by R. C. Sparks
(Los Angeles )
I see the mystery forming, the details of hidden plight. The confusion that makes up a good novel. How twists and turns shake up the the mundane, and cause the easily entertained such joy. I myself, hate the scene. I hate the drama, and chaos. I gnash my teeth at the first sight of theatrical wonderment. All the exaggerated expressions of sad lost love, or mothers who's sons went off to war. I went off to war. Was there a film made in the honor of my mother's tears? Nor should there ever be. She made no epic scene about it! You close the door and cry to yourself. Let the tears fall on your own feet. Not on the stage for a grand audience to cheer. Heart broken lovers should be damned to Hell! Why should they get a Broadway engagement? Whose heart deserves the curtain? I hate the exploits of romance and the loss it inevitably guarantees. Oh that the world were a stage, I would throw tomatoes!