Thai Thoughts And Anecdotes Part 195
If you have ever had the misfortune to teach writing to non-writers, or if you have ever had the poor judgement to have signed a teacher's contract requiring writing as part of the yearly requirements in some liberal arts program; you will hear many whining complaints from your charges but one of the most common will be:
"I just don't know how to start."
You are to deduce from this that if your students could just get started that they then would leap to the literary stage and start spouting sonnets like Shakespeare, or they would suddenly be pushing a small boat offshore and writing another turgid novel like Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea, or if they could just get started suddenly page turner medical-detective novels like Allergy Shots would flow from the pen as wine from a bottle. You are to further deduce from this ancient childish bleating of the empty vessel that it really is not their fault that their writing assignment is late (again), or that the eight page requirement is not fulfilled (hey man, I thought you said eight paragraphs), or that they used giant 2nd Coming of Christ fonts and giant margins (that's the way my computer is dude). If they could just get started . . . yeah, if they could just think of that first sentence then the volcanic talent lying within would mimic physics as potential energy converts to kinetic energy.
"See it's like this dude: I've got ideas, and I'm like wicked smart, and I be totally in tune with life's forces man, and bitchin' down with what's goin' on, and ready to like rip literarily as a fart comes out of a fat man's ass but I just be needin' the first sentence–you dig? I mean dig this Chester I bizazz the sonnet time and get heavy with the ionic pentameters and my homies will tell you nobody does an O'Henry ending better than me 'specially if my trailer skank wife is playing my pipes under the bing bang tree. You dig man? I've got the Hood times in me marrow deep and I be sniffin' the cocaine breeze while my girls on her knees–so don't be so white man: just give me a first sentence to this whole honky paper thing and I'll write something that'll put the master back in piece. Just give me the first sentence man."
So as a public service to all of the great latent writers out there I am going to supply some first lines so that people can get started with their Thai-farang short stories and fiction and non-fiction and faction and one act plays and essays and prose poems and novels and storybooks and comics and novellas.
1. I met a girl and she's not like the others.
2. The tuk-tuk driver said he knew where the destination was.
3. She said there was no need for condoms because she loved me.
4. I can speak a little Thai so I get treated with respect.
5. I told the Immigration officer his country sucked.
6. Real men don't pay for it.
7. I'm in my thirties and pretty good looking so the Thai women treat me differently.
8. The selling bar owner showed me his books for the last month so I knew there would be no risk.
9. By the time I got her towel off I had no strength for anything else.
10. I only use Viagra because I got a good price.
11. I didn't know that her nipples were spiked.
12. I bargain hard so the Thai people respect me.
13. I don't think you really need to learn the tones to speak Thai.
14. You've got to train the girls to accept very little money.
15. Loaning money to expats is a good networking strategy.
There you go dudes and dudesses and future great writers. Fifteen starter lines that will initiate follow up lines and stories and essays and literary thoughts and adventures and novels and storybooks and novellas of the tsunami persuasion. You will be bowled over by your own talent and production as the words and ideas stream, and churn, and crest, and surge, from your great writer mind out onto the page. Sure, the 19th century's Thackeray was a writing machine, and Asimov was a production freak, and Stephen King thinks eight minutes without typing is writer's block; but they are all junky amateurs: all of them, compared to you. You . . . . you you you are going to set the literary atmosphere on fire and trigger literary firestorms that will envelope the Earth. The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner by Coleridge? You fart poems longer than that. Beowolf? Your writing wazoo is stuffed with epics that just need a little prune juice from the teacher to get them moving. Satisfying historical novels like The White Rajah? You could write that on the shithouse wall while taking a dump. You've got talent. Yes you do. You just can't think of the first line. That's all. All you need is to have your writing genius pump primed with the first line and the middle part will follow as the night follows the day, or a crack whore lets you slide your finger in, or low slung hip hop pants show butt cracks. It's a guarantee man, a slam fxxxing dunk, money in the bank, and cum in the cooz. Just give me the first line.
Of course then you might find yourself saying, or your writing teacher might find him/herself hearing:
"I just don't know how to end it."
Cripes. Naturally. Sweet Jesus on a cracker what was I thinking? How thoughtless of me. I'm a terrible educator. I feel guilty for even teaching this inner city urban class in creative writing. The thing with all of those great writers is that they had great endings. God, talk about lucky or what? Great first lines and great last lines. Hey, when you think of it who really remembers the middles of poems. Anyway, if you just knew how to end your great writing . . . ok, so here are some last lines for your Thai-farang masterpieces.
1. Ok the hard truth: I met a girl and she was JUST exactly like the others.
2. The tuk-tuk driver had no no no no no idea where I wanted to go.
3. I wish I had worn a condom (over my whole body).
4. Looking back, I never got treated with respect at all, ever, even one time.
5. In retrospect, telling a Thai Immigration officer that his country blows is a mistake.
6. I'm paying for it now–and loving it.
7. Like I said I'm in my thirties and pretty good looking: and the women disrespect me as much as anyone else.
8. Don't ever ever ever ever ever buy a bar in Thailand.
9. Yup, no strength for anything else: but it was still the most fun I ever had.
10. Ok, the truth; I've got little blue pills stuffed in my ears, and my nose, and my rectum.
11. How was I to know that her nipples were spiked?
12. I bargain hard so why don't the Thai people respect me?
13. Ok, I give up–you need to know the son-of-a-bitchin' tones.
14. Ok, I just give them whatever they ask for–I'm a fool.
15. Loaning money to expats has broken my spirit and destroyed my life.
Oh, and one more thing future writers of the world. While your gettin' down, and coolin' out, and findin' your center, and hittin' the zone; try to take time out of your totally awesome life to please write clearly. Here is an instructional example of what I am talking about:
"Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost its savor, wherewith shall it be salted?"
Book of Matthew 5:13 — Bible
Ok, this may be from the Bible an all but I gotta tell ya; I have no idea what this goat herder is sayin'. Instead of Book of Matthew they should call it the Book of What the Fxxx? This is not an example of clear writing. Below is an example of clear writing:
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
I'd like to shoot my girlfriend in the head.
Shooting my girlfriend in the head is what I'd like to do.
There you go. Four simple declarative sentences. The author's brainwaves have traveled out through the ends of his fingers with clarity and poetry. The poetry part is pretty advanced but you get the idea. Write clearly.
So there you have it. First lines and last lines and write clearly in the middle. Start writing.
Hehehe, Dana's effort to get more Stickmanites sending in story!