TINY TUESDAY (m)

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
TINY TUESDAY (m)
23
Tue, 04-09-2002 - 10:13am

TINY TUESDAY (m)


Last week, we developed a sketch of our main character (if you missed it, please click here for last week's exercise http://boards1.ivillage.com/messages/get/bcbasics19/12.html).

Next, you'll need to decide what conflict (problem) your character will face. Will it be an internal conflict (something the character is fighting within themselves) or will an outer influence be involved? After deciding whose Point of View you will use to tell your story, write a scene surrounding the conflict. Don’t worry about writing the rest of the story right now, we’ll work on that in the weeks to come.

Happy writing,

Mac

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Avatar for countrygal23
iVillage Member
Registered: 03-26-2003
Tue, 04-09-2002 - 3:36pm

My TT exercise....conflict


Hi all, I’m using this scene as my opening hook and I think it shows the main conflict. Please let me know if it works. Thanks...Maria

Pop! Pop! Randi heard as she turned to her right and saw a man shooting. The sound of breaking glass made her jump and dash for cover. Hiding behind a four-door car the next thing she heard was the screeching of tires. That sonofabitch had tried to kill her. With that thought in mind she knew she needed to get out of there so she weaved through the parked cars and ran. Randi was winded when she reached the Hardware Store.

Catching her breath she noticed a deep purple, Chevy crew cab truck parked across the building. Looking around she didn’t see anyone so she went to the truck and opened the door and climbed in the crew cab part. The floor was dirty, pieces of a newspaper were scattered while a saddle and a saddle blanket took up the rest of the floor space. She noticed that during her run that she had lost one of her high heels, her tan skirt was filthy and navy blue top was soaked with sweat. Folding her legs under her stomach Randi put the saddle blanket over her lower body and newspaper over the rest of her body. She hoped the smell of horsehairs and dirt didn’t cause her to sneeze. And she prayed that the truck’s owner was a rancher who lived fifty miles or more away from town.

The reporter part of her nagged at her cowardice for she should be reporting the news but there was a glitch. The glitch being that she was the target and she had been warned twice by the shooter!

The trauma of the past hour and stressed filled days overtook her body so she slept. She awoke when she felt a hand grab her ankle. Jerking her body up she yelled, “Hey! That’s my ankle you have a hold of”

Jerico gazed at her and asked, “What the hell! Who are you and WHAT are you doing in my truck?”

Climbing out of the truck she straightened her clothes and hand brushed her strawberry blond hair before she answered, “My name is Randi Springston and you are?”

“Jerico” He paused then asked, “Randi, what kinda name is that? Was your dad hoping for a son?”

Randi could feel his eyes as they traveled over her. “No, it’s short for Miranda.”

“That’s nice, now answer my other question, why were you in my truck?”

She scanned over his lean, tall body. He was dressed in a white, western shirt, tight black jeans and wore black snakeskin cowboy boots. He was the definition of yummy!

“I was being shot at so I needed a place to hide and a way out of town.”

Jerico stared into her green eyes then said, “You need to call the police, come to the house.”

Randi stood still and watched his backside. He turned and noticed she hadn’t moved so he walked back to her.

“I don’t want to call the police. I just need a few days to make a plan.”

Jerico stormed, “Someone is trying to KILL you! And all you want to do, IS, make a plan? I’m calling the police!”

“Please wait,” Randi ran after him and pulled on his arm then said, “Don’t call the cops. I can EXPLAIN! I want to hire you to be my bodyguard!”

Photobucket

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Tue, 04-09-2002 - 9:47pm

Here's mine (m)


First, I want to ask who in the heck made up this exercise-LOL. It was hard to do. But anyways, here's the conflict of my story.

Mac

* * *

Blanche heard the phone ringing, and reached up to turn the water off so she could hear who was calling. She listened to the message being left on the answering machine. “Hey Blanche, give me a call when you get home. Where are you by the way? It’s around 8:30 and I know Philip is out of town. You wouldn’t be messing around with that -- ”

Tiptoeing naked across the hall to her bedroom, Blanche picked up the receiver. “Are you crazy, Edna? You know how jealous Philip is.”

“Chill out. You can erase the message before he gets home.”

“So what’s up? I’m in the middle of my bath,” Blanche said, opening the drawer on the nightstand and getting a cigarette from the pack of Winston 100s.

