HOW TO READ GREAT BOOKS
- First time read to find out what happens.
- Second time read to find out how it happens.
My task was clear. Secure the property and affirm that it was indeed vacant. I paused at the gate and assessed the condition of the grounds as far as I could ascertain. The lawn was certainly well kept, as were the rows of neatly trimmed rose bushes. I passed through the gate, kept to the path, and ascended the stone steps to the porch. There, I was taken aback when the door flew open, and a mad woman all in black stood there cackling for a fleeting moment before turning and racing off, her high pitched shriek trailing after her. A door far off slammed, and muffled moans and sobs entered the portals of my ears. This would never do. The property must be vacated. With firm resolve, I entered the manse and followed the sobs to their seeming source, an attic room four stories removed from the earth’s bosom below. I entered. The mad woman, from where under an ornate canopy she was collapsed on an elegant four poster bed, raised her head to stare at me. Then, without a word, she sprang to her feet, raced to the window, and crashed through, plunging to her death. Satisfied, I returned to my grave.
Though it’s true that the merry-go-round was miniature, it was fully functional and adored by Claire’s troop of pet hamsters.
During the filming of Stagecoach, Claire managed to:
a. design and build a merry-go-round.
b. sneak up unobserved behind John Ford every day and shout, “Boo!”
c. win a substantial amount of cash playing poker with Donald Meek, John Carradine, and Andy Devine.
d. steal and later return the stagecoach four times.
How to inject personality into your prose by avoiding ‘said’ in dialogue:
‘Leave me alone or I’ll kill you,’ he mentioned.
‘It’s December,’ said Hamlin ‘Purgatory’ Rosencrans, writhing in hallucinatory anticipation. ‘The seams have been torn. I’m allowed to enter. Open, I tell you.’
‘Boxcar’ Blevins, keeper of the door, blinked his eye. His brain quivered under the strain of trying to form a thought.
‘You tell me open. I not bash you?’ Blevins managed to utter, and he broke the door open with his mighty fist and stepped aside.
Rosencrans scuttled through the opening, keening.
Inside, dreams of a well manicured lawn and an important structure were realized. Hamlin ‘Purgatory’ Rosencrans melted into a pudding, and the world ended.
Zebulon Sisselthacket removed his scarf with a flamboyant gesture of defiance, looking around first to make certain he was alone in the cloakroom. Then he flung the shoddy rag to the floor, stifling a sob.
‘What’s going on in there, Sisslethacket? Come out at once and take what’s coming to you,’ boomed the voice of Headmaster Clanders.
‘Sorry, sir. Sorry, sir. Ever so sorry,’ whined Zebulon, emerging from the cloakroom and bowing back and forth like a zombie on a spring.
‘Here then. Take this and get out,’ said the headmaster.
Forced to accept the new green and red plaid scarf, Zebulon Sisselthacket shuffled from the room, already in mourning for the precious dirty gray, formerly bright yellow, scarf he had worn for years and years and years.