Day Three: Moving the Story Forward

Day three has me thinking I should have thoroughly researched the book before making this commitment. OK, at the same time even trying this stuff is bound to make me a better writer and that's what this is about, so enough whining...


A brief summary of the pre-exercise meditation: Every interesting story includes suspense; danger, roadblocks, something that moves the piece along and contributes to what William F. Nolan refers to as "A rising arc of drama." (My amazing writing teacher, Ellen Bass encourages us to leave our characters in unresolved situations by not saving them too soon. I wish I could quote her exactly here--something about leaving them dangling over a fiery abyss--maybe one of her students can help.) Everything in your story should contribute to the momentum. One thing Fred White says that is well worth repeating, "Our actual lives contain this kind of story progression but usually the progression is spread over large spans of time....In a work of fiction, the author 'edits out' the gaps and irrelevancies."

Try This:
  Write a story synopsis in which you set up strong "road blocks" (conflict situations) that threaten to keep your hero from reaching his goal. These conflict situations should be threatening enough to (a) create a real sense that all will be lost (b) keep your hero from achieving too quick or easy a victory.

My Note: Remember to go with the spirit of the exercise to allow for more freedom. Another idea to help you overcome anxiety about starting an exercise: Write badly on purpose, or try to. You'll be surprised at how difficult (and fun) this can be!

Have fun!



Later    

r = d/t 
by Laurie Guerin

             Kramer is interested in one thing and one thing only: The velocity of sticks.

He has spent his entire life studying sticks of different shapes, size and origin, calculating the probable distance traveled per unit of time. His dreams are filled with images of sticks soaring through the air like arrows in a perfect arc. His nightmares are of sticks lying broken and earthbound on the forest floor.    

He can’t remember a time when it wasn’t so.

“Hey Kramer!” He looks up sharply to see Jenna running towards him, her backpack slung over one shoulder. “Watcha looking at?”

He smiles and gestures to a spot on the ground.

“Ah ha!” she says, sitting down next to him on the steps of the porch. “I shouldda known.”

It’s a perfect projectile, narrow and straight; a little over a foot long. 

“You need help with that?” She leans into him, nudges his shoulder with her own.

He doesn’t answer, just looks into Jenna's sun-flecked blue eyes. Even a blind man would know he needs help.

Kramer was born without hands.

“O.K. you crazy boy!” Kramer will never come to terms with the fact that no one in his family really understands his fascination. She brings her face close and touches her nose to his. “Just lemme put my pack inside. She jumps up and so does he. The screen door slams behind her.

Quickly, with amazing skill he maneuvers the stick into his mouth, sits back down and waits. It takes every ounce of strength he has to keep from calling out to Jenna to hurry. He fidgets, stands up again, shifts from one foot to the other, sits back down. He knows if he opens his mouth to yell, the stick might fall out and he’ll have to go through the whole maneuvering thing again.  He hates that. Once he has one locked between his teeth, he can’t stand to let go. He waits, every nerve in his body on edge because based on his analysis, this stick, this stick, is quite possibly the manifestation of every stick he’s ever imagined. He grips it tighter in his teeth, feels the bark give just a bit, tastes the sharp bitterness of redwood and jumps to his feet again. Enough! He heads for the screen door throwing his weight into it until it bangs.

“Kramer! Knock it off!” It’s Jenna’s mother. Where is Jenna? She said she’d be right back! How long does it take to drop a pack? He runs behind the house to her bedroom window, braces himself  against the wall and peers inside. She’s on the phone! She’s standing there talking and combing her hair with her fingers (fingers! If only!). He bites down on the stick, using it to tap on the window. Tap! Tap! Tap!  Jenna’s head turns sharply, her eyes wide.  The hand holding the phone drops to her side. She moves to the window and opens it. “Kramer! You scared me half-to-death!” He feels bad. He didn’t mean to scare her. But the stick! Has she actually forgotten? He grunts and taps more furiously, his saliva spattering the window.  Tap! Tap! Tap!  “Stop it now! Just hold on.” She looks cross for a moment, her eyebrows pulled down. He lifts his into an expression of hope and anticipation and cocks his head to the side. It works! Her face relaxes and she laughs like he knew she would. Jenna never stays mad at him for long.  She puts the phone back to her ear.

“I gotta go,” he hears her say.  He watches her with laser beam intensity until she hangs up. Then he races to the front of the house and sits on the porch. Watches the door, willing it to open. It does! It’s Jenna!

Kramer leaps to his feet.

“Ready?” Jenna asks, reaching for the stick. She tries to take it from him.

“Well, let me have it, Kramer!” she says. But he can’t. He loves this stick. The thought of letting go of it for even a second is unbearable. Plus, does he trust Jenna? Really trust her? What if she forgets again? Just walks away with stick, forgetting and maybe even loses it? He can’t stand the thought. His teeth clamp down harder.

“Come on, Kramer!” She squats down in front of him. “How am I supposed to throw it if you won’t gimme it?” 

He knows she’s right. He knows the letting go part has to happen so the even more amazing, incredible, heart-stopping part can take place. 

He opens his mouth ever-so-slightly and Jenna is on it. She pries the stick free, pulls back her arm and suddenly, magically the stick is rising, climbing, soaring through the air in a perfect arc and Kramer is there, running as hard and as fast as he can just beneath it, eyes trained to the sky. In this moment he feels as if he is flying too, even as he’s calculating the precise second when the stick will begin its decent, he is soaring, the wind in his ears blocking out all sound but his own jubilant barking and Jenna’s voice as she whoops and shouts, “Go Kramer! Go boy!”