imPROMPTu

For Starters

2009-07-10T22:10:00.002-04:00

It wasn't until after he'd turned over the picture to the police when he realized the photograph revealed a little more than he'd bargained for.

(For Starters is a series of posts to the blog which provide writers with a first line for a new story. Take this line and go with it...)

Writing Prompt #12

2009-07-10T22:07:00.002-04:00

Write about a trying moment in the life of a character who has lost the use of one or more of his or her senses.

In Draft - scene from Endtime

2009-07-10T21:58:00.004-04:00

Endtime is currently in the development stage as a serial graphic novel.

INT. TREVOR'S CAR - NIGHT

Trevor is driving. He is white-knuckling the steering
wheel and sitting bolt upright, eyes glued to the road
ahead. The well-worn wiperblades squeak as they pass back
and forth barely removing any of the rain water. Trevor
takes his eyes from the road for a moment to look over
his shoulder. Jack is slumped in the back seat, his head
lying over the top of the seat. He is barely conscious.

TREVOR
Say something.

JACK
You're drunk.

TREVOR
You've still got a sense of humor. That
means you'll be fine.

Jack only coughs and labors for breath. Trevor refocuses
on the road blinking his eyes and shaking his head as if
he's trying to maintain his attention and focus. It's
becoming clear to him that he certainly has had a little
too much to drink. He has to shield his face from the
lights of the oncoming traffic. He looks at Jack in the
rearview.

TREVOR (CONT'D)
Keep you hand on that wound. Pressure.
(Beat.) Hey! Wake up! Don't you die back
there!

Jack wheezes and coughs again, obviously in a lot of
pain. A beat while Jack attempts to prop himself up and
shake some life back into himself.

JACK
That's not gonna happen.

TREVOR
Just stay with me.

Trevor turns on the radio. Pop country music begins to
play.

TREVOR (CONT'D)
Music? That'll help keep you alert.

JACK
(wincing)
I don't think so.

Trevor turns off the radio.

TREVOR
What's your name?

JACK
Jack.

Trevor raises his hand.

TREVOR
Trevor. (Beat.) Please don't die in my
car, Jack.

JACK
Where are we going?

TREVOR
(hesitating)
You really need a doctor. There's a
hospital on this side of town. They're
really good. See this scar right here?

Trevor holds up his right forearm.

JACK
I said no hospitals.

TREVOR
I'm open to ideas. I shouldn't be driving
anyway. (Beat.) What about this someone
you're looking for? I'll take you to
them. Maybe they can help you.

JACK
I don't know where she is.

TREVOR
Well, she's gotta be pretty special—-

Trevor turns again and sees the mess Jack is leaving in
the back seat.

TREVOR (CONT'D)
Man, look at the seat. Jesus, I'm gonna
get pinched for sure, I know it. (Beat.)
I can't afford this right now.
Just remember my name, when you tell them
who shot you. Make sure you tell them
Trevor Haley had nothing to do with it.

Jack gives a sign of recognition, realizing he recognizes
Trevor's name.

JACK
Trevor Haley. You're from Connecticut?

TREVOR
Well, actually I was born in New
Hampshire, but for the last few years
I've been—-

JACK
I know your name. You're one of mine.

TREVOR
Your what?

JACK
You're supposed to get in a fight. A bad
one. There's a guy with a knife.

TREVOR
A fight? I've never been in a fight in my
life.

JACK
It happens outside a bar. You have a
dispute over an unpaid bill with the
owner. You can't pay. He becomes enraged
and stabs you.

TREVOR
That's quite a story, Jack.

JACK
You never paid the man for your drinks.

TREVOR
Don't remind me.

JACK
What'd I do? They told me not to
interfere. Shit, this wasn't supposed to
happen.

The passenger seat, vacant this whole time, is now
occupied by a faint silhouette visible from Jack's
vantage point. It is an nondescript young woman.
The passing lights reveal she is wearing a vintage-style
white uniform with a nurses' cap on her head. She is
facing forward. Jack stares. Trevor takes no notice.

