Chapter 2

The MultiPerson Information Monologue.

What's a multi-person monologue? Its when two people have a conversation that is insanely inane, utterly unrealistic, and pointlessly pedantic, for the purpose of informing readers of the plot. This monologue often sounds sort of like a scripted pair of sports casters. Except twice as inane.

Example:

Bob says, "Joe, do you remember Derek Jeter?"

Joe responds, "Of course, Bob, I remember Derek Jeter."

"He's a baseball player, of course," Bob explains.

"Right, Bob, not only is he a baseball player, but he is a baseball player that plays for the New York Yankees."

"Yes, Joe, he is in fact one of the best players in baseball."

"In fact, Bob, he has been one of the best players in baseball since he joined the Yankees in the year XXXX!"

"Yes, Joe, and with his batting average of Y, he really impresses people."

"Of course, Bob, and we can't forget his ZZZ career home runs."

"Or the almost record number of blahblahblah he racked up in yadayada, Joe."

"That's why he was paid so much money in his latest contract, Bob, I forget the number, but it was a lot."

"It was forty-two gadrillion dollars, Joe."

Bored yet? I got bored writing it, even as I was laughing at it. There are several points to this. First of all, I know absolutely nothing about baseball, whatsoever. But I know Derek Jeter. Not only would I assume that everyone who lives within the greater New York Metropolitan Area knows who he is, I'd assume practically anyone in the US that knows enough to know Baseball is a national pastime knows who he is.

Therefore me creating a quarter of a page of dialogue to discuss him and build him up is utterly pointless. Using two people, both baseball fans, apparently, to discuss them is ridiculous. That's like having two Mustang fans going around talking about the fact that Mustangs have two doors, are powerful, fast, sporty, and use four wheels with- amazingly- rubber tires.

People who know a lot about a given subject, when talking to a similarly knowledgable comrade, don't talk about the basic tenets of the subject. You sound just like Daniel Quayle. You might argue, for instance, that Babe Ruth was a better player then Derek Jeter, or vice versa. But you don't blab on and on about a subject everyone listening to you already knows.

That level of this crime is one of the first things you should learn not to do. Oh, and by the way? This is a much better way to shove the above data down someones throat:

Joe and Bob sat around discussing the background of Derek Jeter, one of the New York Yankees, and baseball's, best players. Having held that status practically since he joined the team in XXXX, he has racked up ZZZ runs over his illustrious career, maintaining a batting average of Y. With these stellar numbers, his vast salary of Forty Two Gadrillion dollars seems almost reasonable.

But the truth is, this problem doesn't just occur in such inane areas as that. It takes place in areas where the author imparting information is actually useful. Lets pretend I am writing a semi-accurate description of my wife and I getting up in the morning, as such:

"Hey, Odes," I say to my wife of 8 years, "I just got out of bed a few moments ago. I sure drank a lot last night, and I've got a hell of a hangover. Thats why I'm holding my head, because it hurts so much. You know I'm a real grouch in the morning."

"I know, you really did drink a lot last night. You sure like drinking that Seagram's Extra Dry Gin, don't you?" she replied, "Well, I'm glad you walked down the stairs like that."

"Well, I am going to go lay down on the couch, my hangover is quite impressive," I tell her, "As for breakfast, which I do want to eat, I'd like to have a three-egg cheese omelet, four strips of bacon, some breakfast potatoes, and toast with marmalade."

"What kind of cheese do you want on your omelet?" she asks me.

"Oh, on my omelet I want to have swiss cheese," I let her know.

"How do you want your bacon cooked, dear?" she asks me.

"I prefer my bacon to be cooked medium, honey," I reply.

"What kind of toast do you want?" she asks.

"Oh, I really prefer white toast," I inform her.

"Do you want coffee with your breakfast?"

"Yes, I would certainly want coffee with my breakfast," I let her know.

"How strong do you like your coffee?" she asks me.

"Strong enough to grow hair on your chest, dear," I reply.

"And how do you take it?"

"I like having my coffee black," I let her know.

"Are you going to go lay down on the coach?"

"I am sitting down on the couch as we speak, darlin'."

"Mornings are always exactly the same, sweetie, aren't they?"

"They certainly are, Odie."

What's wrong with this?

First, I've been married to my wife for eight years. I might be a bit ashamed of it, but I am a drinker. It takes me about a week go through a couple of liters of gin. I pour myself a fairly large drink every night, and always go to sleep somewhat sussed. I, without fail, wake up with varying degrees of hangover. Between my wife, and I presume most wives of people who drink as much as I do, this is a fairly contentious subject. We avoid talking about it. I'd assume most couples in that situation that have been happily married for a while don't talk about it much, or they'd probably fight a lot.

Second, does your wife ever cheerfully point out how much you have drank of what particular brand of a specific type of liquor? I didn't think so.