Kill Your Darlings Page #5

Why didn't you tell me?

What, am I supposed to do newsreels?

What's that?

Oh, nothing.

If you're going to stay,

don't hog the blanket.

Why is Jack a real writer?

Once you meet him,

you'll see what I mean.

- Hey, Al.

- No.

- Come on.

- No.

No.

Fumble.

- Jack, what was that?

- The damn cat.

She painted it. Say nothing.

- Hey, when did this come?

- Today.

It's from Sammy. Where is he now'?

I don't know. Some battleship.

What do you think?

It's brilliant, no?

It's missing some periods and commas.

It's better than anything

you've ever written.

- I use periods and commas.

- Both of you, quiet.

Kerouac. How are you, chum?

Sammy, you bastard.

Who's Sammy?

My best friend since I

was 12. Off in the Navy.

We've just been through

20 days of German shelling

every three hours, night and day.

This will be my last one for a while.

Tomorrow we're headed our to the

front, some beach near Rome. Anzio?

Go sit at the table.

It's supposed to be beautiful...

I didn't know we were having guests.

What's this?

I was aiming for stew.

Yeah? You missed.

Come on, guys.

- Where are you going?

- Out.

Out'? I have been

cooking all day for you.

What? What do you want?

Want me to eat shoe leather?

I'm hungry, and what you

do in the kitchen's unholy.

That's funny. You talk like a Catholic,

but you f*** me and won't marry me.

- How does that work?

- Shut your mouth, Edie.

I thought you liked it wide open.

Scram.

Allen.

So, Al. Thought my novel was sh*t?

- Not exactly. It's not what I

would choose... - it's all true.

Jack sewed in the merchant marines.

I left school twice already.

Columbia's full of squares.

Not even sure why I

bothered to come back.

Why don't you just ship out again?

Trust me, sometimes when I

fight with Edie, I want to.

Well, you two did just fight.

Carr, you're goddamn crazy.

"A new vision. " Yeah.

Sounds phoney.

Movements are cooked up by people who

can't write about the people who can.

I don't think he gets

what we're trying to do.

Listen to me.

This whole town's full of finks on

the 30th floor writing pure chintz.

Writers. A real writers

gotta be in the beds,

down in the trenches and

all the broken places.

Where were your trenches, Al?

- Allen.

- Right.

First thought, best thought.

F*** you. What does that even mean?

That's good. That's one. What else?

- F*** your one million words.

- Yes, even better.

You don't know me.

You're right.

Who is "you"?

"Be careful.

"You are not in Wonderland.

"I've heard the strange madness

long growing in your soul.

"But you are fortunate

in your ignorance,

"in your isolation.

"You who have suffered

"find where love hides.

"Give, share, lose,

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