Senseless Torture


When the first hard copy of my novel arrives in the mail, my feelings are somewhere between proud and terrified. A proof copy is the first hard copy of a novel and it is the last chance for a writer to check for mistakes or catch any problems before the book is available for sale.

I take out a pencil and sit on the couch. I am wearing no pants.

In Langhorne, Pennsylvania, in August, the weather is similar to that of Dante’s 8th circle of Hell, with the overall humidity of Godzilla’s throat duct. For this reason, pants and I have the same necessity-based relationship that deodorant and I have on Sunday morning. I utilize them if non-related company is coming or I am going to a funeral. So, fully intending to lounge on the couch, watch baseball and go through the proof copy, I revel in my pantslessness.

Page 6 – editorial problem #1, missing comma.

Now, the seconds tick away at an unnatural volume and the slightest noise aggravates me to an impossible degree. My mother clicks her tongue like a Khoisan Bushman and shouts a string of questions at my father, who can’t hear anything over mission control – four fans, a TV and the soundtrack of the Iphone game he’s playing.

When the Phillies give up two early runs to the Giants seconds before I find editorial problem #2 (small m in mom, page 17), I decide to leave the house instead of ending up on The News of the Weird for bludgeoning my parents to death with my own novel.

Three minutes later I am sitting, with pants on, at the bar in The Horne, my local pub.

My Tourette’s-like twitching and angry grumbles, followed by an aggressive mark in my notebook are enough to keep The Horne’s regulars at bay. As I read through the book, one word is barreling through my mind:

TORTURE

At every turn of the page, I am reminded of some element of torture involved in writing the book. I am reminded of Lee’s punishment for missing a deadline – I had to buy his first three Becherovkas on Friday afternoon and could not partake in them. I remember glaring holes into his head as he took his time sipping the Bechies, this man who usually drinks three Becherovkas in under ten minutes. Nevertheless, it was the last time I was late on a deadline, so I guess torture has its rewards.

Further, I also created the descriptive exercise of imagining a dear friend spontaneously combusting.

More tortures come to mind as I turn the pages and order the Rumpleminz. The upstairs neighbors who were using every power tool known to man to renovate their flat and me ticking away at the keyboard with earphones on and murder in my mind.

The drunks shouting at each other as they came up the steps behind my building at 3 a.m., while I was trying to finish a chapter (to avoid another Becherovka punishment) and the half-rotten oranges I threw at them and the near-Nirvana I reached when I hit one of them squarely and heard a shouted “Ty Vole!” as proof.

I typed the book on an eight year old laptop that was five years past its prime. I used a small table and a rickety chair that destroyed my back. I read over my notes in a bath at night, and still do, as the cat reads over my shoulder.

When it was all over, the laptop made the mistake of crapping out on me on a night when I’d been drinking Irish whiskey and I remember the pleasure of the overhand right I sent through the screen, shattering it, and the orgasmic release that rippled through me as I heaved it off my balcony.

Torture definitely has its rewards.

I finish reading the whole book – 56 editorial problems – I stretch and pay my tab – $31, plus tip. I go home, my eyes are bleary and I am exhausted and anxious from second guessing my writing and edits. I find a note in the kitchen from my mom, there’s a Frogurt in the freezer for me. With rainbow Jimmies.

Yep, torture has its rewards.

Best reward for torture?

  1. #1 by Lee Adams on August 4, 2011 - 8:46 pm

    Best reward: figuring out a way to punish someone whilst rewarding myself 😀
    Aahhhh, three bechies…

  2. #2 by Krista Baranyai on August 5, 2011 - 3:11 am

    mmm… I remember Becherovka. I believe you called it, “a shot of Christmas”. You’re in Langhorne?

  3. #3 by Andrew on August 8, 2011 - 9:58 pm

    Lee, my friend, you are a genius. An evil genius, but a genius nevertheless. Miss ya, bud.

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