Through the bright pink drawn shades of his eye lids Larry could tell that the afternoon sun had begun to finger its way through the heavy yellowed curtains of his room; the hot rays resting heavily across his abdomen, inflated from years of grease and alcohol. He resists cracking his eyes open just yet, choosing instead to remain in the semi-conscience state between wakefulness and sleep, putting off the inevitable protest his body carried out every morning. He knew that once he moved, his muscles would baulk and his stiff joints would object. His lungs are thick with tobacco paste and Larry will have to dislodge it with a series of deep hacks and coughs. With each propulsion from his lungs would come a hammered blow to his already aching head.
Larry decided to move forward toward the day as he came to realize the strong pressure alreadybulging against the silky seams of his bladder. Mustering his strength, he sucked up a deep breath of humid air and heaved hard with his left shoulder and rolled out of his gamey bed. Larry let out the growl the other residents of the hotel had come to anticipate daily and headed toward the shared bathroom at the end of the hall.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Story ideas, week 2
My first idea would be to continue the story I began about the policeman from exercise 54. My main character is the policeman, Wayne. The conflict would have to do with the struggle Wayne has with guilt over the death of his mother and the loss of his girlfriend as well as his divorce... which he can't really get over. Feelings of inadequacy. After the end of his relationship with JoAnne he will call his ex-wife. He wants to reconnect with her due to hes fear of ending up like his mother, alone. The resolution could be he gets back with JoAnne but first he may reconnect with his ex which will lead to Wayne discovering his flaws and how they are so similar to his mother's. Epiphany!
Second story idea. a man in his 50's lives in a hotel for men called the Cleveland. He's poor, has stuggled with addiction in the past and has thrown in the towel essentially. The conflict arises when his only child, a daughter enters into his life again... needing help. She is divorced and has a young son. She is lonely and asks the main character to live with them. Make a go of it together. The main character now faces the conflict of living in this comfort of little responsibiltiy or to get his life back together for the sake of this daughter he barely knows and the grandson he wishes to know better. Perhaps the daughter has a secret... that she is dying and is looking for a person to leave her son with. Maybe they move in together and deal with the stuggles that brings. I'm not sure.
Second story idea. a man in his 50's lives in a hotel for men called the Cleveland. He's poor, has stuggled with addiction in the past and has thrown in the towel essentially. The conflict arises when his only child, a daughter enters into his life again... needing help. She is divorced and has a young son. She is lonely and asks the main character to live with them. Make a go of it together. The main character now faces the conflict of living in this comfort of little responsibiltiy or to get his life back together for the sake of this daughter he barely knows and the grandson he wishes to know better. Perhaps the daughter has a secret... that she is dying and is looking for a person to leave her son with. Maybe they move in together and deal with the stuggles that brings. I'm not sure.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Week 2
I chose to do exercise 54 mainly because the others called for stories I had on file and I just simply don't have any stories tucked away right now. I began the skeleton exercise and worked a little with an idea of a man needing a drink, but decided to flip over to From Situation to Plot and settled in nicely there.
I decided to work with the policeman with ten cats and was surprised at how quickly my policeman "Wayne" began to develop.
Wayne's mother died six months ago. She had a heart attack and lay with her face in a bowl of Rice Krispies for 4 days before the mail lady became suspicious enough to make a call. The officers on the scene not only found Wayne's mother Vera, but Vera's hoard of newspapers, piles of rotten food decaying in the kitchen and living room and enough cat shit that as Captain Matthers remarked "could pave a highway from here to Greenville."
Wayne got the call from the Fulton P.D. which was about 20 west of Wayne's town of Wemptuckaa Alabama. He knew one of the sergeants from the late season bowling league he was on 3 years before. He quit the leagues after one of the guys made smart remarks about his then girlfriend JoAnn. "Geez Wayne, your lady there sure can shine those balls up real nice can't she? Would she show me her rack if I asked here?" Wayne would sit quietly hoping the conversation would turn to something else and before long it usually would.
Wayne had met her there. JoAnne worked at the Fine Time Bowling Alley serving watered down drinks and making change for the cigarette machine. It had gotten serious enough Wayne to ask JoAnne to move out of her mother's trailer and into Wayne's ranch on the east side of town.
He knew that she was not the kind of girl his mother would approve of, but JoAnne filled the house will laughter and he welcomed the sex. JoAnne was uninhibited, and though he felt guilty about it, Wayne couldn't help but tell the guys at work about what a wildcat she was in the sack. After being alone for 13 years after his divorce for his wife Janet it was a guilty pleasure he had found hard to resist.
It was after those sessions that JoAnne would invariably ask Wayne the same question. "When are we going to settle down and get married Wayne?" She had a whine in her voice when she posed this question that Wayne found irritating.
I can see how with tension and conflict my story could continue to move forward and develop.
Character/Situation
A single mother who lost her job.
A doctor realizing he has Alzheimer's
A child witnessing abuse.
A traveler lost.
A couple looking for a new home.
A drunk pilot.
A woman who's only sibling died of a drug overdose.
I decided to work with the policeman with ten cats and was surprised at how quickly my policeman "Wayne" began to develop.
Wayne's mother died six months ago. She had a heart attack and lay with her face in a bowl of Rice Krispies for 4 days before the mail lady became suspicious enough to make a call. The officers on the scene not only found Wayne's mother Vera, but Vera's hoard of newspapers, piles of rotten food decaying in the kitchen and living room and enough cat shit that as Captain Matthers remarked "could pave a highway from here to Greenville."
