While pushing through the poetry segment of Literature 302 at University, I acquired a fascination with expressing as many ideas as possible in every sentence. I wouldn’t say I’m an expert at it, but it’s been noticed by readers who occasionally mention that my prose is one of either, (a) wall-to-wall with nuance and meaning or, (b) hard to understand.
My wife Linda checks box (b) a lot more often than box (a). She might even say that box (a) is off the table entirely. This one time, I asked if I was guilty of expository insufficiency. She said, “There. That’s another thing you do that makes me not want to read your books.”
Consider the following passage, crafted today. Which box would you check?
N-Space, En Route to Jivada
The cargo boat didn’t have passenger seating. Lieutenant Marie Jourdaine sat at the flight engineer’s console, unoccupied because the vessel wasn’t carrying passengers, locked out for everyone’s safety, including that of the passenger.
The boat’s name was Sthiti Osadhi. Sanskrit: ‘Remedy for Inertia.’ Kristin, the casually flamboyant Anye Iravat crewmember, was second chair.
Jeff the pilot was her husband; human, a lumberjack type with a flowing red beard. They were owner/operators with two other couples, successors to a three-family, multiple-generation experiment in capital asset investment.
Kristin said, “My parents offered me their shares on contract, and this ape-man came into my life. Now we have two kids.”
Marie dragged fingers through her hair. “In recent days, all I can think about is destiny.”
Ninety minutes, eighty-four light years, and many words later, her hosts flew their spaceboat to a SagGha Temple near Badari’s north coast, where a guest room waited. They exchanged hugs on a rain-drenched lane outside the compound. Kristin gave Marie her phone number.
Jeff the pilot said, “I always thought seizing the moment was the opposite of being in charge. I’m pretty sure that was a mistake.”
Image by 愚木混株 Cdd20 from Pixabay
John Dyer Writes 
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