derek d. smith

Short Story: The Hemingway Cat

Thu, 13 Dec 2012 08:27:00 -0600

Photo Credit: Alice Rosen/Flickr

Author’s Note: This is a short story that I wrote with the intention of submitting it to the Writer’s Digest Short Story Competition. I had already submitted one story and submissions cost $20 per entry. I held off on it and then I wrote another story that I found much better. So since I am not submitting this to any competition, I thought I would publish it here. Since I did not submit it to the contest, I did not take time to polish the story in any way. This is a genuine first draft. Enjoy.

THE HEMINGWAY CAT
by Derek D. Smith

“It’s three in the afternoon for Christ’s sake. Come on,” Nick said silently to himself. He could hear them through the thin wall between his bedroom and hers. The rhythm of the headboard against the drywall was a perfect steady beat. He composed a song to himself.

“Tryin’ to write a story/But my neighbors are too horny/Fuck my life. Fuck my life./I am thirsty and I’m hungry/Everything just seems to bug me/Fuck my life. Fuck my life.”

He sat there, watching the cursor blink on the screen. He couldn’t think. His mind was clouded with noise. The neighbor girl moaning. A motorcycle roaring by. Police sirens.

The wheels of his chair squeaked as he moved them back and forth on the carpet. The moans were getting louder. She was close. But was he?

“He won’t last too much longer now,” Nick said. “They never do. Isn’t that right Tyger?”

Tyger laid on the brown, wingback chair next to Nick’s writing desk, his body curled, his tail flipping back and forth.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Tyger answered.

Nick froze, then quickly swiveled his chair so his back was to the cat.

Silence. Nick couldn’t hear anything anymore. He looked at the time in the top corner of the computer screen. Eight minutes after three. He was tired and hungry. He was imagining things.

“You need to get out of the house, Nick.”

“No, no. You need to stop talking. You’re a cat.”

“Exactly why you need to get out of the house. Do you expect to be inspired just sitting on your ass listening to your neighbor get drilled? Get out. See the world. If you want to write, you need action.”

Nick swung his chair around quickly to face the cat. “Look man,” he started, his voice shaking a little. “It was bad enough when you’d sit there and judge me in silence. I don’t need commentary along with it.”

“Oh, but I think you do.” Tyger jumped from the wingback chair to Nick’s lap and sat down. “How long have you been sitting here? Do you have any idea?”
“I don’t know. A couple hours.”

“Four. Four hours. Four hours of YouTube, Facebook and Twitter. In the time since you sat down in this chair, I’ve eaten half a bowl of food, given myself a bath and taken two shits. What have you accomplished?”

They both turned and looked at the blinking cursor. Not a word written.

“I wrote a song.”

Tyger lifted a paw and slapped Nick across the face. “You’re lucky I’m declawed you lazy bastard.”

“Where should I go?” Nick asked, rubbing his cheek. No claws, but the cat could hit hard.

“Anywhere!” Tyger bellowed, jumping to the floor. He started pacing back and forth like a drill sergeant addressing his platoon. Nick’s chair swiveled to match the cat’s movement.

“Look at yourself! Filthy, unshaven. Your feet drowning in a pile of empty soda cans and wadded tissue. Do you think this is how Hemingway lived? Do you?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“You suppose not? Of course not! Hemingway wouldn’t sit in front of a blank page for four hours. He’d go have a drink. Kill something. Get laid for Christ’s sake. He sure as hell wouldn’t sit back and let some other asshole screw the neighbor.” Tyger jumped back on Nick’s lap, putting his front paws on his chest and digging the claws of his back feet into Nick’s thighs.

“What would Hemingway do, Nick?”

“I… I don’t…”
“Yes you do. Tell me. WHAT WOULD HEMINGWAY DO?”

“He’d screw the neighbor?”

“Damn right he’d screw the neighbor! He’d screw her all night, then he’d wake up the next day and write the best damn story about screwing a neighbor that’s ever been written!”

