ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Monday, February 5, 1996 TAG: 9602050010
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-7 EDITION: METRO
COLUMN: Monty S. Leitch
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
THE FOLLOWING is provided as a public service to all you aspiring writers out there who find yourselves in need of a plot.
My gift to you: a plot summary, a set-up, perfect (in my humble opinion) for a sci-fi novel. Or, perhaps, fantasy, or even mystery. Use it however you see fit.
One evening in late winter or early spring, within a few days - say - of Groundhog Day - a woman goes out onto her porch and calls her cat.
``Kitty, kitty, kitty!'' she calls.
(Note these words. This will be important dialogue. Use these words precisely.)
She hears a rustling in the mock orange bush at the corner of the porch and thinks - or even says, under her breath - ``Ah, here comes the cat.''
(If you, aspiring writer that you are, are now thinking ahead to possible movie sales for your manuscript, you'll want to keep in mind the visual possibilities here. Include them in your descriptions. Think of the lighting in this scene: a little moonlight, perhaps, or the dim pinkish glow at the end of a fine, brisk day. Think, too, of the huge dark shadows cast by the mock orange bush: shadows out of which a cat will appear, as if she were a shadow herself.)
So, there's the rustling in the mock orange bush. Appropriately described. There's the certainty that Kitty is about to appear. (Swells of music, etc.)
But - then!
What appears instead is a long, tooth-filled snoot. Beady little eyes. A whipping, naked tail.
It's not the cat at all. It's a possum!
She squeezes up through the cat's door in the screen, presents her ugly self, and says, ``You called?''
Now this, you see, is why I think the plot would do quite nicely for science fiction or fantasy. Depending on your attitude toward possums, you might even consider horror. Because this possum talks. She answers the woman's call familiarly.
``You're not my cat!'' the woman shrieks. The fact of the possum's voice is slow to sink in on this woman.
``Ah, no,'' says the possum, ``but I am Kitty. Short for Kathryn. A nickname, by the way, that I've always hated.''
Now, at last, the woman realizes that she's conversing with a possum. It takes her aback. (Think of ways to present this dramatically, visually: She throws up her hands, she stumbles backward, she rolls her eyes. These actions, of course, are cliches. I know you can do better.)
``But you're a possum!'' the woman cries. ``You can't have a name!''
``Ah, the hubris of humans,'' muses Kitty. ``Of course I have a name. Everything has a name. You think the names you use are our real names? Poor, poor woman.''
The possum settles back against a corner in the screen. ``That cat of yours, for instance,'' she continues. ``You call her `Taffy,' but her name is Hermione. She doesn't much like it, but there it is.''
The woman tries this out. ``Here, Hermione, Hermione, Hermione.''
Kitty snickers. ``I'm not even an opposum,'' she says. She raises an eyebrow, much as the Vulcan Mr. Spock once did on ``Star Trek'' episodes. ``I'd tell you what I really am, but I doubt you could pronounce it.''
So. There you have it: the set-up - a world in which nothing is, in reality, as it's been named by the humans who speak. (The theme from ``The Twilight Zone'' might be effectively played at this point.)
Being the imaginative soul that you are, I know you can take it from here. Let me know when you're rich.
Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times columnist.
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