House Description
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The two-story house on 2301 Melody Lane is like every other house on Melody Lane, Mediterranean and boxy. The taupe paint is spotless, and the cream accents sweep around the regimented windows and cavernous entry in precise lines. Dark brown barrel tile crowns the roof, untouched as yet by weather or misfortune. Untouched, too, by soot are the two pointed chimneys rising out of the structure, one at each end, perfectly balancing each other, a bit like oversized horns. A whisper of wrought iron fence breaks the sameness of the walls above two garage doors, like brows drifting above sleeping eyes. The lids are made of faux wood that matches the ponderous front door and the color of the roof. In the back, overlooking the perfectly rectangular pool and the perfectly manicured golf course beyond it, is a long row of artless arched windows, some of them doors, that give an impression of the lower jaw of some giant beast. Through them, an interior of tan marble and beige walls is visible, a shining, three-dimensional canvas awaiting the artist’s brush of an interior decorator. All around the house, well-watered greenery is taking root in carefully random patterns and drifting into identical patterns crawling from the houses to either side.
House Description Exercise
Since I’m getting on a plane for Eastern Europe in a few hours and have no idea what my internet access will be like over the next several days, here is my house description exercise–Amanda:
1205 Elm Street was a wooden Mansard Victorian jutting unapologetically onto the corner of Elm and Oak. An elaborate wrought iron fence segregated the property from the surrounding decay of tired brick buildings, worn and weighted by the soot of urban pollution and withering from neglect. A marble fountain guarding the entrance just beyond the gate had long ceased to spout water from the tiered decanters of smiling bacchus and now stood like a gaudy tomb in a graveyard; a grey, lifeless reminder of grandiosity for which time had passed. Behind the fountain, patches of weedy overgrowth had digested the stone walkway leading to the porch and rested, like engorged leeches, along what had once been the lawn. Paint pulled away from the wood exterior of the house in tight splintered shards, closely guarding the secret that it had once been a pristine white. A leaning square tower and an eroding tin roof were the crowning reminders that, however pretentious the home had once been, better times had moved elsewhere, much like the rest of the area in which it sat. The only remaining home in a strip of businesses, most of which had been boarded up and many more that would be within a handful of years, it had become the point at which everyone driving by on their way into the heart of the city started to roll up their car windows and lock their doors.
Exercise 5- Story within a story
Exercise 5 – Story within a story
As my best friend and I sat on the porch with a glass of wine and some crackers and cheese I told her, “You will never believe what happened.”
“Well, tell me.” She replied.
“I had lunch with Rick today. He called the other day, said he found my name and number via the internet. It was the strangest thing. I was sitting across the table from a man I used to be married to and I felt nothing,” I told her.
“I’m surprised you could even eat. Where did you go, by the way? And who paid?”
“We went to the sports bar around the corner. And, he insisted on it being his treat. Guess he has gotten more generous in his old age.”
“Well, fill me in on all the details. What is he like now? How did he look? What all did you find to talk about? Did you tell him what an SOB he was?”
“No, I didn’t have to tell him that. He admitted he had been a jerk and apologized if you can believe it.”
“You have got to be kidding? He admitted it and apologized? It certainly must be a cold day somewhere.”
“The biggest surprise was the amount of weight he has gained. He had always been such a sports jock when we were married and was so trim but now, wow, he is chunky. And not just a few pounds over on a solid frame but a pudgy, bulky overweight. He dressed nice in a pair of khaki’s and golf shirt but he was chunky. It was funny because he kept telling me how good I looked, not once or twice but three times! And he never complimented me when we were married. Maybe his new wife, in addition to feeding him well, has also taught him manners.”
“He was always very self-centered. I’m surprised he let himself go. Is he happy? Details girl, details”. We both laughed and took another sip of our wine.
“He has two sons and they are both doing quite well. One even is thinking about getting married. His wife home schooled them and now they have both graduated from college and are working. Rick is working as an independent contractor so that is why he was able to take the time off and come to Florida to attend his sister’s funeral. It was interesting hearing him talk about this family but the entire time he was talking I couldn’t help but remember how he never wanted children with me.”
“Are you sad about that?”
“Not really. Look at all I would have missed if I had had a child or had stayed married to Rick. No, things happen for a reason and after sitting there across from him at lunch, I have no regrets at all. In spite of my current situation, I’m in a much better place no longer being married to him.”
“What is going to happen now? Are you going to stay in touch?”
“Probably. But only via email since he is going back to Texas. It was so totally bizarre to be talking to this man, who had hurt me so much and to feel absolutely nothing. Maybe, time does heal old wounds.”
“Well,” she said looking at me very closely, “it has been over 30 years. What did you think was going to happen when you saw him?”
“Quite frankly, I didn’t know. I expected to feel something, anger maybe, but I was just totally neutral. It was like talking to an old high school friend, no emotional baggage at all.”
