Saccades Project

I received a note this morning from a friend who asked about the sketch I wrote last night, why Thea gets so angry with Cam? So let me try to answer by way of revising that scene. Let’s try first-person:

We were just sitting on the couch in the living room, one day, after school, and we both had our computers open, and I was perfectly happy, minding my own business. It was probably like five, I guess, because it was just before sunset and the light was so pretty, it was this really deep, deep orange, shining through the blinds, that I was thinking of setting up my camera, taking a picture of us, with our matching black and white computers, and, I don’t know, I just thought it would be a great shot, you know. And then, just as I was about to get up, Cam leans over, looking at the pictures I’d just downloaded, and them he just balks, like shaking his head at me. I mean, he just makes this face, like, You can’t be serious. Didn’t say anything, he just gave me that look, you know. Hate it when he does that. So I was just like, What, already? Speak or leave me alone, already, you know?

I go, Cam. Why are you making that face? And he goes, No, it’s nothing, it’s whatever, and he just sort of shrugs and sits up straight again, and I’m like, If it’s nothing, then why did you make that face, Cam? He goes, No, I’m just surprised, that’s all. And I go, Like I said, by what? Surprised by what? And he goes, I don’t know, I’m just surprised. Seriously, do you really like that photographer or you think those people look cool or what? he said, nodding his head side to side, making fun, because, like, they’re so cool he has to wobble his head.

And I was like, Cam, what if I do? What if I do like the photographer and I do think those people look cool and I just like to look at cool people? Is that a problem for you? Really?

No, it’s not a problem for me; I just don’t understand what you see in those pictures.

Yeah, well, you don’t see, and I don’t see or hear a question.

Excuse me: my question is . . . okay, for starters, what’s with you and the rabbits, already?

I wanted to tell him, too, but I was just like, I don’t know, Cam. What’s with you and the faceless women with their asses hanging out? I said, really starting to get pissed, like really pissed off, and he thought about it, and then he goes: Yeah, okay, but . . . I asked you first, he said. And he thought he was so cute, too. Ugh.

You’re being a dick. I told him, I did. I said: You’re being a dick. And I’m not hurting anyone, and my rabbits aren’t hurting anyone. And just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean I can’t like it.

That’s true. But doesn’t mean it’s good, either.

Doesn’t mean we’ll have sex again if you keep this up.

You gotta be kidding, Thee.

No, I’m not kidding, Cam.

Come on . . . seriously. I can’t believe you’re going to throw the sex card out again.

Yeah, well, I can’t believe it works every time, I said, biting the inside of my cheek, staring at my screen, nodding. I knew he was still looking at me, but whatever.

Good point, he said, and I could see him smiling in my peripheral vision, but I wasn’t smiling back, like piss off. Yeah, no kidding, I said.

I apologize, okay? he said, squeezing my knee. You’re right, and I apologize—.

Don’t, I said, slapping his head away, holding on to my computer. And don’t talk to me like I’m a moron just because I hate geometry, I said.

Oh, babe, no . . . that’s not why I talk to you like a moron, he said, grabbing for my hand.

You always do that, Cam. You always frown and make a face and roll your eyes when you disapprove. Then you say, Do you like that? Do you see four images here? I mean, what do you think?

Okay—.

No, let me finish. And then, then, just to add insult to injury, you act like I’m overreacting—like I’m the problem here—when the truth is, you know you were giving me a look. I’m not overreacting, okay: you were making a face at my computer screen, making it perfectly clear that you don’t like what I’m looking at. It’s like the time you said, You think that’s art? Let me show you real art—.

Hey, hey, I apologized. And you forgave me, remember?

Yes, I forgave you, because I thought you wouldn’t do it again: duh.

Oh, well that’s the problem right there. I didn’t know we had a deal—.

Oh, you’re so funny.

Look, I’m sorry, okay. But you don’t have to fly off the handle.

I didn’t start this, Cam: that’s the part you keep forgetting.

All right, I hear you. I hear you; I apologize; we have a deal, okay? So what can I do to make this better?

I don’t know, but how about keeping your mouth shut?

Okay. I can do that.

Good: because that’s what you can do.

But first, one question?

This better be good.

It is. It’s very good.

Let’s hear.

If I keep my mouth shut, we’ll still have sex, right?

I really need to start working on Thea’s voice. And I will in the next week. Because I know how she thinks, but it’s going to take some time. And some young women to help guide me in developing a true voice. It’s not about this particular scene; it’s about creating a genuine speaking voice.  Not a writing voice, I want a speaking voice, as though I’ve transcribed their conversation, or even the thoughts in her head, verbatim.

That’s what I wanted to explain most to my friend, how many times you have to go over and over it, it’s like you have to sand and sand and sand down—or at least I do, before I really hear a voice in my head. Fortunately or unfortunately, voices don’t just appear and narrate an entire book all on their own.

That said, my friend had a very good point, which was how differently men and women, of all ages, communicate. Yes, indeed. To be continued.