“I know you’re going to hate this, but Daddy told Raymond about our cookout tomorrow. He called me and wanted to know why I didn’t invite him. I told him you were coming and seeing how you two don’t get along I thought it was best.”

“Why did Daddy do that?”

She heard Edna’s long sigh and pictured her standing at the kitchen sink twirling her hair like she did when she got nervous. “It’s been…what two years now since Mama died. Don’t you think you need -- ”

“Don’t even start it. You know how I feel about that little shit. If Ray’s coming, then you might as well get somebody else to stop by Kentucky Fried Chicken and pick up some buckets for you, because I won’t be coming.” Blanche dug around in the drawer until she found a lighter.

“Blanche,” Edna whined. “Besides I’ve been craving your apple pie.”

“I’ll do anything for you, but I’m going to be around him. Not after the way he spoke of Mama at her funeral.”

“Well, I’m just willing to let all that stuff go, Blanche. I got a baby on the way and I want him to know all of my family.” Blanche could almost hear Edna rubbing her stomach.

“That guilt trip stuff ain’t going to work with me. I’ll bring you a pie before I go to church in the morning. Do you want me to drop off the chicken and you can fry it up?”

“No, I won’t you to come. You know I can’t fry chicken like you and Mama. I always cook it too much or not enough.”

“Well, call Daddy and tell him since he messed up the plans, he’ll need to bring the chicken,” Blanche said.

“You know I can’t talk him that. If you change your mind, call me.”

“Trust me, I won’t. Goodnight!” Blanche placed the received back in the cradle and walked back to the tub of water. She dipped her bright-red toenail in to check the temperature. Seeing that it had grown lukewarm, she turned on the faucet and went to the kitchen for a glass of wine.

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Tue, 04-09-2002 - 10:00pm

I'd say it works quite WELL! (m )


and you hooked me with this opening scene for sure. I'm dying to know who's after Randi. Where was he shooting from? I could just see her running in one high heel and ducking between cars. Very visual scene!

Jerico keeps sounding more and more delicious and if I may steal your words, "he's the definition of yummy."

Mac

Avatar for countrygal23
iVillage Member
Registered: 03-26-2003
Wed, 04-10-2002 - 12:24am

I feel a storm a coming (m)


I love how the sisters interact. And I can feel the bad vibes she has for the brother. I sure hope she doesn't poison that apple pie LOL

Gosh now I'm craving and its late!

Good job...Maria

Photobucket

Avatar for jadetigerroses
iVillage Member
Registered: 07-01-2003
Wed, 04-10-2002 - 9:49am

well... (m)


Oh Maria that was good! there was conflict alright. I can't wait to read more!!

Jade

Have a mystical day,

Jade

Please Pray and Support O

Avatar for jadetigerroses
iVillage Member
Registered: 07-01-2003
Wed, 04-10-2002 - 9:55am

Mac... (m)


very well done. I can feel the tension in it. One question if you don't mind.

“No, I won’t you to come. You know I can’t fry chicken like you and Mama. I always cook it too much or not enough.”

Should the won't be want instead?

Great job can't wait to read more!

Jade

Have a mystical day,

Jade

Please Pray and Support O

iVillage Member
Registered: 07-17-2003
Wed, 04-10-2002 - 4:08pm

Hi. Here's mine. (m)


Here's my TT. Please let me know if I have captured the conflict clearly. It was a tough one. -Jo

**************************************************************

Rochelle sat in the corner booth. It was her favorite spot at Barney’s. From this vantage point, she could see almost everyone in the bar, and the lighting was such that she could sketch without having to squint. The first time she came here to drink, think and sketch, she felt a bit exposed. The light above her was focused on the table that held her Harp. But she soon learned that nobody visiting Barney’s seemed to be looking for anyone else. This was definitely not a place to pick up dates. Oh, there was a lone wolf out occasionally, but it was rare, and usually he would be driven out by the herds of unusually robust sheep.

Closing her eyes, Rochelle replayed the scene from earlier that day.

“I love you,” Kyle said. Rochelle was frozen. This was the first time he had said it, and she was truly not expecting it. They were lounging on her bed smoking cigarettes, having just made love. Rochelle’s first urge was to run to the bathroom and throw up. Not that she didn’t feel very strongly about Kyle. She did. It’s just that she was not ready for that kind of commitment. At least that’s what she told herself. Instead, she took a deep puff from the cigarette and blew the smoke out.

