We lost another good one this week, Elmore Leonard. As the tributes pour in across the world, several friends and readers have reminded me of the author’s Ten Rules. Leonard gave the Detroit Free Press permission to post his rules for writing on November 6, 2010.
So, out of respect for the rules and his work, here is my essay: Elmore Leonard didn’t write this.
The sunny, warm, day suddenly became wet, soggy, and damp from the downpour.Jack turned to Mary.
“There goes our plans for the picnic,” he regretfully muttered.
“Dang!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Y’all think the rain is gonna git into yonder cellar? I was fixin’ to hang the washin.” She questioned.
Mary was a tall, thin girl, with winsome blue eyes and long, flowing delicate hair that danced around her face and shoulders. She wore clothes from the department store, always a size too large, the elastic in her waist bands seemed too loose, and she struggled daily, keeping them on her hips, and not falling off.
(Note to reader, do not skip this part)
Their home sat at the bottom of Tempo Gulch, a lonely, desolate, abandoned place on the edge of the national forest. The gravel road stopped and turned to dirt about half a mile before you saw the house and the dilapidated, rusty, quirky, cobbled together ramshackle porch. The brick and stone that once held a majestic, lofty, impressive, tall and beautiful chimney, was now a nest to rats, mice, birds, possums, raccoons, and the occasional bear.
Yeah, we lost a good one.