The Case of the Macabre Macaw  8

Chapter Three       On the Spoor of the Story

A second ruckus brought Mrs. Tweedlebare back to the jungle.  She sensed two yellow eyes. It was all that could be spotted, she surmised, of a ravenous jaguar.  She wondered if somehow she could insert those yellow eyes into what seemed to be evolving into her next story, a story that had not existed until that very moment.  It was a story that did not seem probable.  If a jaguar were warranted, it would wander into the story on its own. If you wanted to keep the jaguar at bay, you might find it to be an impossibility. 

If Mrs. Tweedlebare tried to be tricky, even the youngest of her readers would spot it. Jaguars, which missed a meal, were no better than jaguars jaded by an abundance of food served on a silver platter. If however, there was a calamity and Mr. Jaguar had to go without food for a few days that would be another matter altogether.

Mrs. Tweedlebare was glad Mary wanted to talk about Freddie Fudge.  She reminded herself that Freddie Fudge was not only Mary's bird, Freddie Fudge was also Mary's story.  At the very least, Freddie Fudge might just establish Mary as a writer, at least in her own mind.  Mrs. Tweedlebare knew only too well that once Mary became a writer in her own mind, she would be three-quarters of the way to success.  It is not nice for writer’s to steal another writer’s material Mrs. Tweedlebare reminded herself.

"Our Uncle Herman sent him from the Amazon," Mary Melancholy began cheerfully.  "He’s been down there for months and months collecting plants to make drugs.  He's heavily into them."

Mrs. Tweedlebare almost choked on her sixth gingersnap.  First there was Freddie's squawk and now this revealing information about Uncle Herman, obviously the black sheep of the family.  While debating whether to acknowledge Uncle Herman’s nefarious ways, Mrs. Tweedlebare was of a mind to ask Mary if she wouldn’t mind sharing her material with her.

"Herman is a researcher for a pharmaceutical company," Mary’s mother said.

Mrs. Tweedlebare smiled and helped herself.  Was it her sixth?  She was beginning to lose count. When a story got interesting, Mrs. Tweedlebare would focus on the pertinent and discontinue fillers that had kept her occupied while waiting for an item of interest to pop up. Sometimes events became too interesting and Mrs. Tweedlebare became anxious. She would then quickly revert to calculating gingersnap consumption. She would then often be able to write down frightening facts without realizing that she was doing so.  If things became too scary, she would pay strict attention to stuff that did not matter.  When the shouting was over, Mrs. Tweedlebare would have a mess of stuff to sort through.  By then she would have calmed down and would be able to look at the stuff with a reasonably open mind.

Her next job would be to sort out the relevant from the incidental but at this stage it was too early to tell which was which. When things were no longer hectic, she would begin to weave into story some of the details that she had taken down.  Whenever, she was pursuing a story that was really scary, she would invariably jot down data that were hardly likely ever to be part of any story.  Imagine a story filled with gingersnaps!

"The first job of a storyteller is to observe and record what people actually do," Mary said looking up from her writing.  "Mrs. Tweedlebare, isn’t that true?"

"Our job is not to write what we think a person may do but to notice what our hero says and does."

"Is that why you have been recording how many gingersnaps everyone is having?"

"Exactly."  Mrs. Tweedlebare reddened a little. She was a little surprised that Mary had cottoned onto one of the secrets of the trade.  What harm could there be? She was beginning to consider Mary a colleague, a fellow writer.

"From that starting point you then begin to think about what the character wants to do?" Mary said.

"Sort of.  Often, it is what the character has to do, not what he or she wants to."

"Silly things, gingersnaps," Mary said.

"If for example," Mrs. Tweedlebare continued, ignoring the gingersnap reference, we were to witness a bank robbery, what would we do?"

"Pay attention and write down what was happening?"

"What if we were lying on the floor, our faces flat on cold marble?"

"Notice the shoes, remember the nervous gestures, the fidgeting and the tapping or whatever."

"The tapping part is good and also the shoes.  Frankly, you wouldn't be able to see much but you could hear a surprising amount."

"I guess that's true."

"That's what I did."

"You were in a bank robbery?"

"I have the story to prove it."