Zhadi's Den

Random essays on wine, writing, moving to San Francisco, surfing, cats (exotic and otherwise) and zombies...depending on my mood.

Thursday, September 29, 2005

I know I said I was gonna write about bad movies, etc....

...but I'm not in the mood. I'm sure I will be later...but right now I'm in more of a thoughtful, musing frame of mind.

Can a frame of mind be musing, btw? Or am I turning into one of my beloved bad writers?

And how do they get so bad in the first place?

As my sister pointed out, do these people talk as incoherently as they write? Do they say "I'm going to set my feet down on the ground as to obtain food for sustenance from the store that means I have to walk there" rather than "I'm gonna walk to the store for food"? Probably not. So why the heck do they write this way? It takes DBP (King of Kings when it comes to bad writing) an entire paragraph (and a lengthy paragraph at that) to get a character across a room and out the door. People don't ever just stand with their hands on their hips. Oh no, in DBP's world, they stand on their feet (just in case you were picturing headstands instead), holding both arms in such a way as to bend their elbows and allow their hands and fingers to sit below the waist, one foot moving up and down against the floor as to indicate impatience.

What is this, a text for Mime School?

One character 'pouts her lips.' Gee, it's good of DBP to have this sort of clarification just in case the reader was wondering what body part, exactly, the character was pouting with. To paraphrase T.C. (a very GOOD writer), would they then smile their mouth or grin their teeth? The mind boggles to think that there might be someone out there who'd read "She smiled at him" and ask, 'but what did she smile at him with?"

I can only read DBP in small doses - the concentration required just to decipher exactly what the heck the author is trying to say, is headache inducing. Too many pages in one sitting could cause either blindness or brain damage. For example:

'Across the street up past the frozen statues of the long dead town's stop signs and railroad crossings, a lone figure became born from the sea of the night. It developed into the expanse of the gray moonlight that poked through the sky, its presence known along with the tool it dragged along the ground like a child and his toy.

Before they could make out what it was, the thing that was once a man became invisible in the dark as it escaped the light that sliced into the night. Stepping through, its feet inched their way back from the other side, painting its knees and legs, followed by the thing's arms and chest. The clanging echoed into their ears from the steel point of the tool it hobbled along with, causing it to strike the walkway with each passing step. '

It burns...it burns!!!! Make it stop!!!!

Oh, and that's another thing...why use one exclamation point when three or more will do?!!! And if someone is yelling, make sure that you use ALL CAPS TO GET THE POINT ACROSS THAT THEY ARE YELLING!!!!

When a character makes a mistake, it's a 'blotched attempt.' Blood runs out in drones. Or sometimes it runs out in droves.

Characters don't shake hands. They 'loaned his hand out for her to shake.'

Hee hee...and my favorite obscenity to this date: "WHAT THE F-A-A-A-C-C-K-K-K-K?!!!"

Go ahead. Say it out loud. Make sure you get all the 'k's in there.

And there are just so many more nuggets of chewy badness to savor...far too many for me to list. Hours of amusement...but not for the faint of heart.

T.C. is right. As a party game, the possibilities doing live readings of this stuff are endless. Of course, so is the potential for pulled muscles while trying to demonstrate the DBP way of walking across a room. Not to mention bodily injury when the reader is required to fall, which further fucked his legs up worse than every before. One became twisted the wrong way while the other poked bone out of his ankle. Both were useless now.'

Sigh...sheer heaven for a true connoisseur of badness such as myself.

Now I admire anyone who sits down and finishes a project, be it a short story or a novel. And DBP obviously has the desire and the drive to do so. But get an editor...take some writing classes...and stop trying to be clever and just tell the damn story!

Or not. Because then I wouldn't have nearly as much fun reading DBP's stuff, now would I?

Does this make me a bad person? I guess I'll muse about that for a while...after I read some more DBP.

What the f-a-a-a-c-c-k-k, y'know?

9 Comments:

  • At 12:14 PM, Anonymous Jen C. said…

    Well, thanks a lot for those excerpts. Now my eyes are bleeding.

    What the faaaaccckkkk!

     
  • At 1:29 PM, Blogger zhadi said…

    I'm tellin' ya, we've got a new party game to play...

     
  • At 1:54 PM, Anonymous Jen C. said…

    Oh I think staged readings are a necessity.

     
  • At 2:20 PM, Blogger zhadi said…

    Who gets to be the one that falls?

     
  • At 2:20 PM, Blogger Other Lisa said…

    I hurl my finger at you!

     
  • At 9:59 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    My brain hurts!!!!! Or rather, that thing in my head which induces thought--

     
  • At 12:04 PM, Blogger zhadi said…

    You mean, that thing inside of your skull which makes thoughts a real thing rather than something that can't happen in those that have become undead rotting reminders of the Devil's game?

    Gee, I hope that my writing won't get stuck this way...

     
  • At 4:47 PM, Anonymous Jen C. said…

    I was thinking more like…

    The organ that generates and houses the complex organization of electrical impulses, which comprise human thought, memory and identity. Wait, that’s not bad writing, that’s just a definition. Aw, man!

    How about, the intake of such odious writing caused searing pain I had never known before. It felt as though my thinking organ began to issue forth its precious crimson life juice.

    That’s hard! I don't think I can go on.

    Never mind, I’ll go along with what Zhadi said with the rotting and the devil and such. That was funny.

     
  • At 9:24 AM, Blogger Other Lisa said…

    My brain, that squishy grey matter from which all our thoughts, feelings and ambitions , our hopes and dreams of the future and our higher intellectual schemes, extrude, encased in that too thin enclosure of bone, that fragile protection against the hostile elements and brutal outside world, hurts.

     

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