i was reading an albanian post of a short story. why albanian? because i know the language. why literature? checking out the competition of course. it is those pesky foreign writers that take honest readers away from aspiring americano wannabes like myself.
anyway it goes like this: a girl calls god but she only finds his secretary (voice mail) one day she goes over to her old lovers house, gives him the b-day gift she never gave him when they went together and then gets hit by a car and dies, thinking this time god heard her and granted her a quick death. of course there is the requisite fatzilla wife of the lover who tortures him with her crazy requests for massage to her elephant legs of a pregnant woman and ice cream cravings.
now come on. the writer is good without having to resort to so many soapie thingies. i mean, four paragraphs, five tragedies, each one more gripping , more tearjerking and dazzlingly bad than the rest. what is he/she thinking? why does she/he need so much attention drawn to this piece (and it is a bad one) it reeks of soap opera.
truthfully, i do not know why i have such an aversion to soaps. maybe because they set such impossible life limits for people. maybe because they throw a romantic rosy lights on the ugliness of life. like when was it ever cool to sleep with your father-in-law after you marry your boyfriend’s long lost evil twin who turns out to be your mother’s brother gay lover’s son, only to betray all of them and become pregnant by your transvestite high school lover-cum-beauty queen who you met in a stormy night in the streets of the rough city after you had decided to kill yourself with the your husband’s gun that will turn out to have wounded your maternal uncle’s first wife that you will end up eventually remarrying in a lesbian ceremony in texas?
or maybe because, even though i have tried, nothing like this ever happens to me. I mean i am pretty normal, healthy buxomy heroine. Do I save my boyfriend’s birthday gift for 8 yrs? heck no! Am I enough of a stalker to know where he lives and knock on his and his pregnant wife’s door? (i’ll only admit to obssessive googling) as for the car part, yes, I am actually absend minded enough to get hit by one because i never look before I step. I guess God must be too busy watching out for me to answer the other womna’s calls after all, so that part must be true as well.
writers do cut corners and put tearjerkers because they are addicted to emotions of their readers but do not want to work for them. nowadays everybody wants instant gratification, and in this case they jerk emotion out of their readers or at least make them guilty for not liking the piece or not having any emotions to jerk. we’ve been wringed out you nazis!!
writers do not want to take time and cajole that tear out of the corner of the eye, arouse that emotion from the weary heart, built up to a crescendo, a culmination point. oh no.
this part sort of leaves one raped back and front with a popsickle (See what i mean about captivating attention).
and yet, i might still write soaps. steady money you know.