Story: A Burden of Acumen

"It can't be that bad," said Dan, sinking into the booth.

"Have you read it?" said Ben. He looked as if he'd just left an uneasy funeral wake.

"I haven't had a chance," Dan shrugged, and took a sip of beer.

Ben pulled a folded packet from the backpack on the seat next to him, unfolded it and slid it across the table.

"You want me to read it now?" asked Dan impatiently.

"I need your advice,"'said Ben gravely. He got up and went for a drink. Dan read, flipping and flattening stapled pages.

It was getting late, the bar was busy, and it took time to get attention. When Ben came back, carrying two beers for himself, his usual solution to this problem, Dan was looking at the folded packet and shaking his head.

"Is it a joke?" he asked flatly as Ben sat down.

Ben shook his head.

"That's not nice,"'he said without rancor. "And no I really don't think it is."

Dan heaved a half-sigh, half-whistle.

"When did they want to hear from you?" he asked.

"Tomorrow," said Ben, staring glumly at the table.

Dan snorted, chuckled, started laughing, didn't stop. 

Ben shook his head again.

"I mean it,"'he said," that's rude. The guy did his best on this."

At this Dan's hm hm hm barked into a guffaw, then he got it back under control. He continued laughing, patted the table softly.

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment.

"So what do I say?" asked Ben. He seemed genuinely anxious.

"Ahm," said Dan, flopping back in his seat and picking up his beer. He sniffed, seemed to think, started chuckling again.

"Alright," said Ben, picking up the paper and bag and starting to rise.

"I'm sorry," gasped Dan,'"I'm sorry. Don't go, I want to help."

"Well save the gut-busting for another time," said Ben. "I'm in a fix here."

"Sorry, sorry," said Dan. "I'll be back."

Dan came back with two beers, saw that Ben, who was reading the packet again, had finished his first, passed one to him.

"Thanks," Ben said, and pushed the packet away with a sigh.

"Who did you say wrote this again?" said Dan, trying to sober.

"I didn't say," said Ben.

"So who, a student?" asked Dan. "Some scribbler? Wait, is it Jeff D___? It kind of reads like his work."

Ben shook his head. "No, you don't know them," he said, watching the patrons at the bar.

"So there's no reason not to tell me,"'said Dan.

Ben looked miserable. "It's my uncle."

Dan blinked. "Your uncle? I didn't know you had other writers in the family."

Ben moved his eyes back to Dan in a manner which suggested irony.

"Well," Dan said, "aspiring writers."'He took a drink. "Look, this really isn't that bad. Obviously there are problems, but who am I to judge? With work he could fix this, although it's a little confusing just what he wants to say..." Ben was still looking steadily at him. Dan trailed off.

They both drank.

"How close are you to this uncle," said Dan, the faintest chuckle creeping into his voice and retreating.

Ben pursed his lips and shook his head. "Not very," he said. "I'm not afraid of offending him, but he knows this is how i make a living, or at least a side living, and he asked for my honest feedback, and this time I'm heavily inclined to lie."

He finished his beer, got up and came back a few minutes later with water. Dan, surprised, turned and saw the bar was less crowded, got up and returned with two beers. Ben said no thanks and drank half his water.

"Well, I think," Dan said presently, "you've got two options, that is if he's going to try and publish it. Is he going to try to publish it?"

"I don't know," said Ben, "but I assume that's why he wanted feedback."

"As I see it you've got two options," said Dan.  "One," he stuck his thumb out, "you tell him what you really think, and tell him it needs a lot of work. Maybe that he should start over with clearer ideas and practice more. And maybe you hurt his feelings."

"What's the other option," said Ben.

"Option two," said Dan pointing to one index finger with another, " is you lie.  You lie your face off, and tell him everything good you can think to honestly say, and hope he doesn't ask too many questions."

"I was considering that," said Ben.

"And your uncle," said Dan,"he-- what's his name?"

"Ellen," said Ben flatly.

Dan's mouth was open.

Ben shrugged. "My grandma was nuts,"'he said. "Everyone calls him Lenny."