Tyger jumped back down to the floor, clearing a space for himself among the piles of dirty laundry and unopened mail before sitting down. Nick glanced at the wall clock on the far side of the room. Thirteen minutes to four. Where was the time going?

“See that? You’ve almost wasted another hour. You’re not going to write, Nick. Get up.”

Nick sat, staring at the talking cat. It was really happening. His mouth was moving. He was talking. Tyger got up and walked to Nick’s feet, digging his teeth into the bare skin of his owner’s ankle.

“OW! SHIT!”

Tyger released the ankle and licked his lips. “Get. Up.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll get up.” Nick lifted himself from the chair with a groan and stretched. “Now what?”

Tyger jumped up on the desk and pressed the button on Nick’s cell phone to light the screen. Nick watched, stunned as the cat navigated the phone expertly—scrolling through his list of contacts until he came to a name. A girl’s name. Erin.

“No, wait. Tyger, stop!”

“Oh come on, Nick. How many of those tissues on the floor have her name on them? You need to call her.”

“I barely know her. I only have her number for the work calling tree. It’s not like she gave it to me. I can’t just call her.”

Tyger’s paw touched the screen over Erin’s number. It started ringing. He activated speakerphone.

“Hang it up Tyger!”

“She has your number in her phone too. She’s going to know it’s you. Do you want to be a creep or a hero?”

Ring.

“Come on, man. What do I say?”

Ring.

“What would Hemingway say, Nick? Think about it.”

Nick’s mind was racing, but not as fast as his heart. Tyger stared at him. He felt a bead of sweat form on his forehead.

Ri- “Hello?”

A cheshire smile formed between Tyger’s lips. Nick couldn’t move. He was terrified. He watched Tyger’s lips mouth the word again.

Hemingway.

“Helloooo?” Erin’s voice said again.

“Hi, uh, Erin? This is Nick. Nick Baker. From the office.”
“Oh, you are there,” she said. “I was wondering if you’d called by mistake. What’s up?”

“Well, actually,” Nick answered, clearing his throat. He froze again.

“Nick? Hello?” Erin’s voice sounded slightly annoyed.

Tyger moved to the front of Nick’s laptop and started pressing keys.

“Just read what I type,” the screen said. Tyger’s paws blazed across the keyboard and Nick read along.

“Actually Erin, I wondered if you might be interested in having a drink with me tonight. There’s this really great new bar up town. Everyone’s been talking about it and I thought maybe we could try it out. See what all the fuss is about.”

“Um… OW!” There was a rustling sound on the other end of the line.

“Erin, are you ok?” Nick asked.

“Yeah, sorry. My cat just bit my ankle.”

“That happens,” Nick said, watching the smile form on Tyger’s lips again.

“Anyway,” Erin continued, “sure, why not? I don’t have any plans.”

Tyger watched from the desk as his owner’s entire demeanor shifted. The cat jumped down from the desk and went back to his food bowl. His work was done.

“Great!” Nick almost shouted. “I’ll pick you up at eight. Sound good?”

“Perfect. See you then.”

The line went dead and Nick almost leaped into the air on his way to the bathroom. He showered, shaved, and was brushing his teeth when he saw Tyger in the mirror, coming through the doorway behind him. He spit a gob of toothpaste into the sink and turned.

“Thanks so much buddy! That was awesome!”

Tyger slowly sauntered his way across the bathroom tile, finding his way to Nick’s feet and rubbing against his ankle, purring.

“Tyger?”

The cat looked up at Nick and cooed a soft meow.

“I guess I must’ve been imagining things,” Nick said, talking to only himself again. “That must’ve been all me in there.” He flashed a big smile in the mirror.

Nick finished grooming himself and glanced at his watch. Quarter to eight. Time was still flying but at least now he had a purpose.

“Well Tyger, I better get going or I’m gonna be late,” he said as he picked up his car keys and opened the door. “Don’t wait up.”

