As I work on Part II of my 5-part rant on myths about chick lit, an idea came to me. I hope all of you who read this blog will participate in an experiment. Below I have excerpted four passages from four books by four different authors. To keep some similarity between them, I used the same topic -- fistfights, LOL!
Anyway, please post your guesses as to who you think wrote each passage. Feel free to comment why. Now if you absolutely know, without a doubt who an author is (say, because you JUST finished the book last week), please don't give it away to others just yet. Just say that you are 100 per cent sure who the author is.
Please pass the word of this experiment on to others who love to read books and debate literary issues and encourage them to participate.
1. This next part I don't remember so hot. All I know is that I got up from the bed, like I was going down to the can or something, and then I tried to sock him, with all my might, right smack in the toothbrush, so it would split his goddamn throat open. Only, I missed. I didn't connect. All I did was sort of get him on the side of the head or something. It probably hurt him a little bit, but not as much as I wanted. It probably would've hurt him a lot, but I did with my right hand, and I can't make a good fist with that hand. On account of that injury I told you about.
2. I never thought _____ would hit me first, but I should have known better. Most girls would talk mad shit and even get in your face but would never through the first punch. _____ was not one of those sisters, so she rang my head with solid cross to my jaw. So it was on with _____ and me rolling around on the floor, scratching, pulling, and cursing, you name it. I quickly go the upper hand. Her girls tried to jump in, but _____ started cursing and swinging at them as if they were my crew. Mind your fuckin' business, she yelled. I can kick her ass by my damn self. Then she flung herself at me like a wrestler off the ropes.
3. Big Mouth got up as fast as he could, and I was thinking how much heart he had. But I ran toward him like my life depended on it; I wanted to cool him. Too late, I saw his hand grab a fistful of ground asphalt which had been piled nearby to fix a pothole in the street. I tried to duck; I should have closed my eyes instead. The shitty-gritty stuff hit my face, and I felt the scrappy pain make itself a part of my eyes. I screamed and grabbed for two eyes with one hand, while the other I beat some kind of helpless tune on air that just couldn't be hurt.
4. We got it on, I was kicking him on the ground when my boys arrived on bikes – my blood was up; I said, I'll take any of you motherfuckers. No, motherfucker, we gonna kill yo' ass, and they started pulling ______. So like I quit the scene, they chased me all the eway to 110th Street. That was the last chase on me like that. I always carried a piece from then on. I wasn't about to take no shit. You step up, I'm gonna knock you down.