JACK (CONT'D)
Trevor, pull over. Stop the car. Stop the
car.

TREVOR
What?

JACK
(his excitement escalating)
Let me out! Stop the car! Let me out now!

The vintage nurse girl gives Jack a sidelong glance. We
get a glimpse of her face which is ghostly pale, her eyes
darkened, completely black. She turns to Trevor and her
hand reaches up for the steering wheel.

TREVOR
Hey, calm down! We're almost there.

Jack struggles with the door handle. The door pops open
but Jack is in so much pain that he can't open it. He
falls over on the seat. Outside the window the hospital
emergency entrance passes by the camera's view.

JACK
No! Let me go! Leave me alone!

TREVOR
(insistently)
We're moving! I can't let you out!

Trevor reaches over the seat with one hand trying to
close the back door.

TREVOR (CONT'D)
You're gonna kill us both!

JACK
You're supposed to be dead!

imPROMPTu is back

2009-07-10T21:55:00.001-04:00

...after a short hiatus while I settled into summer life in Brooklyn. Thanks for your patience. I'll try to make it worth the wait.

Writing Prompt #11

2009-05-22T23:14:00.001-04:00

Complete a 20-minute freewrite about what your life would be like if you could be your favorite television character. Use part or all of what you generate to begin a new story.

For Starters

2009-05-22T23:11:00.002-04:00

With all the planning, with all the preparation, only to find he couldn't get the lighter to work.

(For Starters is a series of posts to the blog which provide writers with a first line for a new story. Take this line and go with it...)

In Draft - unused prologue from Ersatz Nation

2009-04-27T20:56:00.001-04:00

Prologue

On the edge of what was soon to be the first of many tarred streets, in a town that was growing quite slowly and indiscernibly, almost as if under its own accord, sat piles of gravel and stone and fresh loam in exquisitely stacked cones. Small, wooden crates were scattered around filled with nails still damp from the rain the night before which were already beginning to turn shades of light brown - the rust eating away at them. Thick, tan planks of lumber in various dimensions, some stacked to near geometric perfection, others thrown in more random piles, lined the edge of the soon-to-be-placed stone curbing. The stones, which were laid parallel to the edge of the dirt roadway, resembled common, polished granite except for the peculiar sparkle of shiny, jagged, blue-gray metal chips that had spread themselves, over time, through the molten rock long ago. Thick pools of black rain water had collected in several areas where holes had been dug for foundation posts, or tree plots, or where seeds were to be sewn. Other puddles formed where sections of the landscape were purposely leveled just slightly lower than the area surrounding it. That was where the water that seemed the most unnatural. Stringy, oblong pools reached out in all different directions creating fantastic black shapes on the ground reflecting partial pictures of the sky. And these waters ran: flowing like a river.

But, the rain had since stopped and with the clouds dissipating for the most part, the blistering, red sun was allowed to return and the day would continue. That which brought the rain had moved on.

However, that which was brought on by the rain had yet to arrive.

Adjacent to the abandoned site where the wood and rocks near the road lay unattended was an area that had been cordoned off with fine, yellow twine. It was arranged in the shape of a square and at each corner, hammered into the ground, was a thin, metal rod with the yellow rope tied around it. Hanging from top of these four rods and along the rope at intervals of a half a yard were small twisted strips of sheet metal. With a mixture of gold and copper colors, they each possessed an odd, indiscernible, yet quite nonrandom, shape different from the other.

It was quite a small area of land; No more than a quarter of an acre. Almost too small to comfortably occupy the number of shelters that had been constructed there. The wind that preceded the rain, which had brought with it the sweet, strange odor of the musk weed and carpel root growing just over the west knoll, had peeled off several of the roofs and knocked down the merely makeshift walls. The small, greenish, leaf-stripped were used as twine, but were still not strong enough to hold the structures in place. They had pulled and stretched under the pressure of the blowing wind and once they snapped, bled out their sticky sap onto the ground or whatever laid below them.

