Well, of course, I didn't wind up writing that novel. I wrote all of three pages, but they're a hella good, well a hella decent, well, they're three WHOLE pages.
In fact, I won't be sheepish, and I'll offer you a bit of it. Prepare to be mired in brilliance, smallfolk:
“Ok, so when you left to get pumpkin seeds, Mr. Bogdonovich was in the apartment.”
“Was? What? Was?” Sophie had been consoling her grandmother, unsure why she had gotten a deceptively calm call to come immediately back home.
“Sophie,” her grandmother said softly, her British accent making her words seem ethereal, “oh Sophie, he’s gone, Sophie.”
“Gone?”
The officer with the notepad looked at her from under the brim of his hat. Rhetorical one word questions weren’t going to help anyone solve anything.
“You’re the granddaughter,” he said.
“Yes. What’s happened.”
“I’m Officer Marroni. Your grandmother called us and said your grandfather’s gone missing. She seems to think,” Marroni turned to Riggs, still kneeling around the broken glass, sweeping some into a plastic bag. “that your grandfather threw himself out the window.”
Sophie shrieked. “What!” Yet she seemed to take some cues from Marroni’s body language. Somehow that wasn’t the big reveal. He cleared his throat. “But there isn’t any body on the street.”
No body? “So he’s not dead, then?”
“We’re not sure what’s going on here, Miss.” Riggs said, standing up. “What we do know is that your grandmother called and reported a suicide. But, there’s no body spla—there’s nothing on the street below, Miss.”
Sophie went to the broken window. The entire east wall of the apartment had been a floor to ceiling window, with a door opening onto a small terrace. It was the best feature of the apartment and the building in general, which was in a low-rent area of Brooklyn. Now there was a giant gash in the window, like something had been thrown threw it. Even the metal window supports were bent back, and broken apart in places.
"There's no furniture missing from the apartment." Officer Riggs said, wiping glass particles from his knees.
"So what did this?"
"We're not sure Miss. We're not actually sure of anything. We know a hysterical old woman called us and said her husband of 60 years threw himself out the window while she was out of the house. Then we get here and find this."
BAM!
I only got just a little bit farther than that. At one point, I added a character that hadn't been in the scene, and suddenly he was narrating in first person. The book was going to go (might eventually go?) in a direction uncomfortable similar to John Foer's Everything is Illuminated
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“Ok, so… when you left to get pumpkin seeds, Mr. Bogdonovich was in the apartment?”
“Was?” Sophie mouthed this as she thought how calm her grandmother’s call had been to come back home.
“Sophie,” her grandmother said softly, her old woman’s English accent making her words seem ethereal, “oh Sophie, he’s gone. Sophie.”
“Gone?”
The officer with the notepad looked at her from under the brim of his hat. Rhetorical one-word questions weren’t going to help anyone or solve anything, he thought. “You’re the granddaughter,” he said, clearly interested in the distraction of this mystery, if not so much in the resolution.
“What’s happened?” asked Sophie, finally recoiling from the echo of her grandmother’s call.
“I’m Officer Marroni. Your grandmother called us and said your grandfather’s gone missing. She seems to think,” Marroni sighed and turned to Riggs, his squat, inquisitive, but not clever partner, who was still kneeling among the broken glass, sweeping some into a plastic bag, “that your grandfather threw himself out of the window.”
Sophie shrieked, “What! How?” before quieting quickly. Marroni’s body language told her this was not the big reveal. He cleared his throat.
“But there isn’t any body on the street,” he said, this time looking directly at her.
Sophie jerked, without breaking eye contact. “So he’s not dead, then?”
“Miss, we’re not sure what’s going on here.” Riggs said, standing up. “What we do know is that your grandmother called and reported a suicide, but there’s no body spla— there’s nothing on the street below, Miss.”
Sophie went to what had been a floor-to-ceiling window, just to the right of a presently locked door which opens onto a small terrace, both the only reasons to ever come or stay in that poor part of Brooklyn and now missing an armoire sized portion of glass. Even the metal window supports were bent back and broken apart in places. But there was no blood, or torn strips of Papa B’s clothing.
"There's no furniture missing from the apartment." Officer Riggs said, wiping glass particles from his knees.
"So what did this?" asked Sophie, calmly.
"We're not sure Miss. We' re not actually sure of anything,” said Marroni. “We know a hysterical old woman called us crying, 'My husband, my husband he's gone out the window! Please! I was away... please come!' Then we get here and find this," he said, trailing off.
“Hysterically?” Sophie echoed.
I know its somewhat evil to edit and run, especially when not asked to, but I saw potential and well...
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