>>24687940 (OP)
Anon A and Anon B sat at a bar. A weak neon light buzzed overhead. Anon A was nursing a tall glass of milk. Beside him, Anon B wore a blue shirt and a matching cap that read, “Please be patient, I have autism.”
Anon B coughed.
Anon A glanced over. He could feel a stupid question swelling in his friend’s toad-like throat. There was never a shortage of those.
“I want to write a novel, but I don’t read books,” Anon B said.
Anon A blinked. “OK?”
“How?”
“How what?”
“How do I write a novel without having to read a book?”
Anon A’s temple began to throb. He knew the question would be stupid, but this…
He let his eyes wander to the bold white letters stamped across the cap and sighed.
“I don’t know. Just write,” Anon A said.
“Write how? How am I supposed to transcribe the movie in my head onto the pages? Last night, I literally spent hours staring at a blank document, and not a single word came to mind.”
Anon A shrugged. “Do you have a story?”
“Sure,” Anon B said.
“Can you write an outline?”
“Maybe… if I Google how.”
“So you’re stuck at the drafting phase, yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.” Anon B nodded.
“Well, a book is made of chapters, and a chapter is made of scenes. A scene doesn’t need a whole lot: some action, dialogue, description, and a narrative voice tying it all together. The voice is probably the hardest part since you don’t even know what a good narrator is supposed to sound like, so don’t. Focus on the dialogue, add a bit of action in between, and the bare minimum description to give your reader an idea of what the characters look like and where the story takes place.”
Anon B scratched at the brim of his cap. “That sounds like a screenplay.”
“It is.” Anon A sipped his milk. “You’re the one who said you wanted to transcribe your mental movie onto the page. What could be an easier way?”
Anon B chewed his lip. “But don’t books that read like screenplays scream amateur? I heard that from YouTube, I think.”
“You are an amateur.”
“I know, but—”
“This shitty scene right here is five hundred words long. A chapter only needs three thousand words.”
Anon B looked down at his beer, then back up at Anon A. “So if I write, like, ten chapters…”
“You’ve got a short novel.”
“And twenty chapters?”
“A real one.”
Anon B tapped the bar in a dull rhythm, then he brightened. “So I could grind out twenty chapters of people talking, and that’s it?”
Anon A tilted his glass, watching the milk swirl. “If they’re talking about something interesting, sure.”
“And if they’re not?”
“Then add some action.”
Anon A drained the last of his milk and, without hesitation, brought the empty glass down on his friend’s blue cap.
Anon B cried and clutched his head as he toppled from the stool.
Anon A set the cracked glass on the bar, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“End scene.”