The stray rain drops trickled from the rough edges of the partially completed structures that were scattered around the area and aside from the soft, plopping echoes marking the end of each rain drop’s descent, there was not a single, solitary sound except for the unnatural, stream-like humming that the silence produced.

The rain, in its own vicious way, had come to cleanse the land. To sweep away the minute particles in the air and in the ground - the curse that was threatening to stifle it. Through the sand and the dirt and the mud were tracks, overlapping and disorderly, which had led into the wooded area toward the east. Washed away now, like the intentional destruction of incriminating evidence, there was no way to follow their makers.

The trees to the east stretched out for what could been seen as miles in either direction. Each tree reached out beseechingly toward the clearing with long, green, crooked branches. Along the edge of the sandy, desert-like earth in a particularly straight line is where the trees and the forest stopped, or had been stopped. They stretched off toward the horizon in both directions until each one appeared to be nothing but a minute speck shadowed against the hot, nightmarish sky which hung silently over the dead land.

After a time that was as much a minute as it was a millennium, the world, waiting as impatiently as it could for death, became darkened with a sickly gray. The elongating shadows disappeared leaving everything on the ground standing helpless and alone. The blue-black haze in front of the sun slithered by and reached out occasionally with what could have been (should have been) limbs to mar and gouge the land as it passed. It toppled anything that stood within its reach. Arms, or what could have been (should have been) arms, some two or four or eight feet wide, stretched down in funnel-like protrusions and lifted whatever it found on the ground and dragging it up inside itself.

Soon after, everything that had been on the land was not any longer...

...except the sand and the wind.

On the back of the wind rode the silence.

From The New Hampshire Union Leader, April 15, 199-

CENTER STRAFFORD - This quiet, eastern New Hampshire town was rocked last night when three unidentified bodies were discovered inside a burning vehicle near the town’s reservoir. The fire department and local police responded to Edenborough Road, a small, unmaintained tote road which is the reservoir’s sole access, after area residents reported hearing gunshots and smelling smoke just shortly after 8:30 p.m. The commotion attracted several on-lookers as fire fighters battled the blaze for over an hour. Acting fire chief, Stu Redmond who was one of the men that doused the vehicle with hundreds of gallons of water, was baffled as to the cause of why the vehicle continued to burn so long. The fire chief wouldn’t comment if a chemical agent or something entirely different was responsible for the odd behavior of the flames. It was not until the fire department was able to control the flames when the bodies were discovered inside. State police and the state fire marshall’s office were called in shortly after.

Upon the discovery of the bodies, the crowd was immediately asked to clear away as the area was cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. What happened next can only be described as a freakish, unexplained occurrence. As authorities approached the vehicle, the driver’s side door swung open and one of the charred, but intact bodies seemed not to fall, but to beginning stepping out. As it did it burst into flames and fell to the ground. As the state police troopers arrived, several of them assisted Center Strafford police in driving on-lookers back out of view of the vehicle. Two people who refused to leave were placed under arrest by state police, but later released. Authorities said this morning that they are still denying access to any part of the reservoir or Edenborough Road.

The bodies, believed by some witnesses to be all adult males because of their apparently enormous size, were transported to the state Coroner’s Office for autopsy, but according to Center Strafford Police Chief Frank Yount, no information about their identities would be revealed until the next of kin were notified and a full investigation was completed into the possibility of foul play. “The State Police will be handling this case and we will be giving them our full cooperation.” Yount said. “We will be investigating this as a possible homicide.” Chief Yount would not comment whether the victims were still alive after the fire had been extinguished.

Area residents say that several vehicles, mostly pickup trucks and utility vehicles, use the dirt road on a daily basis which is off Route 202A just miles from the Barrington town line. “The reservoir is well known as a party spot for the teenagers.” said one Center Strafford resident who wished to remain unnamed, but has lived in the area for several years. “They come and go all night, every night. I’m not surprised something like this has happened. It was bound to.” Another resident who frequently walks his dog down Edenborough Road said, “Can’t abide them people using that road for their business. My poor dog don’t dare go that way no more. Neither do I for that matter. Especially after the rain.” When asked to elaborate, the man refused to comment further.

