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HORROR AT WRITER'S CAMP
Page 2
Before long, silence and the breeze played with each other as we became focused on the exercise, and I must admit I did get into it: Jean transformed into a young female from the planet Sutiorn who had robbed the Great Hall of Wisdom with an intelligent spider that spoke French with a German accent, and....
We wrote and wrote. Jean often had a preppy look about her as she thought. I studied a black bird that was out in the field behind her and off to her left, as it picked at the ground. I never realized how large black-birds were, and it reminded me of a chicken as it walked.
I did get lost in my story, and as I was finishing it with Jean fighting off a giant cockroach, I heard Joyce say, "Well, time is up."
"How many pages did you write?" Jean asked me.
"Oh, about fifteen," I answered.
"I got twenty -- I wrote five in French. You know, you're cute when you write," Jean said to me.
"Well, thank you -- why don't you come to Penn State?" I asked.
"Maybe I shall," Jean said as a breeze pushed her hair aside.
"I got thirty," Ruth said.
"And I got twenty-five," Eric said.
"I had an easy time with Jimmy," Joyce said. "He reads like Oliver Twist. There's no problem getting a story about Jimmy."
"See Guys! I told you I should be in Hollywood! I'm a natural actor! And Joyce is the proof, right Joyce?" Jimmy said.
"And Jimmy, how many pages did you get?" Joyce asked.
"Oh -- about three thousand and four -- "
"I shouldn't have asked!" Joyce retaliated.
As we made our way down the trail and onto a field, Eric opened up and said, "I believe that this camp is what I need. I can�t write at home much -- my step-dad thinks it's sissy stuff and my mom wants me to be a doctor. Then again, my step-dad did pay for me to come here ... . Come to think of it, he's been a pretty good guy about a lot of things -- I guess."
"Your stepfather, Fred, is a great guy, Eric! Don't try to act like you're some orphan who has to fend for himself. My mom said that marrying Fred was the best thing that your mother could have done for herself -- and you," Ruth blasted out.
"Yes, he is a good guy," Jean added. "Do you know that he likes flowers? I've watched him look at the flower garden in the park when he's on duty there. He likes the purple geraniums the best, but I think he also like roses," Jean said.
"How do you know that?" Eric snapped.
"If you would only take an interest in him, you would see that he is nice!" Jean blasted back.
"He's always been okay with me," Jimmy said. "That time I ran a stop sign, he didn�t give me a ticket -- just said to watch out in the future! He's okay in my book."
As we converged on the dinning hall, other groups were also headed there, and they looked relieved to have completed our first assignment and eager to have their stories critiqued.
We sat down and talked for a few minutes, then Professor Divance appeared in the rear and walked up center-isle to the front.
He raised up his arms and the room fell silent.
"Did you like your first exercise? I did. I heard thoughts meandering along the trails, and stories being told around the campfires, and -- some were very good, and others -- very bad!"
A little laughter sounded but died before Professor Divance continued.
"Oh, yes. To write with nature and know its song! To become lost within oneself and follow trails that lead into the cavern of your mind and find no end as you wander -- but you look and look for a story that must be hidden somewhere, anywhere, and that story is graceful and poignant, yet bitter with rejection after rejection, until your mind is nothing but a network of empty coal mines that laugh an echo of folly ..."
"He's nuts," Jimmy whispered.
"I don't like him," Jean added.
"Get used to it. In college you�ll meet your worst fears but most of them are the other students. But I'm beginning to see that this guy is a real piece of work," I whispered.
"Maybe he is just trying to make a strong point about something," Eric replied.
"That's possible, but I agree with Roger to a point. This guy is a little strange," Joyce said.
"... I completed seven novels, and I'll say it again -- seven! Do you think that I could get one published? No! I heard �Your novel is dramatic and the characters are developed well but it doesn't fit our current needs--over and over again until I decided that I hated myself! Well, now I like myself! And I like myself now because I'll get a chance to critique your stories! Ha! -- Just imagine! Me, the one who spent years writing and writing and reading and reading and sending and sending -- but that�s history!
"Okay, who will be the first? Someone, anyone -- don't be afraid! We�re all in this together! Anybody want to be first?"
"I wish that I never came," Jean whispered. "Do you see the way he shakes?
"Yes I do," Ruth replied. "He looks -- unstable."
The hall emptied of all sounds as Professor Divance looked about. His eyes rotated from one side of the now warm hall to the other side as if he scanned the entire hall to make a floor-plan with a video-recorder.
"Well, okay -- Oh! We have a volunteer! At last someone who can face rejection. Please come up," Professor Divance uttered. Some laugher bubbled up at the professor's remark, but not much.
A thirty-odd-year-old guy in a Hawaiian shirt stepped forth, his footsteps reverberated in the hall, until he stood before Professor Divance.
"What is your name?"
"Jordan John Yates."
"What do you think you'll get out of this course?"
"I hope to find some thoughts that will help me in writing Romance novels. I already have a novella published and some stories in New Age Love magazine, and I'm seriously thinking about a historical novel centered on the love life of Mae West."
"You've been published?" Professor Divance asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
"Yes, but believe me, I'm not a millionaire -- yet."
Some laughter bubbled up, but not much.
"See," Eric said. "We have a published author in this group! Didn't I tell you this is serious?"
"I don't care if he is an author; this place is giving me the creeps," Jean said.