“I…I think I…love you, too,” she responded. Surprised to hear herself utter it, now that it was out, she was even more unnerved. Kyle kissed her cheek and stood up to put his cigarette out in the ashtray across the room.

“I need to get going,” he said. “Are you coming tonight?” Kyle’s band was playing at the Hangout, and the gang was expected to show up. How could she not go? She gave him a look that made him smile. “OK. I’ll see you there. Maybe we’ll swing by for sushi afterwards.” The sushi bar down the street was open after hours for those who wanted to punish their bodies even more by adding raw fish to the mix of beer and cigarettes in their systems.

Rochelle nodded and leaned back on her pillow to watch Kyle dress. She really did love his body. He had lines and curves that were sculptured, and she loved to sketch him while he slept naked next to her. Maybe uttering the words wasn’t so horrible.

“Three-fifty.” Rochelle looked up. It was Susan, the waitress. Rochelle grinned and reached in her pocket to pull out a five.

“How’s it going, tonight?” Rochelle and Susan were casual friends. It happens when you frequent a bar as much as Rochelle did.

“Looks like it’ll be a good night. The game lets out in an hour, so we’ll probably get that crowd, too.” Susan took the five, thanked Rochelle, and walked away.

Rochelle crinkled her nose. The post-game crowd was a rowdy bunch that generally annoyed her more than inspired her. She decided to finish this beer and head for the Hangout. She felt her blood rush through her body at the thought of seeing Kyle. What was this power he had over her? Was it love? Rochelle couldn’t be sure.

She sat back and began to scan the crowd for a likely subject to sketch. Regulars stood around drinking, smoking, throwing darts. Nothing new there. She lit another cigarette. Then she saw him.

Rochelle became uncomfortably aware of the light that shone on her. Was that really him? Rochelle heard he had joined the Army. She had spent long hours wishing that he would come to some sort of disastrous end. Maybe he could crash his plane while on patrol. Perhaps some Army buddies would get in a brawl with him and beat him to death. These and more were fantasies that Rochelle carried with her for months after leaving her home town. What was he doing here?

Rochelle shrunk into the booth and lifted the sketch pad up to block her face. She peered over it and was suddenly inspired to sketch him. His angular features and hyena’s smile made him a subject she wanted to capture.

“What? You’re kidding me! I had $50 on that game! My car payment is due. Crud. That should have been a cinch win,” his voice carried across the room and rang in Rochelle’s ears. She cringed.

Then his back straightened up. He stuck his nose in the air and began to look around. Did he smell her? Predator that he was, she could see that making sense. Slowly, he turned around and looked in her general direction. She froze, and his eyes locked on her own. A sneer came over his face, and he began walking her way.

“Rocky, Rocky, Rocky. Howya doin?” His voice made her stomach turn.

She forced herself to grin at him. No sense in getting into anything now. Hopefully, he would just leave her alone. “Hey, Jeff.”

“I was just thinking about you the other day. You wanna go at it?” Jeff leaned in; his breath was strong with the smell of whiskey.

“No. I’m just on my way out, Jeff.”

“Aww, now’s that any way to treat an old friend?” He forced himself into the booth and put his arm around her. She took another puff of the cigarette and wriggled in his grasp.

“Really, Jeff. I have someplace to be.” Now Rochelle was feeling nervous. This was just a bit too much for her to handle.

“Ohh? Gotta hot date? Does he know about us, honey? Does he know about you?” It was more of a threat than a question.

Now Rochelle’s head was spinning. The room was swelling and shrinking, as if it were breathing her in and out, and her chest felt heavy. She couldn’t speak.

“I wanna meet him. Where is he?” Jeff stood up and swept his arms in a broad gesture. “Hey! Who is this chick’s gigolo?”

Rochelle’s stomach turned, and she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep her supper down. Post-gig sushi sounded incredibly unappealing now.

Then Marvin, one of the regulars, stepped over to the booth.

“Is this him, Rocky? Is this the guy? Did you know about Rocky, here?” Jeff snorted.

“I think it’s time for you to leave, sir,” Marvin said as he seized Jeff’s arm.

“Hey! Get your paws off me. That’s Italian leather, Mister! If you muck it up, I’ll sue!”

Marvin led Jeff forcefully to the exit. The last thing Rochelle heard was Jeff calling, “I’ll see you later, Rocky! Your lover-boy and I will have to get together and swap stories.” Then the door shut behind him.

Marvin walked back to a shaking and sweating Rochelle. She was hastily gathering her things and lighting another cigarette.

