I’m in the process of telling a story about a man with a personality defect. I have thought long and hard about how to present that defect to my readers. Do I let my readers know at the very start of the story this man’s personality defect makes him evil or do I reveal that defect bit by bit through the story? I have written an opening that clearly shows how evil he is. The problem is the scene may turn off the reader and they put the story down not reading it. I say that because I remember when I first read The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy. The story starts with the main character selling his wife. I didn’t want to read that novel after that opening, but it had been assigned for me to read. I am afraid that might happen with the opening I have written. On the other hand, I have read stories where at the very end you understand how horrible the main character is. I feel cheated when that happens. It’s a matter of honesty with my readers.
What do I do? I am going to paste a section of the opening below. I have a simple question for you after you read it. Would you continue to read the story? Warning! This piece of writing is not for children.
“Make sure to get those new ads in the paper today,” Mr. Bast said.
The door to the office opened, interrupting the conversation. A man in his 20s casually dressed asked, “Is this the Bast office?”
Mr. Bast said, “It’s pronounced Best. How can we help you?”
“I had stopped for breakfast at the diner down the street, and the waitress told me that you had places to rent. I’ll be starting a new job here shortly and need a place to live.”
“ I didn’t catch your name,” Mr. Bast said.
“Sorry, I’m Sam Green. You must be Mr. Best?” Sam said.
“That’s correct. My daughter can help you,” Mr. Bast said, pointing. “I have an appointment I must keep. I’ll leave you to her.” He stepped around Sam and went out the door to his car. He drove to a small apartment building he owned and entered an apartment. A woman sat waiting for him.
“Mr. Best, it’s good to see you,” Ms. Larson said.
“Cut the BS. Did you get the condoms as I told you?” Mr. Bast asked.
“Yes.” Ms. Larson reached into her purse, producing a box.
“I’m glad to see that you get can that least that right. Get one ready,” Mr. Bast said, unzipping his pants. “I’ve got an important appointment, so I’ll do a quickie,” Mr. Bast ordered.
It was clear Ms. Larson knew what to do. She stood up and asked, “Do you want me to get on the table and lie down or just bend over by the couch?”
“The couch will do.”
Ms. Larson complied.
It wasn’t long before Mr. Bast said, “It’s a good thing we use lubricated condoms. You are so damn tight that I don’t think I get in otherwise. It’s also the reason I keep fucking you.”
When it was over, Ms. Larson produced a small pack of baby wipes from her purse and handed one to Mr. Bast. As Mr. Bast took the baby wipe and deposited the used condom in the trash, he noticed that Ms. Larson was crying. He asked, “Why the tears?”
“I don’t like doing this. It makes me feel dirty,” Ms. Larson said.
“You shouldn’t. You and your mother get a free apartment for doing this once a month. Hell, it cost me $800 every time. It doesn’t cost you anything. How long was it today? Five minutes maybe? Your mother doesn’t know, so what’s the problem? I even use a condom, so I don’t catch anything from you. I think you got a good deal going,” Mr. Bast said. Zipping up his pants, he said, “Call me next month when the rent is due. I want to get this apartment rented, so we might have to do it elsewhere.” Mr. Bast turned and left the apartment, thinking, “I can’t rent this damned apartment until I get a stove that works.”
