Free Scissors by Stephane Michaka Page B

alcohol gives him a kind of sludgy melancholy. It’s a style, yes, I see that. But the problem is it already exists. When it comes to whining short-story writers, there’s a whole clan of them. Give me … I could name twenty.
    But the most serious problem is that Raymond believes in the happy ending. “No happy ending, no sudden fall, no reprise of the opening motif.” I tell my students that again and again. “Your stories must have the metabolism of an electric pencil sharpener.” If they don’t, the result is …
    “Petunias.” Five thousand words to say a very simple thing. “We can’t eradicate our faults any more than we can the roots that bind us together. This is our garden, this is our compost.”
    Why use more words?
    And now to clear away some brush.
RAYMOND
    No, I’m not narrow-minded. I don’t see anything narrow-minded about my reaction. Douglas, I’d very much like … I’d very much like to understand how a short story entitled “Petunias,” fifteen pages long, becomes a fragment called “Compost.” Yes, a fragment! I know what a fragment looks like. Two and a half pages is a fragment.
    And where’s the Greek? What happened to him? I’m talking about Nikos. Nikos Kalifatides. “No one has a name likethat”? Yeah, I can think of someone. The garage mechanic in my hometown. “That doesn’t matter”? All right, fine. Except Nikos matters to me. “Petunias” matters to me.
    And I don’t recognize Robert. No, I didn’t say “myself.” Robert has nothing to do with me. I’ve never gardened in my life.
    Look, I’ve got nothing against a little pruning, some touching up here and there. And you know how to do that, there’s no doubt you know how to do that … but two and a half pages, that’s going too far!
    Mm-hmm. No, I haven’t showed it to Marianne. I just opened the package a few minutes ago. I took a quick look at it. I didn’t have to read it all to recognize the damage.
    Huh? Oh yes, yes, I got it. No, thank
you
. I figured that was a lost cause, getting a writing grant. Taxable, but all the same … It’s thanks to you, to your letter of recommendation. No, you wrote
that
? “A writer of the stature of …” They swear by him, you knew that, didn’t you? And to think, I just hate his flowery style …
    Back to “Petunias.” “Comp …” “Petu …” I don’t agree with you.
    “Who wants to read five thousand words about gardening?” But it’s more than that! It opens slowly, like a … The end is like a … a renewal for them.
    “Compost” talks about love. “Petunias,” I mean.
    You moved it back to the fall? It doesn’t take place in springtime anymore? In autumn, but you don’t point it out? “Everything happens implicitly,” you say? I suppose so, when you cut four thousand five hundred words! Don’t give me that, Douglas. I know your Hemingway spiel by heart.
Youcould omit anything if you knew that you omitted and the omitted part would strengthen the story and make people feel something more than they understood
. I know that by heart. It’s not an excuse. It doesn’t justify your cuts.
    I disagree.
    A collection? You’re thinking about … How many stories? Between fifteen and twenty? Who’ll publish it? A small publisher. Your own imprint. Terrific. Your name in big letters. You negotiated for that? Of course I’m game. What do you think? My own collection …
    About the story …
    To summarize, if we reduce it to … If I keep your cuts and approve the ending … The story will …
    Listen, Douglas. Listen to me, please. That story … it won’t be mine anymore. Do you understand?
    What do you mean, what story are we talking about?
RAYMOND AND MARIANNE
    “ ‘You sign the short story, I sign the magazine. It’s one inside the other, Raymond. One inside the other.’ ”
    “He said that?”
    “Word for word.”
    “ ‘One inside the other.’ What does that mean?”
    “He sees the climax of the