Rosalinda Makes Something out of Nothing
Rosalinda stalked toward us, her thick soled boots announcing her intention to make her presence known. My boss and I, on duty for the afternoon to midnight shift at the Residential Treatment Center for Adolescents, knew we were looking at trouble on the way. Like most of our residents, she wore clothes that announced that she had been finding things to wear without any adult help, probably for many years. What was different about Rosalinda was how she had turned so many throw-aways into such a unique and oddly impressive outfit. She wore….
Showing Anger
Anger is a fascinating emotion and one we often find difficult and painful to deal with when it is aimed at us. On the other hand, at certain moments our own anger feels justified and absolutely right. Let’s explore the emotion of anger by writing dialogue together. I will write two lines to get this scene started. Pitch in with up to two more lines of your own. (It can also be interesting to see what kind of combined creation we can come up with.) “If you tap that pen on your teeth one more time, I’m going to climb out of my chair and strangle you,” Norma said, “Ah, you don’t mean that.” Brad tried to make a funny face.
Moving your Characters Around
It turns out that you, as writer, become a kind of actor, thinking up the “business” needed to make a scene believable and interesting. It’s one thing to have characters talk to each other, but what are they doing while they talk? Are they gesturing? Making a face of some kind? Picking up an object that suggests something about them or the story? Tugging on their clothing? Doing something with their hair? Fidgeting in some specific way? These actions work better than attribution. You can almost always replace, he said with something like: Jack subtly ran a hand over his belt buckle to make sure his fly was zipped. So let’s play around with this. I will start the dialogue, and you can add a few more lines to keep the scene going. However, you have to add the “business” instead of attribution. Here we go…. Yvonne smirked with half-closed eyes. “Yeah, right.” “No, really. That 2007 Taurus is in primo shape and ready to roll.” Jimbeau smiled to make his one dimple show and dangled a shiny key in front of her face. (Your turn!)
Working with Tough Limits
Samantha had a disk problem that could not be fixed, so she had to learn to survive while in constant, unremitting, excruciating pain. Her department of twenty customer service phone reps lived in fear of her temper, since Samantha so no reason to tolerate excuses, whining, or lack of effort. Performance in her department suffered because of this rigidity, and she was fired. She decided to become a pet groomer, imagining how soothing it might be to work with lovable pets all day. On Tuesday, Mrs. Rhinehorn brought her border collie, Sheba, in for grooming at Samantha’s new shop. And….
The Window
I stand in front of the window. It has been painted so many times that I can’t get it open. But tonight I try. I wrestle it, pound on the edges, yank at the bottom, push at the top. This window has never been opened to my knowledge.
Time Traveling
I am a time traveler. My home time is 2014, where I am a 47-year-old single male named Harold. I am about to go back to when I was seven to find out why we suddenly lost the Cadillac, the home on Miami Beach, and Mom’s mink and then moved to a shack in mountains of western North Carolina.
Writing can be fun, but ….
Today is the anniversary of my little sister’s death. She was fifty-eight when she died, with two young adult children and a loving husband. She died of cancer, after a long fight. I write today to fight back time. It keeps passing. The years when she was here grow ever more distant. Memories become reduced to repeated sentences that we use to conjure her up. Thin, so thin. Photos are also finite, though we have many; but there are no new ones now, showing her aging, attending graduations, creating new art, celebrating holidays as only she could. I weep but do not bleed. I would bleed if that would bring her back, but I know it will not. I line up these words on the page and conjure her one more time. Sarah. Please share your words about a loved one that you have lost.
Car Jack
Car jack Jack in the box Box top Top of the Empire State Building Building blocks Blocks? Nope. Never have those.
Crossroads
Stewart sat at the head of his long gravel drive way with the car idling. He didn’t need to go home; he was a human being with free will, wasn’t he? He could take a right turn and leave the consequences behind. Or, he could turn all the way around and go back the way he’d come. If he went forward, he would have to face the music. He chewed his thumb nail.
Enough of the Funk! How about this:
Clothespin, tweezers, tape, and a rubber band.