Wayne got the call from the Fulton P.D. which was about 20 west of Wayne's town of Wemptuckaa Alabama. He knew one of the sergeants from the late season bowling league he was on 3 years before. He quit the leagues after one of the guys made smart remarks about his then girlfriend JoAnn. "Geez Wayne, your lady there sure can shine those balls up real nice can't she? Would she show me her rack if I asked here?" Wayne would sit quietly hoping the conversation would turn to something else and before long it usually would.
Wayne had met her there. JoAnne worked at the Fine Time Bowling Alley serving watered down drinks and making change for the cigarette machine. It had gotten serious enough Wayne to ask JoAnne to move out of her mother's trailer and into Wayne's ranch on the east side of town.
He knew that she was not the kind of girl his mother would approve of, but JoAnne filled the house will laughter and he welcomed the sex. JoAnne was uninhibited, and though he felt guilty about it, Wayne couldn't help but tell the guys at work about what a wildcat she was in the sack. After being alone for 13 years after his divorce for his wife Janet it was a guilty pleasure he had found hard to resist.
It was after those sessions that JoAnne would invariably ask Wayne the same question. "When are we going to settle down and get married Wayne?" She had a whine in her voice when she posed this question that Wayne found irritating.
I can see how with tension and conflict my story could continue to move forward and develop.
Character/Situation
A single mother who lost her job.
A doctor realizing he has Alzheimer's
A child witnessing abuse.
A traveler lost.
A couple looking for a new home.
A drunk pilot.
A woman who's only sibling died of a drug overdose.
What have I taken from the exercise?
I really enjoyed that I took a very real person and began to craft a character out of her. This person I haven't seen in over thirty years suddenly become very real and personal to me. I like that I could add layer upon layer to the character through props. It was as if she was there ready for me to build a story around her.
Supplying Props
Bridgette's refrigerator is crammed with Pom juice, bottled water, white wine and organic produce for the children. Her closet is large with rows of neatly hung designer clothes that are too young for her. Plunging necklines and gaudy prints. She has many shoes. She won't throw any away even though many are nicked and worn. Her medicine closet houses prescriptions for anti-anxiety medications and Strivectin cream. Her over sized SUV has Starbucks stains, gum wrappers and many small items like change and lip sticks that have dumped out of her bag the numerous times that she has hit the brakes hard because she was on the blackberry she doesn't really need that she has glued a cherry rhinestone applique onto.
Week 1, People from the Past: Characters of the Future
Her name was Bridgette. A glamorous name among the ordinary Julies and Lisas of our kindergarten class. Bridgette had pierced ears. No one our age, in our vanilla school had pierced ears in 1975. She wore gold hoops; which made her even more exotic as they lay against the thick dark brown hair always tucked behind her ears or swept up off of her neck.
A troubled boy named Tom who came from a broken home threw an orange plastic chair across the cheerful room one day in a rage The metal foot of the chair caught the gold hoop in Bridgette's ear and dragged down the thin wire completely through the soft flesh of her earlobe. The rest of us were caught frozen in that moment as the blood and tears began to flow from Bridgette's head.
Bridgette had called my mother a cow during recess one warm school day. It was the first time someone had brazenly pulled the good name of someone I loved down to an ugly place reserved for childhood squabbles. I immediately told an aide. Bridgette, through squinted eyes aimed at me, told the aide that it was I that had actually called her mother a sow. A lie. I stood, mouth gaping. A solid punch to my gut. It must have been the first blatant false accusation ever made about me, as I recall the moment so well. I can still see the other children hungrily taking in the scene with lusty appetites leaning in close to catch the next blow. I can still feel the warm breezes that swept across the playground's ball field depositing gritty sand between my teeth and the heavy tears that welled up and dropped over my flushed cheeks .
Bridgette was gone the following year. I never thought to wonder where or why. I imagine that she is married with a couple of children. Perhaps she married a successful business man with little time for family. She may spend her days in wealthy suburbia scheduling pedis at the upscale mall and hauling around the latest Dior or Louis Vitton looking forward to cocktails with the girls to show it off. I wonder if her earlobe still bears the scar.
A troubled boy named Tom who came from a broken home threw an orange plastic chair across the cheerful room one day in a rage The metal foot of the chair caught the gold hoop in Bridgette's ear and dragged down the thin wire completely through the soft flesh of her earlobe. The rest of us were caught frozen in that moment as the blood and tears began to flow from Bridgette's head.
Bridgette had called my mother a cow during recess one warm school day. It was the first time someone had brazenly pulled the good name of someone I loved down to an ugly place reserved for childhood squabbles. I immediately told an aide. Bridgette, through squinted eyes aimed at me, told the aide that it was I that had actually called her mother a sow. A lie. I stood, mouth gaping. A solid punch to my gut. It must have been the first blatant false accusation ever made about me, as I recall the moment so well. I can still see the other children hungrily taking in the scene with lusty appetites leaning in close to catch the next blow. I can still feel the warm breezes that swept across the playground's ball field depositing gritty sand between my teeth and the heavy tears that welled up and dropped over my flushed cheeks .
Bridgette was gone the following year. I never thought to wonder where or why. I imagine that she is married with a couple of children. Perhaps she married a successful business man with little time for family. She may spend her days in wealthy suburbia scheduling pedis at the upscale mall and hauling around the latest Dior or Louis Vitton looking forward to cocktails with the girls to show it off. I wonder if her earlobe still bears the scar.
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