The exercise:
Let's have some fun with: the interview.
So there's a new Group over on Protagonize that I think has a lot of potential. It's called Protagonize Author Interviews and it's exactly what it sounds like - any Protagonize member can interview any other member and then post it in the Group. I think it's going to be a great way for us to get to know each better.
Jason, the fine fellow who came up with the concept, asked me to be one of the first interviewees and I was happy to oblige. You can find the results here, if you're interested in finding out a little bit more about me.
Mine:
Dressed in his best,
Just like the rest,
He sits quite still
As his sweat spills.
He needs this job,
Or else he'll rob
A bank or two -
His rent is due.
They call his name
To play their game.
He plays his part,
Speaks from the heart.
But they want more,
Show him the door;
Oh he's not done -
He buys a gun.
Now he's in jail,
For his plot failed;
At least now he
Can live rent free.
7 comments:
Poor guy, just tryin' to get by.
Love the topic, loved the interview, but I'm gonna write about something completely different.
Deja vu
Jeremy liked his job in filing. His day's work rolled in after their time of typical high demand. Because the material there wasn't needed so often anymore he could file each of them away leisurely, going through and nodding fondly at their content.
His was a job in the Memory Department of Figments, Img, a smaller part of the great Consciousness empire.
Recently he'd gone through the 2008-2009 stacks, the boss needed some of the more recent memories for conversation fodder in the social sectors of the Greater Academia adventure. They were close to the front of the stacks, close at hand, and close in his memory. Aughts-Eight and Nine had a great deal in there, particularly of the amount of work coming in to Figment's filing systems. The crazy shifts and overtime everyone put in, even the boss herself, was nowhere out of reach for anybody.
Jeremy sat at his desk, looking over some recent memories set for "Academia" from May and June of '10, when somebody he recognized from another department practically flew through the door.
"Does this look familiar to you?" he asked, flustered and slapping a photograph onto Jeremy's desk. He peered at it: rows and stacks of precariously towering papers. Muttering to himself he rolled his chair down a row of filing cabinets. Almost by magic he procured the General Recollection folder from Aughts-Eight and Nine. He flipped through it nimbly and pulled out an almost identical photograph.
"Where did you get that?" he asked.
"Just got it from Visuals this morning." Jeremy looked at the time stamp on the photograph in his fingers, and then to the one on the photo on the desk. Two years of difference on the date, but they looked exactly the same.
"You know these are concept renderings of the amount of work the boss had to wrestle with that year, right?" The other nodded. He glanced between the photos again. "Shnike, we're in for a lot of work."
The other nodded. "I think the boss has this pretty well under control this time, though." He half smirked. "Doesn't mean less work for us, though."
"No," replied Jeremy thoughtfully, "but it does mean things might run a little smoother this time around."
- - - - - - - - - - -
Current workload for school triggers slight flashbacks to junior year.... but, I'm feeling much better about handling it than I did this time two years ago. Yay!
Not my best, but hey. It's something. I'm happy with that.
Marc- I like it. A sad commentary on society in some ways. I do struggle with the end-line sounds in our last stanza. Hard to explain, but it is very different in sound than the other stanzas. Probably just left over from a lesson on rise-fall-and-musicality.
G2- How is life as a freshman? I love the attitude in your personal comment. As far as the writing itself, I like the ideas presented in your early paragraphs. A unique point of view.
Because I am feeling a bit mischievous and believe I promised this at some point.
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So like, I went to thise interview, and um, the guy was a total creep. He kept asking me all of these really dumb questions, ya now, but I am sure he just did it to get a look down my shirt. Not that I like let him or anything like that. Maybe if it had been for like a register position instead of dunkin fries I mighta considered it. But yeah, not for dunkin the fries or flippin burgers. No way! How gross would that have been. Ugh. Men are so disgusting! Anyway, I didn't get that job.