She looked at me and then smiled.
The wine was cold and tasted great, It felt good to share this experience with a friend who cared. Tomorrow was another day and the past was no longer important.
Exercise 4 Conversation with a character
Conversation with a character
“What is the problem?” she asked.
“I’m having trouble deciding where to go next.” I replied.
“Are you talking about with me and the mess you have placed me in, or are you talking about yourself?”
“And what is that suppose to mean? I have several ways I can take you now that I’ve introduced you, your former husband Rick, your current love-of-life Tom, and that interesting man you met at the party Jack. There are lots of possibilities for you. And anyway, my life is not up for discussion.”
“Oh yeah? Well, it seems that the more complicated your life becomes, the more you make my life difficult. Can’t you just figure out what it is you want to do and go for it?”
“What do you mean by that crack? I’m perfectly content with my life. I can do what I want, when I want, with whomever I want and I don’t have to answer to anyone, especially to you. And besides, we aren’t discussing me; I’m trying to determine what will make you the more interesting.”
“I suppose that means by having me bed hop between three men, I’m interesting. Not meaning to be literal here, but that just sucks.”
“I don’t have you bed-hopping. At least not yet. That is what I’m trying to figure out. Maybe I should build the tension with a will she or won’t she? Since you are trying to butt into my head, why don’t you make yourself useful and tell me what you think?”
“There is a reason he is my ex-husband…. Don’t even go there. Kill the bastard off…. Nastily if you could. I don’t like the SOB and can’t understand what you ever thought I saw in him.”
“It was his money and the lifestyle he gave you. And the fact he had those incredible eyes and hands. What about this fellow Tom you are living with? I need to give him more depth or make him more sympathetic. I’m not sure how to do that just yet or which way to go. Maybe if he lost his job or come down with an incurable disease. Tom needs something because just being a nice guy totally devoted to you is not exciting.”
“Well, I’m exciting so what more do you need.”
“You need someone to focus on besides yourself. The audience will be bored very quickly if you are always center stage. And besides, there is the mystery man Jack from the party. I’d like to add him to the mix, but I’m not sure how to do that just yet since everything between you and Tom is going so smoothly.”
“How about having Tom find out on the same day that he has come down with some dread disease and, he loses his job and insurance so I’m the only one he has to turn to? This way I can be the martyr and take care of him and when he gasps his last breath and tells me to be happy and go on with my life, I can turn to Jack for comfort and we will live happily ever after?”
“Interesting but I think that storyline has been done before. Thanks for the suggestion but go away for a while and let me be so I can figure out what to do for you.”
“Well, at least you didn’t say ‘what to do to you’ “.
“That’s coming. Thanks for your input, now scram.”
Conversation with a character…
Unfortunately, it’s been a busy week and I haven’t really had a chance to work on this. But here’s what I’ve been able to hammer out so far for a conversation with one of my characters (this happens to be the main character in the novel I’ve been working on).
“What is this? Why are you here?”
“Oh, I’m only passing through. It’s an assignment. I’m supposed to have a conversation with one of my characters.”
“Huh. So are you sober for this one?”
“I’m sober for all of them.”
“Liar….So while you’re here, can you tell me why I haven’t been able to move past page 53 for the past two weeks?”
“It’s not you. It’s the chapter. It’s sticky stuff. I have to write it just right.”
“Have you ever heard of revision?”
“You’re not a short story.”
“Do I have to be?”
“No—well—yes. You see, your story can’t arc too soon, or the readers will be pretty darn bored for the last half of the book. It’s all about pacing, and I’m worried that I’ve had too much happen with you too soon.”
“I’ll say. I kill someone on accident. Start stalkin’ a family just so I could watch over a kid that isn’t even mine, and take on a bank robber in the middle of a field because he got too close to “my” kid. I’m a busy guy. About the only thing you haven’t given me yet is a drinkin’ problem…Oh wait, I had one of those in the beginning of the book. What happened to it? By page 40, I was stone cold sober.”
“I thought readers would empathize more with you if you didn’t have it.”
“Yeah, but don’t you think anyone who is payin’ attention is going to think that’s a bit of a scratch on an otherwise nice looking vehicle?”
“Don’t give yourself too much credit.”
“Honey, I’m the star character and the way it’s looking right now, I’m going to turn my life around. So I’m feelin’ a little bit less ashamed with every page.”
“Yes, you are.”
“So why did I stop drinkin? Let’s get it in writing.”
“Maybe, the incident…with Barbara. Maybe you felt afterward like drinking played a role.”
“And…”
“And so you went to AA.”
“And I’m supposed to meet people there. I mean you have yet to mention a single friend I have in the town, but John and Belinda’s kids have seen me talkin’ to people. Who’s talking to me, if I haven’t redeemed myself yet?”