"Please Jordan -- let�s hear your story," Professor Divance said.
"The wind whispered secrets, but only in her mind ..."
After a few minutes, Joyce nodded in approval. "He is good," she said. "He uses words like an artist uses paint ...."
As Jordan read his story, Professor Divance walked back and forth in a ritual of some sort, for he never took more or less than seven step either way.
"He's crazy -- I'm telling you he is crazy. I want to get out of here," Jean whispered.
"Something's wrong, no doubt about that. Where's Jane and that writer, what's his name--Kistoff?," I answered.
"He's killed them!" Jean hissed.
"Jean. Oh, Jeanie, Jean, Jean -- you�re at it again!" Jimmy said.
"I mean it! He's killed them," Jean repeated.
"Jean, you're upset because you don't like Professor Divance, and I agree that he is a bit strange -- maybe too strange to be giving this class -- but why on earth would you say he killed someone?" Joyce whispered.
"I know it, that's why," Jean whispered more to herself than to Joyce.
"...and as the sunlight drifted away and the moon and stars awoke from their slumber, Tammy knew that her love, Johnny, would come back to her before the sun opened its eyes tomorrow." And Jordan looked up as he uttered the word tomorrow, very slow.
"Well, that was a walk down old lover's lane, wasn't it?" Professor Divance said. � Does anybody have a comment? ---Oh, over there. Please stand and state you name.
A middle aged women stood up, and said, "I'm Kimberly Wagners from Johnstown.
"I just loved how he made me feel like----like I was with them. Oh, I don't know how he did it. His prose was so--so compelling and--fluent and nice, that I almost cried with joy at the end. I don't know, but, there's this thing--know what I mean about someone who can write. It came through like a ray of sunlight. Know what I means."
Kimberly looked at Jordan, then said, "I'm definitely going to read your novels."
Kimberly thanked everyone for listening to her then sat down.
"Anybody else have a comment or question, even?" Professor Divance asked.
Professor Divance scanned the room, and all eyes fixed themselves on him, but silently.
"Well I certainly have a few comments," Professor Divance said. "That was quite moving. Yes -- very moving, still, it didn't -- well, you know, that thing that makes a story? or, I don�t know -- but I want to give you something that should help the others students better their stories." He fumbled for something inside his briefcase, withdrew his hand clutching something big and shiny --
Bang! --Bang! --Bang!
Before the three shots stopped echoing, screams from the women and yells from the men filled the hall as Jordan John Yate's body slumped to the floor.
"Okay -- who wants to be next?" Professor Divance said as he looked around holding a .44 Magnum Desert Eagle.
"Nobody leave -- I mean it! Class is not over yet! Stay in your seats until I finish! We have much work to do! You will learn good writing habits!" Professor Divance said. His eyes were fixed on something that no one else could see.
"We gotta get the fuck outa here!" I screamed, pushing Jean and Ruth to the floor.
Jimmy and Eric had already hit the floor, but Joyce raced over to her husband who looked like he wanted to fight.
"I mean it! Nobody leaves until class is over," Professor Divance screamed again.
Bang! --Bang! -- Bang!
Nobody got hit that time as the hall emptied in mass confusion.
"Come on!" I said as I grabbed Jean and Ruth and forced them to stand and run.
"I told you he was crazy!" Jean screamed.
Ruth kept saying, "Oh my God, oh my God!"
We darted to the rear, but so many were ahead of us that we couldn't get to the back door
"Somebody! Please! The door's locked! Please, somebody!"
"Help!"
"Oh my God!"
Too many people were bunched against the back door to open it even if it were unlocked!
Bang!
Professor Divance shot up in the air and said, "I want quiet! -- Do you hear me? Quiet!"
Bang!
He pointed his gun at us and said, "Who is next? I want to hear another story! That�s what we�re here for, to learn something! To listen! To think! To write! To know that others are like you! Many others would give anything to be in your shoes now -- anything, because you�ve learned an important lesson: When your brains are about to be blown out -- you�ll want to use them! -- Ha, ha, ha!"
"Please -- I have children!"
"Please don't shoot me! Please!"
"I'll give you money! I'll pay to have your novels published -- Please! My God, please!"
"Crawl under that table over there," I said.
"R-Ruth, you go first," Jean said.
"I'll follow you ... don't make any noise," I said. "Go easy -- slowly. He can't see us under there."
"W-what about J-Joyce?" Ruth asked.
"Just get under that table!!" I yelled as Professor Divance continued to rave.
Most of the attendees were bunched up at the back door, clawing at one another in order to get out. But the thick wooden door stopped all attempts to open it, for it had been bolted from the outside.
"Please, let's have some order in here!" Professor Divance said. "Everyone will get a chance to read their story -- I promise you! I promise, really!"
We were under a table that rested at the side of the hall with artifacts displayed on it. The tablecloth almost touched the floor, shielding us from Professor Divance's searching eyes. He could not have seen us craw over to it because the dinning tables that filled the center of the hall would have hidden us from view as we crawled. It was a good hiding place, big enough for the three of us, and not near the other attendees who were grouped towards the rear of the building.
We watched as the shouts died down, but sounds of crying and begging mixed with an occasional plea for mercy rang out from those attendees who were facing Professor Divance. Joyce's husband held her, sheltering her in his arms, but others who had just met today were holding onto one another with equal fervor.
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