This is the first homicide investigation in thirty years for the town of Center Strafford which has a population of just under 1,500 year-round residents. During the summer months the population swells to nearly 3,000 with most of those residents occupying the seasonal cottages around Bow Lake which was the site of Center Strafford’s first and only homicide.

In 1968, Jason Lemkey, a seasonal resident from Taunton, Massachusetts, was killed when his cousin, Sonny Deitrick, and a friend, Herbert Welton, held him against the grating of the Bow Lake dam which controlled the water flow into the Isinglass River. Lemkey fought vigorously to escape the strong current while, at the same time, struggled to fend off Deitrick and Welton. Lemkey’s legs became snagged in the grate near the base and were broken by the twisting force of the current. Lemkey was left by the two boys to drown. Deitrick and Welton were later arrested and after an investigation and several hearings were remanded to the state boys’ facility until their nineteenth birthday which, for both youths, came less than three years later.

It has been said that none of the residents will sleep well after this incident, but Chief Yount assures the townspeople that the safety of Center Strafford has not been compromised by this incident and he considers it “isolated”. Yount did emphasize that police patrols will be doubled beginning immediately and he will be petitioning the selectmen on Monday morning for a mandatory 24-hour patrol referendum which will be presented for a vote at an emergency town meeting scheduled for sometime late next week. “I wish to stress right now,” Yount said at a press release meeting this morning, “that there is nothing unnatural or extraordinary about this case. The rumors about what drove this fire to burn so long or the bodies inside still being alive afterward are completely untrue. I want to assure you all that nothing strange or out of the ordinary occurred while this fire was being fought.” Yount would not comment on the condition of the bodies or how it got out of the vehicle other than saying it must have “fallen out”.

For Starters

2009-04-08T21:45:00.001-04:00

What often sticks to memory are those odd little fragments that have no beginning and no end.

A Poem (following a Robert Burns rhyme scheme)

2009-04-08T21:42:00.001-04:00

To the Mars Polar Lander

Thy metal breth’ren, with success, to space.
A nine figure tab we all did embrace
for us to win the cold war race
and take the giant leap.
So off you go with quickened pace,
a’red planet peep.

Gone off to spy some proof of telling
that we are not alone in dwelling,
but skinflints cinched thy crash befelling
with tawdry parts wrought.
Now on thy death the truth is swelling—
From a Wal-Mart bought.

Writing Prompt #10

2009-04-08T21:40:00.001-04:00

Your character is down to the very last $20 he or she will ever have, ever. Start the story of that character spending it.

American Melancholy - my novel

2009-03-30T22:01:00.004-04:00

I'm excited to say that my second novel, American Melancholy, was chosen as a quarter-finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award.

Follow this link to Amazon's site where you can download the published excerpt, read and post reviews.

Any reviews and/or comments on the excerpt will be much appreciated. Thank you to those who have already posted.

For Starters

2009-03-30T21:57:00.004-04:00

There was no blood soaking through which meant it was healing.

(For Starters is a new series of posts to the blog which provide writers with a first line for a new story. Take this line and go with it...)

Creative Burst - Samuel and the Killer Worm

2009-03-02T20:22:00.001-05:00

Samuel stopped struggling and stared at the ground. The ripples of soft sand rolled away in concentric circles like a dropped pebble’s signature in a pool of water. He had seen this before, too many times. But this time was different. It was coming for him. The sand beneath his feet began to pulse and vibrate; he could feel it through the soles of his shoes. Lifting them off the ground was no option. His weight would only tighten the noose around his neck. And even if he could keep himself from passing out, the few seconds he’d spare himself would be no consolation for the pain that would follow once his feet inevitably touched the ground again. The thing coming for him was a burrower, and it did not discriminate. It would find its way inside him. One way or another.

(From the prompt: Start a scene with a character in imminent danger of death.)

Writing Prompt #9

2009-03-02T20:18:00.001-05:00

Begin a story where your character’s simple attempt of going to the store to buy a gallon of milk goes horribly wrong. Start off from the point when your character realizes the milk container in his or her fridge is empty.