"So you tell Lenny," said Dan, "that you like it. And Lenny says, Great, I shall move forward, and he seeks publication, and is rejected a hundred times, and the first editor who actually takes the time to respond to him tells him exactly, whether he likes it or not, what he should have heard from you"

Ben looked at the table quietly.

"So now he's just as upset as he would have been," said Dan, "if you'd told the truth, with the added bonus of considering you unreliably obsequious into the bargain."

"Obsequious?"'said Ben, making a face.

Dan shrugged. "I read a lot."

"Me too,"'said Ben.

"Lousy way to have to balance it, though," said Dan, as though reconsidering. "I don't envy you, both options suck."

Ben chewed his lip.

"I'll give you five thousand dollars if you tell him for me," he said.

"If I find out you've got five thousand dollars somewhere," said Dan, "I'll rob you in your sleep."

Ben shrugged enigmatically.

"But anyway," said Dan. "If you paid me off, then I'd be just the same as editor, doing the hard part for you, and you'd be just as bad off."

"What am I going to say to this guy," said Ben, looking at the ceiling.

"Ask for more time," said Dan. "Like a week or two, then if you don't mention it again, maybe he'll forget to ask."

"Can't," said Ben. "I've got to get clear of this. I haven't been able to write since I read it."

"What do you mean?" said Dan.

"I keep trying to put stuff down," said Ben, "but I keep changing it and cutting it. It's like since I read this story of his; and decided i'm a better writer than his guy, nothing I do is good enough."

Dan made a yuck face.

"You're so moral," he said. "How do you even sleep at night?"

"With difficulty," said Ben.

"Well," said Dan, "I don't know what to tell you. Can we talk about me?”

“Why, how well do you sleep,” said Ben.

“So earlier today, I’m driving down Rigby--” began Dan.

"I think what's bothering me,"'said Ben, looking into his empty glass, as if he had't heard his friend, "is how do we know it's really that bad?"

Dan looked at Ben in a manner which suggested irony.

"I'm serious,"'said Ben. "How do we know it's that awful? Neither of us is published, what right do we have to talk?"

"You're published," said Dan.

"Only technically,"'said Ben. "No one's ever paid me for my stuff."

"Remind me again how we make a living?" said Dan. "Last I knew we were the two reigning parasites at this school."

"We're not at this school," said Ben. "We're townies. And you know what I meant. How many stories have you sold?"

"Point taken,"'said Dan.

"So how come we get to out this poor guy down?" said Ben. 

Dan shrugged.  “We think about this stuff a lot,” he suggested.  “I mean, there are only a few things I do every day because I like to do them.  Reading is one, and writing is another.  Isn’t it fair to say we’ve learned a thing or two?”

“Who’s to say this guy isn’t working just as hard?” asked Ben.

“If he is,” said Dan, “then I guess I’d say he has to work harder.  It sucks, but no one’s perfect at this, and some of us, I don’t know, some just have a longer way to go, still.”

“Until what?” asked Ben.  "Isn't it kind of arrogant to set ourselves up as judges?"

Dan looked blank. "I am arrogant," he said. "So I couldn't say."

"I just hate seeming like I think I'm better than this guy," said Ben. "All else aside, it doesn't feel right for me to get all holier-than-thou about it."

Dan sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Okay, here's what I think," he said. Then he halted. "Hang on a second." He got up, and walked off towards the men's room.

Ben considered for a moment, then got up and got another beer. When he  returned, Dan had resumed his seat.

"Here's what I think," he said. "One. Would you say Twelve Angry Men is a good movie?"

“Which one?” asked Ben.  “Fonda and Cobb or Lemon and Scott?”

Dan blinked.  “Either,” he said, “but I was thinking of the first one.  I forgot about the second one.  Tony Danza?”

Ben nodded and sipped his beer.  “Edward James Olmos.”

“Nice,” said Dan.  “So would you say it’s a good movie?”

“Of course,” said Ben.  “It’s great.  But I didn’t make it, I just watched it.”

“Hear me out,” said Dan.  “Let’s say you met someone who thought Twelve Angry Men, the Fonda version, was lousy.  What would you say?”

Ben considered.  “I’d probably ask them why they thought so.”

“Right,” said Dan.  “You’d want them to explain the things that they didn’t like about it.  But, if they explained it, and if what they said makes sense, would you say it makes you a better person, or an important person somehow, that you like the movie?”