The door clicked behind him and the deadbolt locked in place. The cat moved gently across the living room carpet and leaped to the second row of the bookshelf. He pawed at Nick’s copy of The Old Man and the Sea until it fell to the floor. He jumped down after it, curling his little cat toes to open the cover.

“Finally,” Tyger said to himself. “Alone time.”

©2012 Derek D. Smith
Any republication of any kind is prohibited without the author’s written consent.

From the Vault: Unashamed and Unaware: A poem by Derek D. Smith circa 2005

Wed, 05 Dec 2012 09:00:30 -0600

Photo Credit: neal conway/Flickr

Author’s Note: The following is a poem I wrote back in college in 2005. I plan on posting some short stories and possibly some poetry here as time goes on to give readers a sense of my writing style. Since I’m still in the process of building my “portfolio”, I thought I’d dig this thing out and show it. I was in a much different place emotionally and in terms of maturity than I am now, but I’m still pretty proud of it despite it’s profoundly negative message. Enjoy.

UNASHAMED AND UNAWARE
by Derek D. Smith

American nights offer rich opportunities ripe for the picking
I rarely meet one who sees the prospect
Depth and passion are endearing and everlasting
Yet no one today understands the concept

Smoking cigarettes in the back alley of some run down dive
Talking to a child’s mind who only thinks he’s alive
Speaks of possession and things that he wants
Coveting material and craving abundance

Everything is empty and hollow and dead
Shallow as a dry pool baking in the August sun
This nation bleeds green envy, gone with hope went the red
Society is a tattered cloth unraveled and undone

Extinct is the man who dies satisfied with life
Rampant is the child who dies without living
A girl becomes a mother, then a woman, then a wife
No happiness to take, all she gets she is giving

The present has no future left in the hands of fools
Boiling like a tea kettle in materialistic pools
Am I wrong with all these unfounded fears
Suicide by drowning in my own tears

The Perils of a Beginning Writer or: What I've Learned from Hemingway, Palahniuk, Vonnegut and Myself

Tue, 04 Dec 2012 08:52:07 -0600

Photo Credit: shutterhacks on Flickr

I am not a professional writer. The only time I’ve ever been paid to write was during one summer in high school while I interned at the local newspaper. Writing has—up to this point in my life—only been a fun hobby. But I’ve come to realize it’s also a passion. And it may be my greatest passion.

So I’ve decided to take a leap of faith and try to make a living out of my passion. I mentioned in a previous post that I have started working on my first novel, Ungenerous Fools. So far, it’s been fun. I’m a few weeks in and I think now would be a good time to take a moment and write about some of the experiences I’ve had so far.

The biggest problem I’ve had to this point is distraction. In today’s world, it’s so easy to get distracted. Never mind the day-to-day issues of errands, housekeeping, making sure to eat and getting to work at my real job. There’s also Twitter, Facebook, the smart phone, the tablet, the TV… the list goes on and on.

I’ve read a lot of advice from accomplished writers who suggest shutting off connection to the outside world while writing—no phone, no internet, no TV ect. In my case, the TV is no problem but the phone can’t be shut off since it’s the only way anyone has to contact me and both my job and my family could need me at a moments notice. The internet is another thing altogether. Once, early on, I tried shutting off my wireless router in my apartment. As soon as I did, I came to a point in my writing where I felt the need to research something. It was probably just my mind coming up with an excuse to have more distraction, but I gave in anyway.

I’ve learned to cope despite these distractions so far, and I think I’ve found a good balance. My advice to anyone else trying to adjust to a new life of committed writing would be this: You’re not the first fool to stop writing in the middle of a sentence to check Twitter. From what I’ve read, all the best writers get distracted. If your mind is vulnerable to distraction, you probably aren’t in the place you need to be to write well anyway. Chuck Palahniuk says it best in his documentary, “Postcards from the Future”:

Do you ever go into the bathroom and sit on the toilet when you don’t need to take a shit?…It’s the same thing with writing. If I don’t have an idea that I’m absolutely terrified of losing, then I don’t bother to write.