Creative Burst - I Have a Photo of a Man

2009-02-26T22:58:00.002-05:00

I have a photo of a man whose name I don't know. I came across it one day while I was in a used bookstore in Ann Arbor. The Dawn Treader. A nice place, comfortable, big. Lots of books. The fiction section takes up one half the store so one could spend the entire afternoon without having to go back to the same shelf and re-scan “in case you missed something”. It was in the “Am to At” shelf where I found a curious book lying spine down. It stuck out, not only because it was hardcover and an odd size—about three times as tall as wide—but also because the dust jacket was bright pink. I thought at first that it was a home made book, maybe something self-published, and I was about to skip over it when I noticed that in the center of the pages a thick piece of paper was sticking out just slightly. I took the book down and opened it up to the page that held the piece of paper expecting to find an old postcard written to a distant relative by some grandparent who hadn't heard from him in ages or from one lover to another who loved what they were seeing as they traveled, but couldn't stand to be away from the other for another day. But it was from neither of these two people. In fact, it wasn't a postcard at all. It was a photograph.

The photograph that has brought me down to this dark place. And now I'm trapped here, waiting, considering a world going on above me, without me. Trains, taxis, people walking about giving little regard to other places that exist beyond what can be seen between the front door to the car to the office and back home again. They have no idea that a man lives and walks among them who has the power to change lives, the power to tempt, to incarcerate. But I do, because I found the photo. And the one who finds the photo is the one who will find the owner of the half-smiling, bearded face.

Now I suspect that the only was to escape is to find his name. But how can I discover anything about him when I'm locked inside this prison, captive to my own desire to solve a mystery that I never wanted to pursue in the first place. A dare led me here, and a name is all I need to return to the place where I came from. But for now all I can do is close my eyes and picture the world going on without me.

Writing Prompt #8

2009-02-26T22:51:00.002-05:00

Begin a new story where your main character has woken up one morning to discover he or she has a special ability. Write about what the ability is and what he or she does with it on the first day. Remember to focus as much on the character’s emotions as the plot.

Creative Burst - Character Sketch

2009-02-18T19:35:00.001-05:00

Hugo Stratt

Bio
Hugo is a man of complexities and there is little to be revealed which isn’t apparent in the way he dresses. Like a jester. Like a morose jester. None of his quirks were so obvious, of course, when he first appeared on the street corner one late fall afternoon peddling dime-store trinkets out of a tattered briefcase. Then he wore the clothes of a common man, one who could blend with the crowd in a moment’s notice. It was the death of his mother that brought him to dress like he does.

His profession
Five years as a street vendor. Prior to that unknown

One eccentricity
Hugo tries to furtively pick his nose, but it is never so subtle that someone doesn’t see it happen every time

Four qualities
He’s obese, he’s gregarious, he’s talkative, he’s mysterious

Three important recent events
He appeared on the street corner the day after the solar eclipse
He didn’t show up on the day the black-robed man came to town
After his mother died, he met with the town constable in private

Two habitual actions
He talks like a pirate
He carries around a penny which he throws into the sewer every morning before setting up his goods to sell

Writing Prompt #7

2009-02-17T11:08:00.001-05:00

Describe a person, real or fictional, by comparing the person implicitly to one of the fifty states. (An implicit comparison omits mention of the thing used in comparison.) For example, you might compare your father to Nevada because he takes risks or gambles and he has a dry sense of humor. Use your description as the basis for a story or scene.

