Kill Your Darlings Page #4

Dimly lit, I'm sure. What

have you done to my apartment?

Don't touch anything. We

need to write it all down.

Grab a pair of scissors. Get

this man a pair of scissors.

This is not your

revolution. This is my life.

What kind of life is it, David?

It's mine.

Not everyone gets an allowance.

Leave.

Just get out.

I need to speak with you.

Alone.

It only has to be five pages.

You make me too smart, they're

gonna suspect somethings up.

And get you sent back

to your mother again?

That would just be the end of you.

F*** you.

Kill your darlings,

your crushes, your juvenile metaphysics.

None of them belong on the page.

It is the first principle

of good creative work,

a work of fiction you will

deliver as your final exam.

Look.

Whitman Junior graced us

with his presence today.

"The New Vision.

"Extraordinary men propel us forward.

"It is our duty to break the law. "

Fantastic.

There's more life in those five pages

than in the dozens of bad

sonnets we've read in this class.

You want life?

You want the world on fire?

The war awaits.

What will it be?

"The rose that scents the summer air

"grows from my beloveds hair. "

Keep going. That's

my sonnet for Steeves.

We have the map.

We have the manifesto.

We need the work.

I was wrong.

Maybe you're not up for this after all.

- Show me your f***ing map.

- Stop.

No, there's nothing here because

Davids not hereto write it for you.

- It's complicated.

- I love complicated.

He is a professor working as a janitor

so he can be near his precious Lu-Lu.

He is a goddamn fruit

who won't let me go.

A fruit?

A queer.

Then...

You know, let's get rid of him.

Right now' I just need you to

write us something beautiful.

First thought, best thought.

Allen in Wonderland.

Pervitin.

The Germans called it

the "Wunderdroge. "

Prescribed for superhuman feats.

But beware of the side effects

which include sudden bouts of blindness,

diarrhea, heart palpitations

and a severe decline in moral standards.

Unbloomed stalwart.

Come out and play.

What the hell are you doing?

Writing.

But the words...

Oh, the words.

Yeah.

Lu, it's very rough.

The vision at last.

Can I see'?

- Where's Lu?

- He's out.

With a senior football player.

A writer.

And handsome, too.

James?

Jack. There it is.

Jack.

You're not allowed to be here.

That's odd since I'm the

only thing keeping him here.

Not any more.

Piece of advice.

You don't know Lu.

As soon as you think you

do, he'll find someone else.

Maybe he already has.

What, are you moving in?

Where have you been?

I found a real writer.

Already a million words under

his belt before Columbia.

You mean Jack?

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