At least in my case, I know that I’m where I need to be when I’m just writing. I’m not watching the word count, hoping to get done with that days quota. I’m not looking at my phone or Twitter or Facebook. I’m not even all that concerned with spelling or grammar or punctuation. I’m just letting the ideas flow. Especially in the first draft, it’s very important to just write. Write continuously without any sort of edit until the book or story is done. Then go back and polish it to a fine shine.

One issue I was afraid of when I first sat down to start the novel was being able to start again when I’m forced to stop. Whether it’s for work or sleep or food or whatever, I was terrified that if I left the computer for any length of time, I wouldn’t be able to come back and start again.

This hasn’t actually been too big of an issue so far. Most of the credit for that goes to Ernest Hemingway’s amazing book, A Movable Feast. In it, Hemingway gives invaluable advice on how to prevent writer’s block:

The best way is always to stop when you are going good and when you know what will happen next. If you do that every day … you will never be stuck. Always stop while you are going good and don’t think about it or worry about it until you start to write the next day. That way your subconscious will work on it all the time. But if you think about it consciously or worry about it you will kill it and your brain will be tired before you start.

I highly recommend A Moveable Feast to anyone that is interested in becoming a serious writer. Not many will argue that Hemingway is among the greatest of all time and the book is full of little tidbits that help illuminate his process.

Another illuminating bit of light reading is Kurt Vonnegut’s Bagombo Snuff Box, specifically where the writer lists eight rules for writing short stories. I won’t plagiarize all eight, but I will highlight three that I think are indispensable:

Every sentence must do one of two things-reveal character or advance the action.

Start as close to the end as possible.

Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.

Vonnegut is full of these little gems. They’re peppered throughout his novels if you know where to look. Most of his main characters are writers in some form or another and they all have their own unique approaches to the craft. They certainly add some fresh perspective if you find yourself bogged down or worn out. If nothing else, you might at least get a laugh out of the stories.

More important than taking advice from the masters though, is to find what works for you. If you’re having trouble in a certain area of your writing—whether it be writer’s block, plot, character development or dialogue—it’s always ok to look for advice from other accomplished writers. But just because it worked for Palahniuk, Vonnegut or Hemingway doesn’t mean it’s going to work for you. Find your own comfortable way of doing things.

Here are three bits of advice that I’ve picked up that I think will work for anyone who wants to write a book:

Know your ending: You don’t have to have a detailed composite of exactly what will happen in the final pages, but at least have a rough idea of where you want to end up before you start. If you don’t, it might still be ok. When I started writing Ungenerous Fools, I didn’t have a single idea. I just sat down and started writing. Soon, I got to a point where I felt like I knew where I was going, then it all fell into place. This also happened with my short story “Forgive Us Our Trespasses” (which I will hopefully be able to publish here in a few months). But it may not work for everything. It does help to have some idea.

Have at least five big “set pieces” to build a plot around: What I mean by a “set piece” is an exciting plot point. Something that sets your keyboard on fire. Whether it be a car chase, a murder, a love scene or a big, tension-building reveal, always have something to build toward. It’s another way to beat writer’s block. If you’re stuck, just start writing something exciting, even if it’s supposed to happen later in the story. It might get your juices flowing again. And always make sure to put the “set piece” somewhere near the beginning or end of a chapter. It keeps the reader engaged and the pages turning. You’ll most likely need more than five of them for a whole novel, but five is a good place to start. The rest will come to you as you flesh the plot out.

Know at least one of your characters better than you know yourself: This one is key. I don’t think I could write anything without knowing a character first. Know how they talk. Know their fears, their desires. Know what they would say or how they would react to any situation they may face in your story. If you’re having trouble, there’s a few things you can do. Take the time to write a short biography of the character. Know where they come from. If you don’t want to write a biography, then take another bit of advice from Hemingway and build your characters around the framework of real people in your life. Just make sure they aren’t carbon copies. Be creative.