Creative Burst: My Obituary

2009-02-12T10:53:00.001-05:00

The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated, but if I’m wrong please forward the following to the Bay City Times:

Lover of discount diary and expired ales and lagers, Bay City resident Tim Kenyon expired recently in a manner yet to be determined by the team of doctors scouring his remains for any sign that there was something wrong with him in the first place. Originally fermented and bottled in the Live Free or Die state (that’s New Hampshire to all non-native New Englanders), Tim relocated to the four corners of the U.S. to places as far away as San Francisco, CA and Reno, Nevada to eventually settle on the shores of the Saginaw River where he free floats on a daily basis with the scores of fish who can’t seem to find it in themselves to submerge into the murky depths. Tim prided himself on his ability to play with words even though the scoreboard being maintained by his agent has reveals he is fighting a losing battle. When not writing, he loved to stand in front of people and pretend he knew stuff he believed they wanted to know. Sometimes one or two of them would even smile or have something to say back to him. That always made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Tim is survived by his spouse, JodiAnn, a wordsmith/teacher/poet/mother-of-his-babies, son, Estlin, who is a four-year-old currently being possessed by the mind and spirit of a twelve-year old, and daughter, Lucy, who can’t not smile even in the case of diaper rash. What a treat, he used to say.

Tim plans to be cremated and have his ashes thrown into the industrial-sized fan running the air conditioning unit at the Bay City Wal-Mart, a move which he claims to be his way of sticking to the "man" from beyond the grave. A memorial service is planned immediately following at the cheese slicer in the deli. Donations for any ensuing clean-up or civil law suits can be sent directly to Tim’s student loan officer.

Creative Burst - My Life Story in Three Incidents Involving Hair

2009-02-05T23:30:00.000-05:00

So let me tell you first that I had a lot more hair when I was younger. I mean a lot more. I let it grow out quite a bit when I was in high school. Maybe too much, but nevertheless, it was going to get long if it was the last thing I did. I had sported shorter hair for some time in my early high school years. The dorky bowl-cut specialty that my mom would do for me simply because it was cheaper (and this was long before the Flo-bee so you can imagine). So when I was done with the shorter hair I decided that I was going to see how long it would get. Alas, my mullet was born. The hair naturally parted down the middle and the back curled up into cute little locks which I would tend to with a brush and hair dryer in hopes that I could get them straight, or to at least curl under.

Well this grooming and growing went on for about two years, from the age of seventeen to nineteen. When I was nineteen I was faced with the need to “get a real job” since the life of working at many different stores in the mall wasn't going to cut it anymore, especially with my mother. So I applied to the grocery store down the street as a clerk. I figured, my father did it for years and the store pays well, in fact better than I've ever made at any point in my life, so why not?

I was sitting across from the store manager as he was scrutinizing my application. He was a square-headed, rotund guy with a bad mustache. A bit awkward, but foreboding nonetheless. We discussed my past experience which included helping my father at the store he used to work at which ironically enough was in the exact same space as the current store where I was applying. We discussed the salary which was acceptable to me. Then he leaned to one side, took a look at the curls hanging down off the back of my head and said, you'll have to cut your hair. Oh, no problem, I replied almost immediately.

What a surprise that I would give in so easily to a part of me that I treasured so much. I could I just willy-nilly say that I'd cut my hair. I had spent a lot of time growing it as long as it was. So I decided that I would cut it just enough to get by. So a little came off. The little that came off kept the natives happy. And I was happy.

Within six months I was faced with the need to address my hair again, this time again for a new job. I was back at the mall where I had spent many days and nights peddling merchandise and services like foam core-mounted posters and ski equipment. But this time I was charged with protecting it all as a mall security officer. I aspired to be a cop and what better place to start, to get my feet wet, than in mall security? But as the interview day approached I realized once again (preemptive this time) that my hair was going to be an issue. I could not sport such a mullet and be taken seriously as a mall security officer. So I got another trim, but to compensate for losing more of my hair—it was now off my shoulders completely—I dyed it jet black. Thus earning the nickname “Ponch” after my first couple weeks on the job.

Writing Prompt #6

2009-02-05T23:27:00.000-05:00

According to officials at Graceland, Elvis still receives about 100 Valentines Day cards every year. Begin a scene where one of the senders is standing in line at the drug store with this year’s card in hand.

Writing Prompt #5

2009-02-02T20:39:00.000-05:00

Imagine a driver accidentally bumps into a boy on a bike in a parking lot. The boy is knocked down, but not hurt beyond having a scraped knee. The driver feels awful and decides to drive the boy home. Write a scene which begins with the parents opening to front door. (Make the scene heavy in dialogue. Reveal nothing about the driver or the incident through exposition. All emotions and characteristics should come out through the dialogue.)

