The Motive Page #2

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and that made him feel insecure.

But James knew that he had

to achieve what he'd set out to do,

and that sooner or later he would.

His and Rose's future depended on it,

so he decided to put on his coat

and go outside.

- He walked out...

- Yes, OK. That's enough.

I haven't finished yet.

How long have you been coming

to this class for?

- Three years.

- Three years.

It's not your fault, but mine.

The fault is all mine,

'cause I can't explain things properly.

I should try talking in English.

How many times have I told you

about using English names?

That's absurd!

James, Murphy, Callaghan...

Who the hell's called Callaghan

in Seville?

- I was trying to...

- Trying to what? Be like Philip Roth?

You're not Philip Roth, for God's sake!

Nobody's asking you to be Philip Roth.

What was it that Craig said

the other day in the master class?

You were there, weren't you?

The important thing

is to know what you're writing about,

and what your main character wants.

Now I'm asking you in front of this class,

what are you trying to tell us?

What's the point of that story?

That what you've written is, like always,

hollow, fake, pretentious, flowery.

I could use a long list

of bywords for vacuity,

just to express the nonsense

of what you've written.

Who the hell is this James?

And Rose?

What the hell is up with them?

Because it has no soul.

Because you don't know

what the hell you're talking about!

You don't know

what the hell you're talking about.

The reality is out there.

I've told you all a thousand times,

roll your sleeves up,

and get out there, and look for stories.

Is it really so complicated?

The thing is I get writer's block,

and the books that inspire me are...

But you shouldn't be getting

your inspiration from other books.

Books are written to be read.

To get inspired, all you have

to do is live, damn it, live!

Observe, listen.

Have you ever tried that?

And if you get blocked,

do what Hemingway did,

write in the nude

with your balls on the table.

I'm telling you this

for your own good, lvaro.

You're going backwards, not forwards!

I don't know.

You've been coming here for so long,

but you still don't get it.

Just focus on something

that has a glimmer of truth in it.

In this three years you have never

shown me not even a truthful sentence.

Anything... I don't know...

Write about how you like

your steak cooked,

or the last handjob

your wife gave to you,

or how you stick your finger up the ass,

or how you hate me!

But write about something real,

something that has

an element of truth to it.

I'm sorry, mate, but...

if I don't get it off my chest,

I'm going to explode!

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