I just returned from Hawaii. The vacation was everything it was supposed to be. The best part is not reading a newspaper or making a phone call for a week.
One night we went to the wedding of two people we hardly knew (friends of the people we were vacationing with). After the reception everyone sat around an enormous bonfire on the beach drinking beer. Suddenly people started calling for a ghost story, and I felt a nervous twitch. More and more people chimed in and then the groom announced that the screenwriter for Halloween: Resurrection was present. There were gasps. There was clapping. All eyes turned to me.
Have you ever been thrust unwittingly upon the stage? Suddenly these people were a tribe and I was their storyteller. Everyone quieted down and shushed each other. It was no joke. They looked at me like eager children. They NEEDED a ghost story, and they believed I was the one uniquely qualified to give it too them.
But I didnt have one. My mind was a complete blank. The truth is that I know less about ghost stories than I do about horticulture. And I know next to nothing about horticulture. I said I was sorry but I couldnt think of anything. I wanted to explain that all I did on Halloween was a dialogue polish. A little work on dramatic structure.
The crowd grumbled. They booed and jeered. Why was I holding out? Why didnt I share one of my many grisly tales of the supernatural? I felt myself blush and then sweat. The drunken bridesmaids seemed deeply insulted. The father of the groom was genuinely angry and suggested that I must be some sort of imposter. My wife pleaded for understanding and mercy but for a moment I seriously thought that the mob might throw me into the flames.
The crowd was finally distracted (and I was saved) when the brother of the groom threw up in the sand.
One night we went to the wedding of two people we hardly knew (friends of the people we were vacationing with). After the reception everyone sat around an enormous bonfire on the beach drinking beer. Suddenly people started calling for a ghost story, and I felt a nervous twitch. More and more people chimed in and then the groom announced that the screenwriter for Halloween: Resurrection was present. There were gasps. There was clapping. All eyes turned to me.
Have you ever been thrust unwittingly upon the stage? Suddenly these people were a tribe and I was their storyteller. Everyone quieted down and shushed each other. It was no joke. They looked at me like eager children. They NEEDED a ghost story, and they believed I was the one uniquely qualified to give it too them.
But I didnt have one. My mind was a complete blank. The truth is that I know less about ghost stories than I do about horticulture. And I know next to nothing about horticulture. I said I was sorry but I couldnt think of anything. I wanted to explain that all I did on Halloween was a dialogue polish. A little work on dramatic structure.
The crowd grumbled. They booed and jeered. Why was I holding out? Why didnt I share one of my many grisly tales of the supernatural? I felt myself blush and then sweat. The drunken bridesmaids seemed deeply insulted. The father of the groom was genuinely angry and suggested that I must be some sort of imposter. My wife pleaded for understanding and mercy but for a moment I seriously thought that the mob might throw me into the flames.
The crowd was finally distracted (and I was saved) when the brother of the groom threw up in the sand.