A post on a writer-related Facebook page about "She
started to cry" versus the more efficient "She cried" made me
curious about my "cry" scenes. And made me realize that it isn't
the crying that is so important to the reader, it is the reaction to the
crying.
From The Notebook
She slipped, fell backwards, and I was there to grab her
shoulders and steady her. She twisted her head to look at me. Tears were in her
eyes. I think a man who fails to kiss a woman when a woman wants to be
kissed–needs to be kissed–is condemned to hell. A man who cannot recognize when
a woman wants to be kissed lives in hell.
From Crazy About You
“I never knew it was possible to be that afraid. I know now
how being that afraid could make a person snap. It really is possible to have
something happen to you that is more than you can endure. I was close. I mean,
I was right at the edge.”
She knew enough just to put a hand on my shoulder. She knew
enough to just let me cry.
She was a damn good nurse.
...
"Just yesterday morning, they let me know you were
gone,
"Suzanne the plans they made put an end to you..."
I had to pull the car over the side of the rode while I
bawled like a baby. My date kept asking me what was wrong, but I just turned up
the volume on the radio and increased the flow of my tears. When the song ended
and my tears finally stopped, I turned off the radio and explained to my date
why I was crying. Explained about Suzanne and Gladys and my sister and my
mother and Dad and Gwen and Mrs. Bryson and Phil and Alex Krout.
When I finished she looked at me and said, “Why don’t you
take me home now and come up for a drink?”
Male tears are an aphrodisiac to some women. At least they
were to the woman who became my wife.
We named our daughter Suzanne
http://www.amazon.com/Crazy-About-You-Randy-Attwood-ebook/dp/B005DC623E/ref=sr_1_3_title_0_main?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1392687323&sr=1-3&keywords=Randy+Attwood
From One More Victim
I hadn't thought of Mrs. Schmidt as a person before. She was
just an old lady who dumped into the trash things that were highly interesting
to me and often still useful.
I remember looking at Kathy and seeing her cry. What I was
feeling was a strange anger. Upstairs we could hear the women laughing as they
passed around plastic containers designed to hold all sorts of leftovers, while
down in the basement we had uncovered a horrible truth about a woman who lived
just doors away. I experienced the helplessness that the absurdity of life too
often presents us.
"It isn't right," Kathy was saying. "It isn't
right to lose all your sons in a war."
All I could do was dumbly nod my head.
...
The night before she was to leave she went to the bathroom
before coming to bed with me. When she came back she had cut her hair.
"Leaving this look behind, too," she told me.
"Oh, fuck, don't cry."
I couldn't help it. I was losing my life and I didn't know
what else to do.
http://www.amazon.com/One-More-Victim-ebook/dp/B006J0C6T8/ref=sr_1_10?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1323313928&sr=1-10
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