process, it was surprisingly easy to write, did it in one sitting, Kerouac"s style... it"s basically my thoughts and my life sans the syrupy ending. Anyways, if you know any rich single guys in Melbourne, feel free to pass them my contact details, so that I can do proper research for the next piece!"
Naturally, we got talking, she was really chatty and funny, one of those people who can express themselves openly and with ease, not afraid of criticism and always seeing the beauty in life (so, almost completely opposite of me). Soon we would hijack threads discussing plots, endings, editing and whether Hemingway is overrated. It didn"t take long for somebody to angrily advise us to stop spamming their posts and go DM"ing instead.
Me: "Hey, I didn"t even realise you can DM here. They"re so considerate. So, you never told me why you decided to take the class".
Audrey: "Yeah, it"s as if they are all up for students starting affairs, I don"t know... As to why the writing class - at some point I got scared that being a doctor is not something I would actually enjoy, at least not for the rest of my life. I love helping people, but sometimes it"s a bit much, and frankly it"s never ending - you get to see fragile human beings having all sorts of ailments and they all have a question "why me" stuck on their faces, and the truth is - that"s just the way life is set up. Mutations and gene recombinations are needed for evolution to work and you get to live with what you were given at birth. Sometimes you"re lucky, sometimes not. At some point in time it all starts feeling soulless and futile, cruel even, a never-ending fight with imperfections, where everyone eventually loses. So I wanted to try and channel my anger and fear... maybe even do a bit of soul searching and somebody suggested that I take a writing class. It might as well have been painting, but how could I ever beat Munch's scream? What about you? I gather you"re a veteran of those things?"
Me: "Yeah, you can say that. Always wanted to be a writer. Published a couple of stories when I was young, worked as a journalist for a couple of years. Never felt that I was good enough, and one day I realised that I might be confusing my wish to write with a need for therapy. So chickened out and decided to go the pharma route, zoloft and all, stopped writing, started a business instead. Twenty years later I'd hardened up, becoming the sort of person I always despised, sold my company, got rich, got bored with the material life, decided to try writing again. Still not sure of myself, feel even less talented than I was 20 years ago, definitely less motivated. So I've been going from class to class, deceiving myself with techniques learned trying to build a business that at some point I will be ready to write a novel that changes the world, or at least gives me those promised 15 minutes of fame... or was it updated to 15 seconds now? Sadly, the most useful skill I got from those classes up to now is the ability to narrate my life in third person limited - definitely saves on therapy."
She didn"t reply for some time, so I started re-reading my message for things that could have made her lose interest in me. That"s a writer switching to editing mode. Felt that once again I was behaving as a needy boy and that"s not a quality of mine I am most proud of.
Audrey: "Hi Mike, busy for the last couple of days, turns out burn victims are an exacting bunch. So, you paint a tragic story, I see. A guy makes it in the world, to realise that he never enjoyed the game? That"s a mindfuck at par with the Russian classics. Anyway, I myself was always up for deep conversations, they should actually be a norm and nothing to be ashamed of. I think it"s a big mistake to think that you have to become a robot to be truly happy. Having said that, let me switch you to some shallower matters - so that you know, I am finishing a second story, it"s about a rich guy with a sort of a mid-life crisis. And before you ask - yes, you may have acted as a prototype, but mostly it"s my last boyfriend."
Me: "Hey, glad that my sad little life gave you some ideas for the story. Once you become a famous writer, I'll be suing for royalties!".
The class progressed nicely, conversations mostly dried up as everybody was busy writing their final stories... and I was drawing a blank. I did not want to get into the needy boy slice of life routine this time, and decided to write something plot-driven instead.
Successful writing is essentially entertainment, it"s an escape from an everyday mundane existence, it makes the reader's life more interesting, a trivial psychological trick, just as we men can get aroused by a cartoon of a naked body, we are ready to act out and empathise with a made up character. And, on a plus side - it"s a Disney World ride at a hundredth of a cost. It can be cruel and dramatic, it can be full of action-packed nonsense, it can be unnaturally sweet, but it should never be dull and boring; the reader already has plenty of that. Plus, now it also has to compete with Netflix, Youtube and Adele.