“No,” said Ben.  “At least I hope not.”

“So why do you like that movie?” said Dan.  “Hear me out, I have a point.  What are the things you like about it so much?”

Ben ruminated and sipped his beer.  “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it,” he said, “but I guess the characters.  They’re all very clear-cut in their differences, but still natural feeling.  So that and the dialogue.  The tension.  I don’t know, it’s a good movie.”

“You and I agree completely,” said Dan.  “And I’d say roughly the same things -- and these are things that writers would like about it.  We don’t know anything about if the cinematography is good or bad, or if the acting is great--”

“The acting is great,” said Ben.  “I’m no critic, but when it’s good it’s hard to miss.”

“Fine, fine,” said Dan.  “But the set design, the lighting, the way the shots are cut.  The sound mixing.  We don’t know anything about it.”

“Okay,” said Ben.  “Is Twelve Angry Men a famous movie for technicalities?”

“I have no idea,” said Dan.  “That’s not the point.  The point is... well, okay.  Can you think of a movie where the sound mixing or the camera work or the lighting was lousy?”

“I’ve seen a lot of lousy movies,” said Ben.  “Usually it’s bad writing that gets to me, like you said.”

“Right, right,” said Dan.  “But some movies look better than others, right?  And sound better?”

“Of course,” said Ben.

“So we’re not filmmakers,” said Dan, “but we can tell if we like the way something looks or not, right?  Without knowing about the technicalities, like you said.”

“I guess so,” said Ben.  “So?”

“So,” said Dan, “my point is... let me ask you something else.”

“I’m all ears,” said Ben dryly.

“What do you think,” said Dan, “your uncle, or people in general in your uncle’s position, want to hear when they ask for feedback like this?”

“I have no idea,” said Ben.  “Approval I guess, but they’d say they just want honesty.”

“Okay, yeah, sure,” said Dan.  “I would want approval.  I would want someone to tell me I was a genius, but if I wanted that kind of feedback, I would give my stuff to a specific kind of person.”

“What kind of person?” asked Ben.

“The kind that didn’t know the technicalities,” said Dan.  “Like we don’t know anything about filmmaking.  If I think something looks bad, I can tell you it looks bad, but I won’t know much about how to make it look any better.”

“Right,” said Ben.

“But we write a lot,” said Dan.  “We’ve thought a lot about it.  We know when things are going wrong, and what things they are, and why they’re wrong, because we read a lot and write a lot. That’s all.”

He leaned back in his seat, nodding triumphantly.

“We’re not experts,” said Ben, frowning again.  “I’m not sure you haven’t made this worse.”

“Who said we’re experts?” asked Dan.  “All I’m saying is that we probably know a little more than someone who does this once in a while.  At the very least, you probably know something you could tell Lenny about how to make his story work better.”

“I can think of some things,” said Ben.

“Look he’s either serious about this,” said Dan, “and he wants you to criticize him whether he knows it or not, or he’s not so serious and he just wants you to say you like it.  Which version do you think he wants?  You mentioned he knows you write for pay."

“He started the conversation,” said Ben crisply, “with ‘So, Ben, you’re a writer, aren’t you.’”

“Well, there you go,” said Dan.  “That’s what makes you the person to judge how he can fix it.  Maybe not whether it’s bad or good, but just what he can do to make it better.”   He took a wide-elbowed drink, finishing the beer. “Everything can be made better,” he said, considering the residue left in his glass.

Ben still frowned.

“Plus one other thing,” said Dan.

“What’s that?” said Ben.

Dan said, “He asked you to do it.”

Ben looked solemn again.

“Whatever you do,” said Dan, “you’ve got to get it over with, you’re making me crazy with the silent anguish thing.”

“You may be on to something,” said Ben.

“I know,” said Dan.  “And it’s probably not too pleasing to the ladies, either.”

“I’ll just tell him what I think,” said Ben.  “I’ll be as supportive as I can, and treat it like an opportunity.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Dan brightening.  “So, enough about you.  I was driving down Rigby earlier, and this guy--”

“Unless...” said Ben.

Dan swore.

===

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