Writing Samples:
An incomplete creative thought in increasingly less light

© 2009, Jeffrey Cranor

[2 performers sit against the upstage wall wearing sunglasses. They're both holding, sharing a mic. A cliplight is slowly fading to black.]

1: Here's an idea.

2: Okay.

1: It's a made-up story about an old farmer.

2: Good.

1: And his devoted wife.

2: Yep.

1: And a stack of pancakes.

2: God, I love pancakes.

1: This is not a true story.

2: No, of course.

1: It's epic. A big ol' epic. Big. Sweeping. Epic. And important.

2: Sounds great.

1: But not pretentious important. Timeless and significant. Like Bergmann. And it doesn't require star power.

2: No?

1: Well, maybe. I said Bergmann, but it's really a story for the print genre. Not to say Hollywood wouldn't try to co-opt it. That's Hollywood's job, to consume great art and artists, only to shit them back out as wet, steaming piles of cash.

2: Oh snap.

1: Listen, I don't begrudge them for that anymore than I begrudge bacteria. It's in their DNA. That's what they do. But this idea is meant for print. Perhaps summer paperback or short fiction in Harper's. Maybe even it...

2: [talking over 1, poking 1, not using mic] Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.

[2 is no longer on mic, just 1 keeps using it.]

2: You said something about pancakes.

1: Right.

2: I love pancakes.

1: So do I.

2: And so I'd really like for you to elaborate about the pancakes.

1: Okay.

2: I really fucking love pancakes.

1: Yes. Well. Know that there aren't actual pancakes, per se. Only symbolic pancakes.

2: Oh.

1: Seriously, though. How far can pancakes really go in a story about a farmer and his wife?

2: Not far, I suppose.

1: No. Not far at all.

[total blackness now. Uncomfortably long pause. Both voices are soft, both use the mic.]

2: ____? [1's name]

1: Yes, _____? [2's name]

2: That was a disappointing story.

1: I know.

2: Okay.