Martin Langton

The beginning of The Barber.

“My name is Martin Luther Langton, also known as The Barber or Barber Langton. I am hereby writing this letter to Peter White, accepting the charges of murder of Bruce Goldsworthy.”

Hell… my life has been a disaster ever since- ever since that day. I live in New Port… I was removed from the post of a surgeon because of operating under the consumption of alcohol. I had wasted approximately half of my savings on drinking and going to clubs… with this money, I can survive a month, at least. The day that changed my life, it was May 3rd, 1995, I was coming out of the Chill Ferry Club and was walking out through the alleyway when I noticed a strange shadow. It was getting closer... and then when it came near enough for me to identify it, it was a man, he was shot 4 times around his chest. If he was alive I was certain that none of the bullets pierced through his heart. He came crawling to me and asked for help. He wanted me to take him to the hospital. I was a surgeon myself so I did not think that taking a shot man, who had a gun in one of his hands, to the hospital was a good idea.

“Just fix this okay, I’ll give you whatever money you need but just�"fix this! Take me to a hospital” said the man.

“I am a former surgeon so I can look into your wounds, and personally, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go hospital… I mean… you have a gun, right? I replied.

I took him to my car and settled him down in the back seat. He was moaning loudly and I was afraid if someone might notice. When I sat him down, he touched his wound openings and what I assumed was that he is feeling a  certainty that he's not gonna make it. I rushed through the road at my full speed so I could reach home sooner. On the way, the stranger asked me about my name.

“What�"aah! This is getting painful! What�"what is your name?” asked the man.

“It is Martin, Martin Langton.”

“Well, Martin… you sure are going to be happy about tonight.” He replied.

I took the stranger to my home, I was still feeling a little unsettled as I didn’t ask his name but I stopped myself from the curiosity, as the man had a gun. I did not want him to feel disrespected. I put the guy on my bed and went to my drawer searching for the equipment that I used in my practice. I was able to find a few, so I went in and operated on him. I took out the bullets, put on some disinfectants on the wounds, and stitched 2 of the holes as they were quite large. It was nothing special for me but it seemed to be surprising the guy. Although he was already out because of the chloroform.

As a person, I should not invade other people’s privacy but at that time, my curiosity got a hold of me. I checked the person’s pockets for some identification and I found his wallet, he had around 2000$ in it and a driver's license with his name, his name was Bruce Goldsworthy, the grandchild of Thomas Goldsworthy. He belonged to the most famous and dangerous mafia family. My hand started to shake as I had only heard rumors of mafia existing in New Port but now… seeing the only heir of the Goldsworthy family in front of me made me go nuts. I never expected such a heavy coincidence to happen! I went on searching and was couldn't find any other clue about his identity so I told myself to be satisfied with this.

The night passed, I slept on the couch and I did not know that it was the last time that I would be sleeping on something like this. Around 8 AM, not very early, Bruce woke up. I was sleeping around that time, he already knew that I went through his wallet but I do not know why he ignored it intentionally. He went ahead and came near me, I was still in a deep sleep but then he suddenly whispered in my ear, "Wake up!". I danced off the couch screaming!

"Sorry to scare you, Martin, my body still hurts so I just wanted you to give me a check." said Bruce.

"Okay.. umm.. okay sure." replied I.

I was still in awe as I could not believe my senses that a mafia just apologized to me, well, I went ahead and unwinded the bandages and it all seemed good. I pressed it very softly near the wound and he told me that it's hurting. I exactly knew what was the problem, painkillers.

"The wound is done, it'll heal soon. The problem is that you need a painkiller and unfortunately, I do not have any."

"Okay Martin, I think I will manage it from here." replied Bruce. "Come here, take this money, if you need more tell me, I will make it deliver here soon."

"No no no sir, no thanks. I don't think I will need it."

"You sure? By the way, why calling me sir? You know my name, don't you, Martin? You can call me Bruce. And the point about money, well looking at this place of yours I think you need this money more than anybody."

"No Bruce, it is totally fine, trust me."

"How can I repay you then? You saved my life! It is not something I could let pass! Okay so.. umm.. I know it will be kind of a heavy question but... would you like to join me? Join us?

"Join you? What do you mean? I don't understand, sorry Bruce."

"I want you to become a part of Goldsworthy Family."

Author's Note

Please point out my mistakes.

Reviews

[JayG]

Well, you did ask. But what I’m about to say isn’t about mistakes. It’s about a misunderstanding you share with pretty much all hopeful writers—with me when I turned to writing my campfire stories.

In our school years, we’re given a skill called writing. We used it every day during those school years, and then, in life. And since no one ever told us that there are many approaches to writing, depending on the mission and the medium, we naturally assumed that writing-is-writing, and that the term “writing” in the profession we call Fiction-Writing refers to that skill we practiced for so many years. But does it?

Look at the objective of the various kinds of writing: A report, essay, or letter has informing the reader clearly and concisely as its objective. To achieve that, its methodology is author-centric and fact-based. The narrator speaks directly to the reader, reporting and explaining. And since the reader can’t know how the author would read it, or hear them, the voice in their mind, as they read, is dispassionate. And if you think back, the vast majority of writing assignments in your school days was for that kind of writing.

Journalism requires that approach, in general, but also supplies an emotional component, to an extent. Writing for film, a visual medium, separates conversation from stage direction, and has its own unique methodology that must be mastered.

What of fiction? Is the reader seeking what amounts to the detailed history of a series of events in a fictional character’s life—a chronicle of events? Do that snd the story reads every bit as exciting as a history book. And have you heard a history book called, “a page turner?”

How about a transcription of a verbal storyteller’s performance—as you use here? Isn’t that a storyteller’s script minus the stage-directions? If the reader can’t view and hear the storyteller’s performance, and have only the emotion-free words that would be spoken, will they read it as the storyteller would? Can they guess at the emotion to place into a given line when they wouldn’t know what it says until AFTER they read it?

See the problem? Add to that, your teachers spent zero time discussing the elements that make up a scene on the page, the things that must be addressed quickly on opening a scene, or any of the techniques that the pros take for granted. In fact, they don’t mention that professional skills are acquired in ADDITION TO the skills we’re given in our school days, or that fiction-writing is a profession. And not once did the teachers mention that because the objective of fiction is to provide an emotional experience, they never mention that fiction's methodology is emotion-based and charaxcter-centric.

So like every other hopeful writer, not even suspecting that there’s a discrete body of knowledge and skills we need for fiction, you used what you know. And it works...when YOU read the piece, because you know the story, the characters, the backstory, and the situation, before you read the first line. And as you read the voice of the narrator is your voice, all filled with the emotion you EXPECT to be there.

BUT: Mothing I said above relates to your talent and potential as a writer, how well you write, or the story. It relates only to the techniques of the fiction writer. Add them to your existing skills and your words can take wings.

Is that easy? Of course not. You’ll be learning the skills of a profession that’s not all that easy to master. That takes time, study, and practice. But that’s true of any profession, so it’s expected. And if you’re meant to write, you’ll love the learning, especially the way it makes the protagonist your co-writer, whispering advice and warnings in your ear as you write.

The local library system’s fiction-writing section can be a huge asset, as can the Internet. But since so many library systems are not presently open, my suggestion is that you pick up a copy of Debra Dixon’s, GMC: Goal Motivation & Conflict, one of the best books on the basics of creating scenes that sing to the reader. For a kind of preview or overview of the subjects, you might check a few of the articles in my writing blog. They’re meant to orient the hopeful writer.

But whatever you decide to do, hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/