THE TWENTY-SEVENTH PAGE

Oh, boy howdy! Technicolor it all over the place. Give it the lips we haven’t seen since the time of Susan Hayward or Lana Turner. Shoes so shiny you can look down and see your face in them.

Color so bright you can almost hear it.

Music of the moment and the swoops of the classics.

Sound, yes, but with explosions so loud they can break eardrums.

Action going so fast the viewers eyes will pop out and roll around on the floor.

It’s not going to be a book for casual grazing.

The reader must move into it.

Live it. And maybe die?

Oh shit, I was writing a movie script. No, no, no, man, go back to your roots in literature.