“Yes, who is talking to you? Yes, you’ve made friends in AA. Not many. Just a few who believe in you. You have a sponsor, too. What’s his name?”
“Hers.”
“Huh?”
“I said what’s her name? It has to be a she.”
“Why?”
“Because I need some type of tension with the opposite sex to play off of the guilt I feel about Barbara. We don’t gotta date. We just gotta know each other pretty well.”
“I think you should not go to AA until after you take the money.”
“But I don’t need AA anymore after I take the money.”
“That’s the point. You have like a conversion. You go to AA because the money puts you in a sort of reverse mode. You start doing things that you believe you should have done years ago to make you a better person but didn’t—whether or not you still need them.”
“But you still gotta explain why I stopped drinkin’.”
“Yeah, but I can say that in a paragraph—a sentence or two maybe even.”
A Conversation with Ciarán
A Conversation With Ciarán
I spot him immediately when I leave the Starbucks. He’s hard to miss. Leaning with sullen grace against the driver’s side door of my car. His bike, just as sleek and dangerous looking as he is, is parked nearby. He pulls the sunglasses down slightly and watches me over the top of them; the green eyes are cool and appraising.
“I was beginning to wonder when you would put in an appearance.” I shift the laptop case to my other hand, balance the cup on the car roof and reach past his leather- clad ass to grasp the door handle.
“Excuse me?” He seems genuinely surprised that I am upset with him. “I’ve been around quite a lot.”
“Nattering in my head during dance class doesn’t count.” I give him a shove with my shoulder and he moves away from the car.
“I thought you went there to ‘channel me’.” He puts air quotes around his words and smirks. I dump the computer on the back seat.
“Yeah, well, I need all my brainpower to stay upright and be the ‘tempest’. And FYI? Hovering at my shoulder at work is going top get me fired.”
“Then don’t complain that I’m not around. I’m here, you’re just ridiculously busy.”
“I have a family to support,” I counter. “As much as I would love to devote myself to you and Bliss 24/7, right now that isn’t paying the bills. How do you like Bliss, by the way?”
“She’s lovely…or she could be. She needs more….depth.” I nod.
“The Other Half of My Brain and I have been thinking the same thing. I’m working on it.”
“She has a name you know. Susan. You know way too many people named Susan, do you know that?”
“Yes. Stop changing the subject.” We stand there in the fading daylight for several long minutes. I’m enjoying the fresh air and his presence and he is revelling in the coming night.
“Did you actually get any work done in there?” He indicates the SB outlet.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I did. Brynn is going to meet her soul mate.”
“Really? It’s about bloody time.”
“His name is Gabriel—she’s gonna call him Gabe…yeah, and you’re not going to like him much. That’s all I’m saying.”
He yanks the sunglasses off and his eyes have gone all dark and weird. I shake my head.
“Don’t try that stuff with me—it won’t work. I made you, remember?”
“Technically, Aine made me—you invented me.” I feel his presence brush against my mind. “Why won’t I like him?”
“It adds tension—and he needs a straight man. You’re perfect for the part.” I sip my chai and he drums his fingers against the side of the car. “Why are you so drawn to Bliss? She’s rather ordinary, aside from her brains and her talent.”
“If she’s ordinary, that’s your fault. But she’s my ‘anam cara’. Are you familiar with the term?”
“I read the book, Ciarán. So she’s your ‘soul friend’—but you fell in love with her the moment you saw her. Why?”
“Can’t help myself. We’re destined to be together—star-crossed lovers and all that teen-aged angsty-stuff. You elected to write YA fiction. It’s—.”
“My fault. Got it. So you don’t mind if I play around with your heart a bit? There has to be some heart-break in there so that when you two finally get together, there can be fire works and moonlight and—.”
“Stop before you put me in a diabetic coma.” He grabs his helmet off the bike seat and pulls it down over his head. “I’ll be around later. Go home. Look after the mundane part of your life and then look for me. I’ll show up. You just have to look in the right place.” He revs the bike and takes off at nowhere near the legal speed for a parking lot. I open the rear door of the car and take the laptop out again. To hell with dinner. There are leftovers in the fridge. The family won’t starve. I head back into Starbucks.
Exercise 3 – Thoughts Upon Death
Too gloomy for my taste. Couldn’t help trying to brighten it up.
I remember sun. Sun on trees. Sun on grass. Sun on skin and in water. There had been sun when I was young and summers were long, dusty and hot. In Europe sun was weak compared to the tropics, and that sun, too, I recalled. Glittering on crystal seas and flapping palms. Chasing shadows on powder sand and warming lizards on the sidewalk. All that sun—a lifetime full of sun.
Exercise 4 – A Chat With a Character
The moon is full and the night bright, so I can see her clearly as she comes over the dune. She hesitates, unsure. She goes by CJ and she is my creation. I still wonder how I should introduce myself when she spots me sitting in the sand.
“Oh, so it’s you.”
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