Sadly, instead of coming up with an entertaining plot, a slick Disney World ride in a confident string of letters, all I could think about was Audrey. I am pretty sure I will eventually become a better writer, but it will probably only happen when I eventually lose all my biological urges. Imagine, an old wrinkled boy, writing and editing a tight plot for 8 hours straight. The trend is definitely there, the wrinkling part - for sure.
The thing about having sympathy for a person you just met, is you always have this idealised version of her, and your mind just goes into overdrive, making up the missing pieces, its own Disney World version of a person, its own escape routine into perfect.
I continued chatting with Audrey; she showed me some parts of her story and I tried running some plot suggestions by her. It was interesting how I got to know her as a person so well in those three weeks just by this strange 21st century version of 19th century epistolary, her being thousands of miles away, never having talked to me in person, me not knowing how her voice sounded, not even knowing what she really looks like, apart from that tiny silly pic of blond hair.
With the deadline looming, I finally accepted that I wouldn't make it, my unfinished story was nowhere near complete. The plot broke down and there was not enough time to fix it (note to fellow amateurs - to fix the plot you essentially have to start from scratch). And if that was not enough, I started hating my characters, I hated their plot-driven actions, hated their atavistic world philosophy and their inability to introspect, their inability to escape a pathetic little mousetrap I was setting up for them.
Plus, my head was in a different place. I thought that in Audrey I may have found the person who might really understand me, may give me a glimpse of a sunny blue sky, wake me up from that strange hibernation I got myself into. It was pretty rare for me to experience those feelings, it actually felt really precious, she was my cute black swan. Now, if ever, was the time to act.
Me: "Hey, so, the class is finishing soon, I was wondering if we can continue talking after it? Don"t laugh, but I really felt a connection here."
She didn"t reply until the very last day of the class. At that point, all my mental capacities were used in trying not to think much about what might be the reasons for her silence.
Audrey: "Hey, Mike... I guess, this is why they shouldn"t allow DMs here. You wouldn"t expect a sympathy at an online writing class to go deeper than a couple of ambiguously flirty sentences below a simile exercise. It messes up with the work, it messes up with the life that has already been programmed for contentment by years of trial and error. I thought about what I should answer, I did. And you know how many failed relationships I had? All of them. How many charming princes ended up as self-serving assholes? You"re probably just playing with my mind now, making me believe that this time will be different. So what, if I never even met you, have zero idea how you look, or where you live - hey, you seem so funny and deep and kind, see I gathered that all from the DMs you sent me, hell, you must be the one! And this part of me, the part that I actually love the most about me, most probably the only really beautiful thing in me, this little shy girl who is always willing to give people yet another chance, who loves the world and just ignores all her previous experience and doesn"t care about my career or - for that matter - anything a normal mature person cares about and just keeps whispering in that sweet kid"s voice to just go for it, to try it the last time, maybe this one is different, you know how easy it is just to let that girl take control for a moment? And then get two years of nightmare as a reckoning for the stupid weakness?"
I did not even get a chance to reply; she wrote again.
Audrey: "Now I have something vaguely beautiful, something I can use to build a pleasant memory. Something that will definitely have this little girl busy for months, building castles in the air out of a myriad of super-positive what-if scenarios that for some strange reason never play out in the real life. That way I wouldn"t be able to feel anything but good about you, simply because this romfic version of you will never be able to betray me. Which option do you think I should choose? Isn"t it obvious? You said once that all literature is escape, well, let me tell you, all life is escape too."
I was stunned. Just sitting there for a couple of minutes. Then, re-reading her messages. A writer in me was trying to explain what she meant. He thought he understood quite well where she was coming from. I screamed a bit at the writer. Went outside to get some air. Then I wrote:
"Audrey, I get it. Sorry for sounding needy, you already know I am working on that. Just want you to promise me, no, not even promise, just consider it - when we see each other again in one of the future classes, that you will talk to me. That"s all I really ask. And then we see where it goes."
The class ended that day and the forum closed, so I never got a reply, but I was sure it was due to a technicality, she just didn"t have enough time to reply.
I opened the site and booked the next class straight away.