A Memorable Memorial--Part 2

For every person you invite to a Mormon party, three show up.  So it was with our Memorial Day barbecue—which I barely managed be on time for.  (People showed up as I was showering after my hike.)  We had about three times as many people show as we expected.  Fortunately, they all brought food so we had plenty to eat.

We have a great roof—nice and roomy, view of the Empire State and Chrysler buildings.  The weather was perfect.  I was purporting much manliness, causing big flames, using Viking-esque utensils to flip burgers and dogs.  That is, till some guests showed up we didn’t expect.

As I manned the grill, someone rapped me on the shoulder, and said, “Russell Russell Russell!”

I turned and looked at him.  “What!”

Behind him stood two firemen—dressed in full uniform.  Oh crap!

“Is there a problem, officer?” I said.  Are firemen officers?

The one looked around, looked at me, pointed to the grill and said, “You have to shut this down.  Now.”

“What?  Why?” I said.

“We got a call the building was on fire.”

“But it’s not.”

“Normally I wouldn’t care,” he said.  “But we got the call, so we had to respond.”

My eyes widened.  “You got a call?  Did you bring a truck?”

The fireman/officer stepped forward.  “Son, we brought three trucks.”

I dropped my Viking-cleaver-spatula and ran to the front of the building, looked down on the street and counted one, two, three fire trucks—lights flashing, sirens blaring, firemen meandering about.  Traffic was blocked on the entire street.  Double crap!

“You have to shut this down,” the fireman said upon my return, “and we have to take your propane tank.  It’s illegal to have it in the city—especially in buildings.”

We tried to bribe them with food.  Nothing.  John tried to talk them down with episodes of Mythbusters.  Niente.  They said we could keep the grill but not the tank.

“The grill’s no good without the tank,” I said.

He scratched his head.  “Yeah, sorry about that.”  But he wasn’t budging.

In the end, they gave me a warning (instead of a citation), took our tank and we were left to broil the rest of our food in our oven downstairs.  People still hung around and we decided our barbecue was (1) the suck because the fire department shut us down or (2) freakin’ awesome because they brought three fire trucks to shut us down!  Either way, it was a Memorial Day that will not be forgotten quickly.

So, back to my original thought—sometimes your stories are too big for one book.  Not always, but sometimes.  You can cut them down but then you lose meaning.  You can condense the pacing but then you lose depth.  Instead, embrace the story for what it is and don’t be afraid to write a sequel.  A trilogy.  Whatever it takes.  Imagine the Star Wars trilogy crammed into one movie—way too much in too little space.  Your story is important—give it the importance it needs.

  

PS—The firemen never said anything about grilling with charcoal....