Creative Burst - What's Going on in this Girl's Mind?

2009-02-02T20:08:00.002-05:00

Picture. Pencil. This is not where I want to be today. I have spent so much time trying to leave this place in my head. This dark place where the demons always seem to find me.

Run inside. Hide from the one who is after me. I see that there are many ways to go but not all of them will lead me to the place that is safe. Hide. Run.

Run. Running clown. Funny most of the time when I look at them under a certain light but the sun brings out the reality.

Reality. This is the place I want to run from. This is the place I want to hide in. This is what has hurt me. This is the place that has kept me from finding myself and how I got hurt.

Hurt. Stub my tow. Sliver in my finger. Cut on my arm. Broken bones. Brain hemorrhage. I am now she and that is the way it has to be. She. She is me. I am She.

She. Can't begin to imagine how to navigate life without falling through the blue complexity of sky and work and babies crying on every street corner. In castles surrounded by moats of blood and chocolate pudding. Go swimming with the sharks to discover beauty.

Beauty. A myth. Not reality as we see the world. Uncover what keeps us here on this place down to the diamond roughness of our cannibalistic ways of looking at the opposite sex. We want to consume and eat each other from the outside in. All that will be left are clowns and castles. Pictures on three by five cards of a life that doesn't mirror a reality shared by the rest of the world. Skewed by a sense of dignity when that is the last emotion anyone should be marking on a list of must-haves. Others on the list are gluttony, lust, pride, sloth, envy, wrath, and greed. How does an emotion like dignity get mixed up with a crowd like that? Something is not right with the world.

World. Her world is all she can see when she closes her eyes in the dark. The pencil shapes she tries to sketch in the blackness of her room when the sun goes down is all she can use to keep herself tied to her small, little, insignificant world. The one that she leans against, the one that she longs for when she cries at night. In the dark.

Dark. The opposite of gloomy at the best of times for this little girl. She is haunted my memories of darkness and gloom and the characteristics shared by their intersecting set of features. Those being roughness and hair and scales that are only meant to be rubbed one way but no matter how hard she tries her fingers work against the grain. Now there is blood.

Blood. Blood everywhere. Pouring from the cuts and wounds coloring the gray graphite pencil drawing with a crimson stain that brings with it only fear of how she will ever get the image right again in her mind without the tarnish of blood.

Writing Prompt #4

2009-01-30T21:10:00.001-05:00

Good stories are centered around well-developed characters who interact with the world around them. To begin creating that world for your character, choose one of the following objects, then develop a character who uses or is affected by this object:

- A tarnished silver candlestick spattered with blue paint
- An opened package of Post-it notes with three words inside which are in Polish
- Six spent 12-gauge shotgun shells
- A hymnal with what looks like a phone number on the back cover
- A cheap ball point pen inscribed with “Do not click”

Create Burst - Character Sketch

2009-01-24T23:11:00.002-05:00

Name: Will Flood

Born in a small, rural Maine town before being moved by his parents to the city of Portland, William Gustav Flood never knew peace of mind, heart, or hand. He was a troubled boy, a "strong-willed" child that was labeled as a problem child from the time he was old enough to walk and say no to just about everything his parents ever asked of him. Growing up in the city--though not a big city by any means, but still a place that challenged his never-ending imagination--offered Will a place to unfold his personality like a road map and travel the lines, blue ones and red ones, to places he never thought possible. This being because he knew the town he came from and whenever the family would return to visit who was left behind he felt like a part of him was drying up like a discarded banana peel on the floor of a car, rotten, black, stiff. He knew he would never fit in there, never want to return there for any reason. In fact, the family visits and brief holiday stayovers was beginning to push the limits. He felt out of place, alienated by the very people who wanted him to love where he came from and never forget that this place is a part of who he is. No matter what. That thought brought fear into his life. A choking fear that reached a pinnacle when Will was twenty seven, and his life would never be the same after what happened on that New Year's Eve.