@Heather: I think you're right about the last stanza, it doesn't quite seem to fit properly, but it's fairly subtle. And I loved your character's reaction to the interview!
@Marc: I'll pop over to Protagonize and read up all about you then!
Interview
"Part of the interview will test your ability to deal with awkward and distressing situations, potential hostiles, and people who actively want to see you dead." The woman, severely dressed in an a-line skirt and a blouse starched to the point of becoming armour peered over the top of tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses at me. I nodded.
"So," she said, waving a hand at a collection of large stones that I thought must be part of a geography field-trip, "pick one of these. There are two gentlemen waiting outside the door, and they will attempt to force it into one of your bodily cavities. You may resist with appropriate force."
I blanched; all of the stones were at least as big as my head. I wondered for the fourteenth time that morning why I was interviewing to become a school-teacher.
"Ah, Ms Vine," he said with an gleaming white smile and firm handshake, "Sean Tomsett ... thank you for coming in ... do please sit down."
There were three chairs on offer, and I wondered if this was my first interview test, so picked the one nearest the door, just in case. I sat quietly with my legs crossed modestly at the knee, straightened my new suit, and watched as the CEO of Tomsett Biotechnics perused my CV.
"Quite an impressive resume you have, Susan - OK if I call you Susan? - but let's get to the point: tell me, why should I hire you?"
I maintained easy contact as my therapist had taught me, and thought about the stunning response I had rehearsed: my Harvard education, my years as an eminent scientist, my various contributions to the burgeoning field of genetic engineering, but all I could come up with was:
"Because I am a black muslim woman with a ssssspeech impppediment and will ssssssue your ass if you ddddon't h...ire me!"
marc - great interview; well, as you said, the questions were great so they do merit great answers. fantastic.
the interview
The suspect sits quietly on the chair, swings his feet, fidgets with his fingers, looks around the room. He makes faces at the mirror, unknowing that he is being observed. Detective Mike could not believe his eyes. Not only does this suspect look innocent: he has to be innocent.
When Det. Mike opens the door and enters the interview room, the suspect jumps from his chair, stands and bows at the detective, smiling.
"Good morning," the suspect says.
"How are you feeling today?" asks Det. Mike.
"Uhm, I'm okay, how about you?"
"I'm fine. Do you know why you are here?"
"Yes, I do. Kind of... Yes."
Det. Mike motions for him to sit down and he obeys.
"So, what happened?"
He didn't answer.
"Did you have any bad dreams?"
"No," he says, rubbing his thumbs together. "No, I don't have dreams."
"You don't dream when you sleep?"
"No, I don't dream anymore. I don't have anymore dreams."
Silence. Det. Mike scribbles on his note.
"They're dead," the suspect says. "My dreams, they're dead."
"Yeah?"
"Yes, they killed my dreams." His eyes start to redden and Det. Mike knows the suspect is trying to suppress his tears.
"Who killed your dreams?" he asks him.
"My mom..." his voice trails. Tears roll down his cheeks. "And my dad."
"They told me lies," he sobs, softly at first. "They said the separation was just for two months. Then we'd all be together again." He starts to catch his breath. "But it was all lies."
"I was going to kill myself, but she tried to stop me. My mom." He wipes the tears off his cheek with the back of his hand, but the tears kept falling. "It was an accident. I was going to kill myself, not her!"
"Why do you want to kill yourself?"
"I don't know....I don't want to live anymore. I'm tired of my life!"
"You're tired of your life? How old are you?" Det. Mike asks.
"I'm eight and a-half," the boy answers, still sobbing.
g2 - well, as long as it's as excellent as that was, feel free to write whatever you want :)
Heather - hah, that was a fun read!
Greg - 'You may resist with appropriate force.'
That's another winner right there :)
Mulled Vine - ha, I'd hire her!
Summerfield - thanks :)
That's an interesting idea, someone killing your dreams. I quite like it.
Great take on the prompt :)
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