I hope you find these bits helpful. I’ll try to impart other tidbits as I move closer and closer to my final draft. In the meantime, read A Moveable Feast and also Vonnegut’s A Man Without a Country. Both serve as illuminating tunnels into the minds and methods of two of America’s greatest modern writers. They’re way more valuable than any textbook.

"I give my cheers to us, a collection of ungenerous fools. Wasting away the dreary days and sleepless..."

Tue, 27 Nov 2012 06:29:39 -0600

“I give my cheers to us, a collection of ungenerous fools. Wasting away the dreary days and sleepless nights fueled by alcohol and flesh, dreaming of the day our time expires and we take our rightful place among the ashes and dust, fulfilling the promise of our parents, that their children might be nothing more than parasites who someday serve as fertilizer for something useful to grow.”

- Wendall Xavier, toasting his friends in my upcoming novel Ungenerous Fools

On my new direction

Tue, 27 Nov 2012 04:46:44 -0600

This blog has taken many forms in the two or three years since it’s creation. In the past year, it has become the digital equivalent of a paperweight—sitting here, undisturbed and holding down precious space on the interwebs.

Today that changes. I have recently begun work on a novel that I intend to self-publish and self-promote. This blog will serve as my way of documenting the process. As of now I am just under 8,000 words into a 50 to 70,000 word goal. The plot is almost fully formed, several characters have been born and the path has been set. Now I just need to get it all down.

Along the way, I’ll be sharing my thoughts on many topics, ranging from my creative process to my thoughts on the current state of literature. This blog will be strictly dedicated to shameless self promotion from here on. Perhaps I will even share excerpts of the book from time to time.

Enjoy and thanks for reading.

Derek D. Smith

matthayhurst: Taken with instagram Great book

Thu, 15 Sep 2011 23:13:29 -0500

matthayhurst:

Taken with instagram

Great book

Bob (Taken with Instagram at Wilson, Kansas)

Thu, 17 Feb 2011 14:25:52 -0600

Bob (Taken with Instagram at Wilson, Kansas)

My own personal hell (Taken with Instagram at Wilson, Kansas)

Tue, 08 Feb 2011 09:06:23 -0600

My own personal hell (Taken with Instagram at Wilson, Kansas)

Drawing of Santa Claus by Thomas Nast circa 1881. One of the...

Wed, 22 Dec 2010 16:00:06 -0600

Drawing of Santa Claus by Thomas Nast circa 1881. One of the final pure depictions before Coke turned Santa into the poster child for uber-consumerism and greed. Merry Christmas.

I am a fan of pandas. I will not lie. Especially subway pandas.

Thu, 09 Dec 2010 13:04:27 -0600

I am a fan of pandas. I will not lie. Especially subway pandas.

I realize I’m incredibly late to the party here, but this...

Thu, 09 Dec 2010 07:30:11 -0600

I realize I’m incredibly late to the party here, but this album is amazing.

sarahlane: My insomnia makes this funny to me. too funny.

Wed, 08 Dec 2010 10:17:30 -0600

sarahlane:

My insomnia makes this funny to me.

too funny.

This…exists. I love America

Sun, 05 Dec 2010 15:37:54 -0600

This…exists. I love America

This would either be incredibly amazing or unfathomably...

Sat, 04 Dec 2010 06:24:31 -0600

This would either be incredibly amazing or unfathomably terrible. Fun thought either way.

I was going to reblog this, then I couldn’t remember which...

Fri, 03 Dec 2010 09:19:00 -0600

I was going to reblog this, then I couldn’t remember which blog it came from because I opened the image in a new tab and closed the original one. Twas an assident. Whomever this belongs to, I am sorry. Feel free to bitch at me in the comments but I had to post it. Love this flick. Best poster I’ve seen for it. Great minimal design.

EDIT:

Found the source…

The print was done by Jason Munn and the post is found on the Tumblog of Matthew Hayhurst.