Truthful speaking would be a simple way to tell the truth, if the truth were simple and could be told.

09 April 2008

Conan Smith

In my three years in Creative Writing classes I've had most of them with this kid named Conan Smith. The shortest way to describe him, I suppose, would have to be a socialist cowboy, and his stories -- very McCarthy in nature -- occur in the old West or the modern West, or just somewhere where violence is prevelant. Except for one, which was Kerouac in nature and wasn't that great, but I attribute that mostly to the Kerouac influence.

Like every writer in our age group, his stories are not devoid of weaknesses: cliches, contrivances, awkwardness, underdeveloped characters, missed opportunities . . . but one thing that shines out in all of the fiction I've read of his so far is just his prose style. Yes, sometimes he gets a little winded and overstates, or doesn't find the exact way he wants to say something, but when he gets it, he probably has the best prose styling of pretty much anyone in my classes.

Look at this paragraph:

He sat there on the hand quilted afghan that somone put a lot of time into. Its bright orange design jetting off in a few different directions, partially revealing a peace symbol. He glanced down and watcher her side move up and down slowly with each breath -- as he began to lose his. Such a flawless creature lying perfectly, such a beautiful set of Aegean Sea colored eyes and a well manicured complexion. Her long brown hair with bright highlights spilling over the pillow and blanket. He snuggled in next to her and nibbled her ear while exhaling his warm freshly brushed teeth into her ear. Her body shuddered and she rolled over. He pulled the pink and black sleeping patch off, revealing those bright evil eyes. She pulled him in for a kiss, no ordinary kiss but a kiss of love. She reached into his pants and pulled him out. They went at it for eight or ten minutes, with her turned around not facing him and only feeling his member and hand pulling her hair back as she let out brief cries of satisfaction. As he released himself into her he pulled her hair and held his other hand strong around her lumbar pressing in hard causing a spasm of muscular tension to release. She collasped on the bed and he leaned back. Her legs began to shake and twitch involuntarily and he rached to the back of her neck. He pulled her close, kissing her on the back and shoulders to distract her from the nervous tick.

The night sky was turning from a light shade of balck into a dark blue as the air became crisp and new.

1 comment:

Sarah said...

Oh my - my virgin catholic eyes.