Starting A Band (the novel I haven't written, yet)

Last year, I'm sure I've mentioned this before, I took part in nanowrimo.
I didn't finish. I blame this on eskom (although for that month the only blackout was in my head), sabc (for being such a brain drain) and social networking (for giving me too many virtual friends).
I should also blame it on the devil or the media in general, but that's so passe.


The novel I was writing (my third attempt anyway) was a satirical, dark comedy about two hustlers (nothing to do with hef) that thought it possible to start a band (as much as I thought it possible to write a 50 000 word novel in 30 days). Wishful (and demented) thinking.


Here is an excerpt from that incomplete novel (one day is one day, chaps).


STARTING A BAND



Fake nails and gold tooth sat back down between purple extensions and another girl, whom Lester assumed to be the leader of the pack. She was the loudest and kept demanding the attention of others, which she would get, by either tapping on their arms or raising her voice over whoever was talking at that point. She did this quite a few times and Lester could tell that all the other girls were sick of this tactic, but much like any hierarchy in place, they did not dare stop her nor complain about it. The loudmouth wasn’t the biggest in the pack. That was the fourth girl, but she wasn’t remarkably larger than any of the other girls. Lester had only noted her size because all the other girls either wore mini skirts or skinny jeans, but the fourth wore a bright floral dress over her jeans. This, Lester noted, was something that most girls who were unsure of themselves or their bodies usually wore.

Lester decided to act on his investment and approached the cackle, carrying no free drinks for them, but loaded with charm.

The barman watched him pull a chair closer to the table and seat himself between the purple extensions and the flowery frock. He watched as the group all turned to him, hesitantly at first, but were soon caught in guffaws of laughter and shoulder-stroking. Whatever it was that Lester was saying was working. About ten minutes later, having been offered a permanent seat at the table and Lester gracefully refusing, but obligingly accepting phone numbers, he arose and walked out of the bar. Pride unwounded and wallet untouched.

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Namaste