“You already have one burning, Shelly,” he said.

She collapsed into the booth and fought back the tears. Choking, and sure that she sounded like it, she said, “I have to get outta here. Kyle is expecting me.”

“Where’s he playing?”

“The Hangout.”

“At least let me give you a ride. That guy may be waiting outside for you.” Marvin was a good guy. He and Rochelle had shared many evenings talking politics and religion. She knew he had been married, but now lived alone. He worked at the printing house, and came here most every day for happy hour. He knew Rochelle for her art and often helped with constructive criticism. He had met Kyle and Krista, but he knew little else about her personal life. He also knew not to ask. Rochelle stood and followed Marvin out the back door to his car.

iVillage Member
Registered: 09-24-2003
Wed, 04-10-2002 - 6:59pm

Maria~


A romance thriller...sounds good. If you are seriously considering this for a book, I would suggest that more detail is added in the last five paragaraphs. It was a little too abrupt for me. For a short exercise, it works fine, but more depth in how she arrived in the back of his truck...remember he just discovered her in the back of his truck...pretty shocking! And more internal thoughts, concerns or fear on her part, she's just been discovered.

Just thoughts, but interesting story. You and your YUMMY boys! You go, girl.

hugs, kat

Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Wed, 04-10-2002 - 7:42pm

Made me feel like I was in that bar watching you...


...trying to figure out what was going on, and whether I should do anything about it.

Mesmerizing reality. All I can say right now. I have been, over the recent years, gradually drifting from the love of the fantastic to things that make me firmly say to myself "this could *really* be happening." And this story fits solidly in that category. Loved the movie "In the Bedroom" for the same reason.

iVillage Member
Registered: 09-24-2003
Wed, 04-10-2002 - 8:45pm

TT: Serendipity Laughs Last


Major Michael Jonah Johnston was dictating a memo to his short and stout assistant, Sgt. Ralph Addleman, when the phone on the Major’s desk rang out halting the Major mid-sentence. Sgt. Addleman hesitated for a brief moment, and then said, “Excuse me, sir,” as he reached across the desk to answer the phone. “Major Johnston’s office, Sgt. Addleman, speaking. Yes. Yes, one moment please. Major, it’s the Fort Walton hospital. Your daughter and wife were in an automobile accident.”

The Major, who had swiveled his chair to look out over the Gulf of Mexico while awaiting the identity of the caller, he noticed the greenish tint to the water and heard the afterburners of the F16’s overhead begin to recede. Eglin was their newest home in a long string of destinations, like Channel Islands they’d hopped to one after the other over his eighteen year career.

“Sir?” said Sgt. Addleman as he offered the Major the receiver.

“This is Major Johnston.”

“Major Johnston, this Dr. Friedman of the ER here at Fort Walton Hospital, your wife and daughter arrived about an hour ago. It appears that their cars collided and your wife was found dead at the scene of the accident. Your daughter is currently being treated for severe head injuries. It is imperative that you come immediately.”

“Yes, I’m on my way.”

The Major cut a path the span of the Hoover Dam as he strode into the ER through the automatic double doors. His Blues specially tailored to fit his immense frame. His spit shined to perfection black leather shoes hammered the linoleum floor as he marched toward the central desk of the Fort Walton ER. It was expected that he be addressed as Major, especially by his wife and daughter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Micah, the daughter and not the son the Major had expected, was Major & Mrs. Johnston’s only child. Micah’s face held her father’s high cheek bones and large teeth, and her mother’s wide-set black eyes. Mrs. Johnston butted up against the Major only once during their married life, and that was to fight for Micah’s name. She’d picked out the name Sara. The Major couldn’t settle out the fact that Micah, first, was a girl-child, and second, that Mrs. Johnston could never have anymore children. The Major refused to let go of the name Michael Jr. The Major’s compromise was Micah Sara Junior Johnston.

The Major stood next to the bassinet that held two-week old Micah and starred into her eyes. Her black pools reflected his stern consternation until he felt himself being drawn into their depths. In her wise old soul his cold resentment was imprinted.

Micah was expected to be the best at everything-Academics, sports, music, and life. It was impossible to live in the Major’s shadow. No air or light ever entered there. And a new assignment for the Major every four years meant no true sign of existence for Micah. It was like lying on dead grass, no imprint of having been there at all. Micah longed for freedom, the freedom to fly away, or better yet, race away at high speeds. She’d been practicing the day the accident occurred.

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