Something I realized about my writing, today, is that I meander a lot. It's just...I like chit-chat between characters, as if I'm listening in on a conversation in a restaurant or airport terminal. Things like this, when Dev is meeting with Mahjub about inserting nano-chips into lapel pins for security purposes --
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He held up the crossed flags pin and said, “Here, I’ve worked up a preliminary idea of how this might work, but it may entail something more intensive than just setting up the pins; it would need to be monitored. That may prove to be unfeasible...”
I let him chatter in a language called computer-speak that I didn’t even begin to understand, but he told me he’d send me a couple of links and PDFs to help explain his ideas. We kept this up for hours, ordering in lunch from a nearby falafel shop. By the time Tawfi appeared in the doorway, I was so loaded down with techno-info I felt like a cyborg.
“I thought I might find you here,” he murmured. “Is all going well?”
I’m sure my eyes were spinning when I looked at him and said, “I now know the secret of the universe. Number Nine.”
He chuckled. “And I thought it was Forty-two.” He shifted to Mahjub. “Burn a DVD of yesterday’s meeting and send it here.” He handed Mahjub a card; the logo on it was for Griff’s hotel. “There is disagreement on what was agreed to.”
“I put a link on your site, sir,” Mahjub said.
“Which I showed them, but they wish to study it. Send a copy to our attorneys, as well, on both sides of The Pond. This may prove interesting.”
“I’ll get it straight over.”
“Tomorrow will be plenty of time. They don’t depart until Saturday. And once they have it, I will not be surprised if another meeting is demanded...despite my insistence it is not necessary.”
Mahjub nodded. “Sometimes the recording process is very slow, sir. One has to make certain there are no glitches or missed moments. I may not be able to get the copy to them till early afternoon.”
Tawfi smiled. “What a pity. Has my father accessed the video?” Mahjub nodded. “Then tomorrow should be interesting. Are you finished with Mr. Pope?”
Mahjub looked at me, and I nodded. “One more detail and I’ll turn into C-3PO, but without the manners.”
“Consider yourself fortunate,” said Tawfi. “You have been schooled by a master. This young man is the future of our country, and her best defense against those who would abuse her. We are very proud of him.”
Mahjub stood straighter and blushed. “Thank you, sir.”
“Do you know where my brother is?”
Mahjub turned to his laptop, did three clicks of input and up sprang a map of London, with a red flashing dot on it. “At his gym, sir.”
Tawfi rolled his eyes. “Which means his wife will be at Harrod’s, and my nephews are with their nurse. Mahjub, you may wish to retire before they return. And warn Abdel, as well. Let their driver bring the packages in.”
The boy hid a smile. “As you wish.”
Tawfi turned to me. “If you’ll join me...” Then he led me away from Mahjub’s room.
“Buying spree, huh?” I asked as we reached the elevator.
“My beloved sister-in-law believes money is a tool meant to bring her happiness. I fear for us all if it ever runs out.”
“So you’re joining forces with The Faure Group. They don’t have a very good reputation in the States.”
“Is that so?”
The elevator door opened and we steeped inside.
“But you already know that.”
Tawfi cast me a sly look. “I do hope you will join me in my flat. After spending the day in discussions, I would rather dine in than out. The embassy has a cook who is quite good; he could work something up. Not high-end, but not eggs on toast, either.”
“Sounds great. Are we being served? Or do we greet the delivery guy at the door and tip him with a blowjob?”
“You are delightfully vulgar,” Tawfi chuckled. “My maid and butler are off, tonight. We shall have to serve ourselves.”
“Can I have dinner with you, tonight?”
“I can think of nothing that would please me more.”
Then he hit the button for the elevator to go up.
-------
He held up the crossed flags pin and said, “Here, I’ve worked up a preliminary idea of how this might work, but it may entail something more intensive than just setting up the pins; it would need to be monitored. That may prove to be unfeasible...”
I let him chatter in a language called computer-speak that I didn’t even begin to understand, but he told me he’d send me a couple of links and PDFs to help explain his ideas. We kept this up for hours, ordering in lunch from a nearby falafel shop. By the time Tawfi appeared in the doorway, I was so loaded down with techno-info I felt like a cyborg.
“I thought I might find you here,” he murmured. “Is all going well?”
I’m sure my eyes were spinning when I looked at him and said, “I now know the secret of the universe. Number Nine.”
He chuckled. “And I thought it was Forty-two.” He shifted to Mahjub. “Burn a DVD of yesterday’s meeting and send it here.” He handed Mahjub a card; the logo on it was for Griff’s hotel. “There is disagreement on what was agreed to.”
“I put a link on your site, sir,” Mahjub said.
“Which I showed them, but they wish to study it. Send a copy to our attorneys, as well, on both sides of The Pond. This may prove interesting.”
“I’ll get it straight over.”
“Tomorrow will be plenty of time. They don’t depart until Saturday. And once they have it, I will not be surprised if another meeting is demanded...despite my insistence it is not necessary.”
Mahjub nodded. “Sometimes the recording process is very slow, sir. One has to make certain there are no glitches or missed moments. I may not be able to get the copy to them till early afternoon.”
Tawfi smiled. “What a pity. Has my father accessed the video?” Mahjub nodded. “Then tomorrow should be interesting. Are you finished with Mr. Pope?”
Mahjub looked at me, and I nodded. “One more detail and I’ll turn into C-3PO, but without the manners.”
“Consider yourself fortunate,” said Tawfi. “You have been schooled by a master. This young man is the future of our country, and her best defense against those who would abuse her. We are very proud of him.”
Mahjub stood straighter and blushed. “Thank you, sir.”
“Do you know where my brother is?”
Mahjub turned to his laptop, did three clicks of input and up sprang a map of London, with a red flashing dot on it. “At his gym, sir.”
Tawfi rolled his eyes. “Which means his wife will be at Harrod’s, and my nephews are with their nurse. Mahjub, you may wish to retire before they return. And warn Abdel, as well. Let their driver bring the packages in.”
The boy hid a smile. “As you wish.”
Tawfi turned to me. “If you’ll join me...” Then he led me away from Mahjub’s room.
“Buying spree, huh?” I asked as we reached the elevator.
“My beloved sister-in-law believes money is a tool meant to bring her happiness. I fear for us all if it ever runs out.”
“So you’re joining forces with The Faure Group. They don’t have a very good reputation in the States.”
“Is that so?”
The elevator door opened and we steeped inside.
“But you already know that.”
Tawfi cast me a sly look. “I do hope you will join me in my flat. After spending the day in discussions, I would rather dine in than out. The embassy has a cook who is quite good; he could work something up. Not high-end, but not eggs on toast, either.”
“Sounds great. Are we being served? Or do we greet the delivery guy at the door and tip him with a blowjob?”
“You are delightfully vulgar,” Tawfi chuckled. “My maid and butler are off, tonight. We shall have to serve ourselves.”
“Can I have dinner with you, tonight?”
“I can think of nothing that would please me more.”
Then he hit the button for the elevator to go up.
-----------
The reason I call this meandering is, I've been reading Agatha Christie's Cards on the Table and it has a long section where Poirot and 7 other characters are playing bridge during a party while their host dozes in a chair before a fireplace...and it goes on and on about who passes, who bids, who's got spades and who's got clubs...and it bored me. I skimmed it.
Even after it turns out the host was murdered during the card game by one of the participants, it still has long bits of information handed out that troubled me...like who kept score, who was the dummy (are those the same person?). It might be her dry style of writing, I'm not sure, but I don't want people reading my books to get bored.
So I need to minimize the meandering...
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